COUSIN BOB WAS a lying liar

I was totally getting put up in the corporate condos.

Truth be told, I was kind of excited about it. I had heard they were really nice, with designer interiors, comfortable furniture, amazing beds. As an added bonus, each one came complete with a private workout room, spa, and lap pool.

I was not disappointed. It looked like Pottery Barn married Crate and Barrel and had little West Elm babies. I did not, however, get a chance to appreciate it due to the fact that there was a large, dark haired, 6'4", Italian-American man sitting in the living room.

So Alex was waiting for me. Awesome. Judging by his relaxed state of dress, I'd say he'd been waiting more than a few minutes. His jacket and tie were off, his collar was open, and he rolled his sleeves up as far as his muscles would allow.

Alex wasn't beautiful like Patrick, or even particularly handsome. He had a scar that ran from his temple to his chin, thick, heavy features, and grey coming in on his temples. He looked more traditionally Italian than his two other brothers in that he inherited his culture's dark hair, large dark eyes, and skin that was perpetually the color of a three day old tan.

No, he wasn't handsome, but he was damn sexy. I had a hard time keep my clothes on around him. So did other women. If I ever got ready to settle down and be monogamous, I'd have to do something about that.

Anyway, he sat on the couch, all casually comfortable, with one arm stretched across the back of the sofa, and the other holding a tumbler of scotch neat. The overhead lights reflect off his Patek Phillipe watch and bounced little circles on the ceiling above him. All in all, he looked all pleasant, happy, and downright congenial.

I knew him better than that. I knew underneath the exterior of pleasant congeniality boiled a pit of seething rage. So Alex was angry at me. It's amazing how thoroughly I can make people angry at me. I consider it both a blessing and a curse.

I bounced into the living room with a big smile. "Hi Alex. I got shot."

Alex knew me as well as I knew him. He maintained his calm and smiled at me. "Hi baby. I know. You told me. How's the arm?"

"Shot." I showed it to him. "Now that I've been shot, am I a mob moll?"

He shook his glass and smiled thinly. "It's a gun moll."

"Okay. Gun moll. Now that I've been shot, am I a gun moll?"

He took a deep drink of his beverage, then said, "Sure, if that's what you want. You're a gun moll."

"Awesome. I'm a gun moll," I grinned and plopped down next to him. "So when'd you get here?"

"Around 7 or so. I came as fast as I could, you know, what with you getting shot and all."

I kissed his cheek. "Thanks Alex. I appreciate that."

He patted my knee. "No problem, babe. I'll always make a point of coming whenever you get shot."

"You're the best, Alex." I got up and headed for the restroom to take care of my comfort needs. "Did you have a good flight?" I yelled from the bathroom.

"Yes. It was very quick and smooth." There was a pause. "You know, Corporate Security didn't register your car in the parking lot, and you weren't any any of the passenger manifests. How'd you get down here, babe?"

"Oh, the Porsche!" I finished up and came back out into the living room. "I'm test driving a Porsche right now. It's a Carrera, and I have to tell you that I love this car."

He smiled thinly. "Hmm. A Porsche, huh. So why are you test driving a Porsche?"

"My car's a POS. You know that."

"I do know that," he agreed and drained his glass. "I've known that for a long time. I've know it for so long I've been trying to buy you a new car for the past two years."

"Well, I've decided to accept your offer." I came up behind him and hugged his neck. "I will happily accept this Porsche from you."

"I haven't offered you a Porsche."

"I know. So I thoughtfully helped you by picking one out for myself." I kissed him on his cheek. "You're the best sugar daddy ever."

"I'm not a sugar daddy and I'm not buying you a Porsche," he replied, his good nature glitiching just a bit. "Why don't you come over here and sit down? I think we need to talk."

In all fairness, he didn't like for me to call him a sugar daddy. I let go of his neck and walked around to face him. "You're grumpy. The way you're acting, you'd think it was you who got shot."

He stared at me. "Sit down, Siobhan."

I scrunched my face. "I don't know, Alex. I'm kind of hungry. Do you mind if I make a sandwich first?"

He leaned forward and placed the glass on the coffee table. "I think we should talk first, Siobhan. Clear the air. So why don't you sit down?" He nodded to the sofa opposite from him. "You can tell me exactly what you were thinking when you barged in on Pat and started throwing lit bottles of vodka at him."

I waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I don't need to sit down to to that, Alex. Patrick was fornicating with children, so I expressed my repulsion in a nonverbal way." I shook my finger at him. "Nonverbal expression is a protected form of speech, remember?"

"Sit down."

"Okay," I replied and went into the kitchen. There I putzed around until I found some tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, fresh basil leaves, some pesto...I got to say this for my family; they stock a nice refrigerator.

"Siobhan?"

I looked up. Alex was leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, and wearing an expression that more accurately expressed his feelings. "Yes, Alex?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm making a tomato mozzarella sandwich...you want one?"

"Siobhan, I told you, we are talking first."

"I heard. I, however, decided I would rather make a sandwich. Sure you don't want one?"

In his special, quiet tone he reserved for recalcitrant union workers he said, "In the living room. Now."

I ignored him and pulled out butcher knife to use on the tomato.

"Siobhan. Now."

I looked up from my slicing. "I'm slicing a tomato, Alex. As soon as I make my sandwich, I'll be in there."

"Do not make me say it again. Get your ass in the living room. Now."

And that was it for me. I felt something snap. Whether it was the residual anger at witnessing my brother's crime, or the fact that people were so complacently sycophantic that they allowed it, or that I'd been locked me in a room for hours and the people whose responsibility it was to serve and protect me had not only turned their collective backs but also narced on me, or that I just didn't like his tone, whatever it was, I snapped. I completely snapped.

I walked up to him, butcher knife in hand, and placed the point on his chest. Tomato juice ran down the point and left a little stain like a bullseye. Convenient. I looked him in the eye and said, "You know, Alex, I don't appreciate your tone."

He stared me back. "Put the knife down, Siobhan."

"I have had a very bad day."

"Put the knife down."

I poked him hard enough through the tomato stain to leave a small hole in his shirt. "I will. After I make a goddamn sandwich."

He tried to reach for my hand, but I pulled my hand back too quickly. "Siobhan, put the knife down..."

I backed up and leveled the knife in the dead space between the two of us. "I want a goddamn sandwich, Alex. After I make a goddamn sandwich and subsequently eat a goddamn sandwich, we can talk. Capisce?"

"Siobhan, give me the knife." I noticed his tone was now more conciliatory.

"No. I'm slicing a tomato to put on my sandwich."

He smiled a little; this one was more genuine then his previous expression. "Alright, alright, I get it. Maybe I was a being a little heavy handed."

"You think?" I walked back over to the tomato and resumed slicing. "I mean, Alex, have you even considered the fact that Patrick shot me. My own brother, my flesh and blood, my kith and kin, he shot me, when all I did was express dismay concerning his depravity, moral turpitude and lack of ABA legal professionalism." I stopped slicing and looked up at him. "He shot me, Alex. My own brother shot me. Do you think that's fair? Do you?"

He pinched his lips together like he was trying to stop himself from laughing. "Yeah, you are going to throw this at me for the rest of your life, aren't you? When you're eighty, you're going to say something about Patrick shooting you."

"When I'm 80, you'll be 100," I told him, "you're way too old for me."

"Age is just a number." He walked over and stood next to me. "Give me the knife, baby. I'll make you a sandwich."

I stared up into his deep brown eyes for a second, evaluating his sincerity. I could see that the anger had dissipated; he was now more amused than angry. I flipped the knife around, handle facing him. "I want pesto on it."

"I wouldn't make it any other way." He took the knife, gently kissed my cheek, and began to slice the mozzarella. I hopped up on the counter next to him to watch and instruct, if necessary.

While he sliced, he said, "What I'm curious about, Siobhan, is why you called the Feds."

What the what? I reached over and stole a piece of cheese to buy time. "I didn't call the Feds," I lied. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He looked at me sideways. "Right. So who's Special agent Jason Donnelly?"

That threw me off, but I maintained my composure. "You haven't really looked at my bullet wound. You should look at it."

"I'll look at it later," he told me, while he coated the bread with pesto. "But first, I think you should tell me about Donnelly."

"You're not making it right," I told him, pointing at the sandwich. "You only put pesto on one side."

"I'm making it right, Siobhan. Tell me about the Fed."

"You have to put the tomatoes on one side and the mozzarella on the other."

"No you don't. Now tell me about Donnelly."

I reached over and snatched another slice of mozzarella. "I don't know what you're talking about. Stop chinzing on the cheese. I want more mozzarella than that."

He put on another layer of mozzarella, put down the knife, and stared at me. "Please tell me about Donnelly."

I looked him in the eye and smiled. "I don't know an Agent Donnelly," I told him. "Why would I know anyone in the federal government...except Jack, of course."

"Is that right?" He wiped his hands, walked over, and opened my legs. Stepping between them, he whispered in my ear, "Stop lying, baby, and tell me about Donnelly."

I pulled back. "I'm not lying." I tried to push him back. "Stop it, Alex. You can't just sex it out of me. I don't know anything."

He pulled my hair back and kissed my neck. "You breath, you lie. Just tell me."

"You insult my character, Alex. I don't know what you're talking about."

I felt his smile on my neck. "Yes, you do, baby." He left a trail of little kisses up my neck to my ear and dropped his hands to my breasts. "Come on, baby. Tell me about Donnelly."

I moaned a little and closed my eyes. His hands were massaging my breasts in a very interesting way and I could feel him grow firmer between my legs.

"Tell me," he whispered. I could feel his his lips hovering just above my mouth.

"Kiss me," I sighed.

"Tell me." One of his hands pushed up my skirt and found my panties.

I began to pant a little. "Kiss me."

"Tell me." He began tracing the line of my thong gently. "Come on, baby. Just tell me."

I was melting. "I'll tell you if you kiss me."

I heard his smile. "No, baby. You tell me first, then I'll kiss you." He slipped a finger under the elastic of my thong. "Come on baby. I can play like this all night."

I opened my eyes. "Kiss me, Alex!"

"Tell me," he purred, his finger finding a very intimate spot that took my breath away.

I couldn't hold out. Once he began petting me, I felt myself break to a zillion tiny pieces, all of which needed to drown in his kiss. "He's a federal agent who's been bugging me. He's out of the Chicago field office. His partner's name is Abu Salim." I strained up to reach his mouth. "Now kiss me."

"That's my girl." He smiled and lowered his mouth on mine, slowly, teasing, tasting me. All my thoughts disappeared and I became one with him in the moment, in that kiss.

He pulled back slightly. "Do we continue or do we eat?" he asked.

I was dazed. "What? I don't know. Kiss me again."

He studied me for a second. "We eat." He gave me a gentle kiss on my forehead, washed his hands, and got back to sandwich making.

I felt like water. "Alex."

"What baby?"

"I need you to make love to me some more."

"I will. After we eat." He stacked the sandwich, neatly cut it, and put it on a plate. "What do you what to drink?"

"I don't want to eat. I want sex. Alex!"

"You're going to eat. Tell me what you want to drink."

"Alex!"

He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. "Siobhan, how long has it been since you've eaten?"

I considered the question. "I don't remember eating today, but I must have. I know I had coffee."

"We eat," he stated. "What do you want to drink?"

I sniffed, disappointed. He was right; I probably did need to eat. "Diet coke...and can I have some chips? And is there a pickle? I want a pickle."

"Get down. Go sit at the dining room table." He handed me my sandwich. "I'll get your chips and your pickle. We will eat like civilized people."

"You and your standards," I sighed as I jumped down and went into the dining room.

He followed a minute later with a bag of chips and a soda. "Sadly, no pickles," he told me as he sat across from me."

"Bummer. Did you look?" I took a major bite of my sandwich.

"I looked. Tell me more about this Jason Donnelly."

"What do you want to know about Donnelly for?" I asked, mouth full. "He's a pest but not a problem. What's the big?"

He stared at me. "I think he's a problem, Siobhan. The language and tone you had with him was a little too familiar. It indicated that you've been talking to him for a while now." He watched me closely. "Do you have feelings for him?"

Crap. They did monitor that call. Oh well. Served them right for letting Pat pedophile on himself all over the Home Office. I stopped eating and stared at him. "What? Donnelly? No, I don't like him. He's a smart ass douche. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," he said and ate a chip. "I'm not mad, Siobhan. I've seen his file. He's young, he's good looking. I get it." He leaned back in his seat. "So how long have you been talking to him?"

Busted. I didn't have any more energy to lie. "I don't know. Six months? Something like that. Pass the chips."

He passed the bag over. "Six months, huh. That's a while. Tell me about the first time you met him. How did he approach you?"

I ate a couple chips and thought about that. "He was a guest speaker in one of my government classes."

"So you met him at school?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. So?"

"Did it occur to you that the government planned that?"

I gave him a Duh look. "You think?"

He stared back at me. "It wasn't random, Siobhan. He's been cultivating you. Why do you think you called him today, instead of calling me or Sean?"

I burst out laughing. "Cultivating me? Is that what he's doing?" I paused, because yeah, it kind of was, but still. I couldn't admit that. " Donnelly's an insensitive, sexist douche. He's not cultivating me."

"That's a lot of adjectives, baby. Sounds to me like maybe he got in your head."

I finished my sandwich and wiped my mouth. "He hasn't gotten in my head." I slid down in my chair and closed my eyes. "He hasn't gotten into anything. And I mean anything."

I could feel him staring at me. "Not yet maybe. I think right now you need to go to bed."

"What? I'm fine. I'm resting my eyes."

"You can rest your eyes in bed. Upsy-daisy." He pulled me up. "Come to bed, my little pain in the ass."

"I'm not a pain in the ass," I told him as he dragged me into the bedroom. "I take offense at that."

"You are, and always have been, a pain in the ass."

"Shut up. I'm not pain in the ass," I told him as I stripped and crawled into bed.

"Yes, you are. But you're my pain in the ass. And don't you forget it." He tucked me in and turned off the light.

"Aren't you coming to bed?"

"In a minute."

"You said you were going to make love to me."

"Go to sleep, Siobhan. I 've got some work to do first."

"You're calling Sean to tell him what I said."

"I am."

"Alex." I sat up in bed. "I didn't call Donnelly about Patrick. I called Donnelly because of the pimp. But for the pimp having trafficked those children, my brother would not have been so tempted to go all pedophile in his office."

Alex stood quiet, in the shadows. I couldn't see his face or his expression, but I had to tell him, regardless. "Everyone knew what was going in that office today. And nobody did anything. They all pretended like they didn't see it, because, you know, Patrick's pretty, and he's a partner, and he's a bullshit rainmaker, whatever, but I couldn't, Alex. I could just let it go."

I twisted the bedspread tightly. "I get that I'm not exactly a paragon of virtue, Alex. I mean, I kind of suck as a person. But I couldn't...I couldn't let those girls get used like that any more." I wiped my face. "What should I have done?"

He walked back over, sat on the bed, and pulled me into his arms. "Next time you call me, baby. I'll take care of it."

"I'm not sorry, Alex. They deserved it. They all deserved it."

"Go to sleep baby. You have a big day tomorrow." He kissed me on my face, my forehead, and my cheeks. "Go to sleep." He stood up and tucked me in and gave me one last kiss.

"I do?" I mumbled. "Why do I have a big day?"

"Good night, baby." I heard him close the door and leave me alone in the dark.

A part of me wanted to chase him and delve more into the whole 'you have a big day tomorrow' thing, but a larger part of me was really, really tired. Combine this with the super comfortable bed, and I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

_____ * _____ * _____ * _____ * _____

Meet Alexander Cosetino. Older, handsome, lawyer... or maybe mob boss? Clearly, he's got the hots for our girl. But is that a good thing? Read on to find out!

Thank you so much for taking time to read Siobhan's story! I look forward to your comments, and if you liked it, please remember to vote!

©Copyright Liz Charnes May 2018

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