Vintage Volume One by Lisa Suzanne Page B

voice was sharp.
    He didn’t know what Randy was capable of. I wasn’t sure I even fully understood it, but I knew that pissing him off was the worst route to take.
    “Look at the macho man defending his little girl.” He looked at me. “You dating this pussy?” He jerked a thumb toward Parker.
    I took a deep breath and looked up at him. Randy Marino was a heavy-set, middle-aged asshole who happened to be a bookie.
    He and my dad had grown up together. I didn’t know what sort of illegal business dealings they’d had together, but Randy had been around a lot when I was a kid.
    He’d always been a dick, but one of the “highlights” of our history was when he hit on me when I was seventeen fucking years old.
    My dad had been in town, and I didn’t want to stay with my mom. My dad had a few friends over, Randy included. They’d been playing cards in the basement. My dad had converted the entire basement into a gaming area, complete with a bar. He had asked me to stay upstairs. I knew there were women down there. Even though I hadn’t seen them come in, I’d heard the noises. I knew they were gambling high stakes, drinking, and smoking something that didn’t smell like a cigarette. I wasn’t naïve.
    Plus the distinctive smell of pot had wafted upstairs.
    I’d stayed out of the way. My dad and his friends had been busy in the basement, so I figured I was in the clear. I’d wanted a beer, and I knew my dad kept it in the refrigerator, so I checked the hall, found it empty, and darted to the kitchen to grab a couple of bottles for myself.
    After I’d procured two bottles and turned around, Randy stood behind me. He was fucked up. He reeked of alcohol and marijuana, and his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. The look in his eyes told me that he was probably high on something other than pot.
    A frisson of fear had run through me, but he was harmless. He had to be. I had to believe he was, because believing the alternative was too scary.
    “Pretty CC, pretty CC,” he had sung to me.
    I’d wanted to puke in his face.
    He had been standing close to me. Too close. I’d been uncomfortable and scared, but I wasn’t sure what to do. So I held the bottles in my hands, staring daggers at him.
    “So pretty in your little black tank top and shorts. You shouldn’t be wearing shorts that short with all of these men here. They might think you’re putting that pretty little body on display for them.”
    He’d taken an unsteady step toward me and reached out to run his fat fingers down my cheek. “Are you putting that pretty little body on display?”
    I’d closed my eyes as the blood pounded in my ears. In that moment, I had feared for my life, for my safety.
    He’d never hurt me.
    My dad would kill him if he hurt me.
    Literally.
    Deep down I knew he couldn’t be serious.
    It was the drugs combined with the alcohol. It had to be.
    Instead of responding, I’d darted around him. His reactions had been too slow to stop me. I’d leapt up the stairs. I’d slammed my door and locked it, throwing the bottles on the floor and crying into my pillow, shaken and scared for the rest of the night.
    I hadn’t been fine.
    I still wasn’t fine.
    But at this point in my life, Randy hitting on me in my dad’s kitchen while he was fucked beyond recognition was just one more shitty experience stacked on so many others. I wondered if he even remembered what he’d said to me that night.
    It didn’t matter if he remembered.
    I did.
    And seeing Randy here in this taco shop with Parker put the fear of that night right back into me.
    “Well?” Randy pressed. I was snapped out of the traumatic events of the past.
    “We’re not dating,” I said. It wasn’t really a lie, even if it wasn’t exactly the truth. And if nothing else, it would protect Parker from the asshole in front of me. If I couldn’t save him from me, at least I could attempt saving him from Randy.
    Parker shot me a look. “Yes we are,” Parker said to