Page 19 of Romano
Not even a little bit.
?
Since I have zero intention of watching Kat dance for the VIP punters, I head back to my office, the half-empty bottle of tequila in my bloodied fist. Benson assures me Rory got safely into an Uber. No doubt she’s still cursing up a storm, but I’ll make sure she’s compensated for the tips she lost out on.
I log into my computer and begin doing the background check on Rory. I should have completed this days ago, but with all the drama surrounding Dimitri and Cara, it got pushed to one side.
It’s going to take a while, but I have nothing better to do and I’d rather keep busy than sit at home drinking like a sad bastard. Normally I’d call one of the many women I keep on speed dial for evenings like this when I’m restless as fuck, but I can’t summon any enthusiasm for meaningless sex. Rory has gotten under my skin and made herself right at home there. The only woman my traitorous cock wants right now is her.
I plug her details into the various programs I use and wait to see what they throw up. It may take a while to get all the information I’m looking for, but that’s OK. The programs will run for as long as I need them and send me notifications when the searches are complete.
It’s not long before data starts coming in and I sit up, my drink forgotten.
She lives with her mother, and she has a son. That surprises me. I assumed she was single, or perhaps sharing with a friend. No husband though. Thank fuck. The mother is having cancer treatment. It looks like they’re struggling with a fuck ton ofdebt because of her illness. According to the medical files, she’s undergoing chemo and the prognosis is cautiously positive.
I dig deeper into Rory’s background and exhale softly. Rory won a scholarship to fucking Juilliard. I’m not surprised, the girl is an amazing dancer. She’s much too good to be stuck dancing in a club. It was obvious from the moment she first stepped onto the stage for her audition.
So why didn’t she reach her potential? I’m guessing the kid had something to do with it. He’s three, so she must have fallen pregnant while she was at Juilliard. Hardly unusual. Girls get pregnant all the time, and given she was from a small one-horse town before she went to NYC, she was likely very naive.
Not so much now. The girl is all hard edges and sass. I doubt she lets anyone get past her protective armor. Certainly not me.
I carry on digging, keen to find out whether there’s some schmuck on the scene I need to take care of. Whoever the kid’s father is, he doesn’t seem to be around. He’s not listed on the birth certificate and I can’t find any evidence of child support payments. What an asshole.
Even if the pregnancy was accidental, he should be supporting his kid! Guys like that make me sick. If I had a kid, I’d want to be there for them, and I’d definitely look after the mother, even if she was a psycho bitch like Kat. Not that any woman I fuck would get pregnant easily. I make damn sure I take precautions every time.
My mind segues off into a little fantasy featuring a cute little girl with red hair and blue-green eyes. She smiles and calls me daddy. For a moment, it’s so real I have tears in my eyes imagining what it would be like to have a daughter I could spoil or a son I could take to watch the game or kick a soccer ball in the park with.
Then Paul knocks on the door and bursts my bubble. Which is just as well as there’s no way on this planet I’m destined to have kids. The last thing I need is to be permanently shackled to some conniving bitch whose only aim in life is to screw me out of money and leverage our family name.
It doesn’t stop the vision of a little red-haired girl from popping into my head for the rest of the night, though.
Chapter 17
Rory
Until I won a scholarship to Juilliard, I hadn’t had much experience with the opposite sex. I was so focused on dancing growing up that having fun - going to parties, drinking, and doing all the usual teenage rebellion stuff - passed me by. I still had my V-card at 18, which made me something of a unicorn among the friends I made in NYC. But I didn’t care. Being different never bothered me. I was used to it.
Nobody had red hair like mine in our small town. Not even my parents. Mom always said I was a throwback to her grandmother. Dad just told me I was special and to ignore the mean kids who called me carrot top and matchstick girl.
I grew to love my vibrant red hair and pale skin. Sure, I can’t sit in the sun for more than five minutes, but at least I won’t end up with wrinkles before I’m 30. Thankfully, Joel inheritedhis father’s blond hair, so he doesn’t need to worry about being teased when he starts school. For that I’m grateful.
He deserves to be the happiest boy in the world, which is why we left Pine Creek, Minnesota, and came to Miami, where Mom was born. Big city life was not so much of a shock for me after living in NYC for a year, but I do miss the lakes and forests of my home state, and I wish Joel could grow up there rather than here.
But we had to leave. One day I’ll explain it all to him. When he’s old enough to understand exactly why he doesn’t have a father. At least not one that deserves a gorgeous son like Joel.
“Are you OK, Mom?” I’m worried about her. She doesn’t look well and now she has Joel for the evening while I work another shift at Venom.
“I’ll be fine, honey. You go. Joel and I are going to watch Finding Nemo, then it’s bedtime.”
“Yay!” Joel jumps up and down, quivering with excitement in his brushed cotton penguin PJs. Finding Nemo is his favorite movie and I know Mom saves it for when she needs a bit of peace.
“Call the club if you need me to come home sooner. The number’s on the refrigerator.”
“We’ll be fine,” she repeats, but I’m not convinced. Joel is a typical three-year-old: bursting with energy and liable to throw a tantrum when he doesn’t get his own way. Mom can cope fine normally, but she’s not herself today.
“Be a good boy for Nana and I’ll take you for ice cream tomorrow,” I tell Joel.
He pulls a serious face and nods vigorously. “I will, Mama. Pinky promise.” We lock pinkie fingers and then I kiss him goodbye. I booked an Uber so I didn’t have to leave so early. Yes, it’s money we can’t afford, but Mom is more important. I just hope I make some decent tips this evening to make up for what I lost three nights ago. I’m still mad about that.