Read Online Shattered Glass by Dani Alexander - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dani Alexander
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ties with his former partner.
Other than that information, I only had what I had gathered myself: He was a whore, he disliked me, he had six freckles over his upper lip that begged to be….
Okay, maybe I had enough to work with. Devoted to the other kids. That was a vulnerability I could exploit, if necessary.
How to Date a Prostitute
In a booth at the back of the restaurant, close to the kitchen doors, Peter’s grey slipper dangled enticingly from the edge of his seat. From the way it hung suspended off his toe, I could tell his foot was crossed over his knee under the table. Though his back was to me, I imagined he was laughing with the youth
across from him.
The black-haired boy, and, yes, this time I meant boy—he had to be sixteen, max—was blushing as they laughed and using an ink pen to scribble on a drawing pad. He raised his head as I came near, frowning only slightly, but his grey eyes were bright and warm and his smile remained in place. Was I about to intrude on a date?
Peter followed the other boy’s stare, twisting in his seat.
“What—” His smile was so breathtaking, in the split second I got to see it, that my hands briefly tightened into fists. Then the smile was gone. “Cai, get your things and go home.” Peter’s eyes never left me.
Cai blinked and flashed a confused squint to Peter. “But—” “Now,” Peter interrupted and began to scoot out of the booth; I stood at the end of his seat, caging him in.
Cai offered a shy, inquisitive peek under his black bangs while he grabbed a messenger bag, putting his drawing tablet inside. “Night, Rabbit.” He directed a twitchy smile at me and hesitated before slipping out of the booth and disappearing behind the kitchen doors. I propped my chin in my palm as I took his place at the table.
“Have I been too subtly hostile?” Peter said, clasping his hands and leaning forward. “Was my I'd-only-have-sex-with-you-if-you-paid-me statement too vague? Exactly how do I get rid of you? A billboard? A letter in braille? Sign language? I could threaten to go to the cops, but I think we both can agree that would be pointless.”
I couldn’t place the reason for my nervousness. For my sweaty palms and racing heart. I wasn’t intimidated by his words
or his anger. I wasn’t scared in the traditional sense. And let’s face it, someone named Peter Cotton wasn’t exactly ominous. It was just him and his furious eyes. He got to me. “Your freckles are adorable.” Somehow I didn’t think Luis would approve of that opening line. And, by his incredulous glare, I knew Peter didn’t. That, or he was seeing spiders crawl out of my ears.
“You’re not just short a few sandwiches,” he said, lip curling up in disgust. “Your picnic is missing the basket and blanket.
There’s not even ants at your picnic.” I couldn’t help the grin. “Tell me about Prisc Alvarado.” “What?” His eyes blinked wide, head jerking backwards. And then he quickly adopted an air of indifference.
“Is he my competition?” I asked.
“Everyone is your competition.” Peter lifted his hand to his eyes and began lowering it incrementally. “It goes normal human beings, crazies, republicans, my hand, imaginary characters, corpses and then, in a moment of lustful psychosis, you.” By the time he was done, his hand was below the table.
Ouch. “A little over the top, don’t you think?” “No.” He tried to scoot out again. I laid my badge on the table and he hesitated, a brief pull of his brows as he stared at it.
“I really do need to know about Prisc,” I said. “Officially.” He sat back down and crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t help you. And if this is some kind of ruse to get in my pants, it won’t work.”
“We’ve established how I can get into your pants. And I didn’t bring any cash.”
“That was a one-time offer.”
“For me? Or does Prisc get a discount?”
At this rate, the sheer amount of time he spent glaring at
Other than that information, I only had what I had gathered myself: He was a whore, he disliked me, he had six freckles over his upper lip that begged to be….
Okay, maybe I had enough to work with. Devoted to the other kids. That was a vulnerability I could exploit, if necessary.
How to Date a Prostitute
In a booth at the back of the restaurant, close to the kitchen doors, Peter’s grey slipper dangled enticingly from the edge of his seat. From the way it hung suspended off his toe, I could tell his foot was crossed over his knee under the table. Though his back was to me, I imagined he was laughing with the youth
across from him.
The black-haired boy, and, yes, this time I meant boy—he had to be sixteen, max—was blushing as they laughed and using an ink pen to scribble on a drawing pad. He raised his head as I came near, frowning only slightly, but his grey eyes were bright and warm and his smile remained in place. Was I about to intrude on a date?
Peter followed the other boy’s stare, twisting in his seat.
“What—” His smile was so breathtaking, in the split second I got to see it, that my hands briefly tightened into fists. Then the smile was gone. “Cai, get your things and go home.” Peter’s eyes never left me.
Cai blinked and flashed a confused squint to Peter. “But—” “Now,” Peter interrupted and began to scoot out of the booth; I stood at the end of his seat, caging him in.
Cai offered a shy, inquisitive peek under his black bangs while he grabbed a messenger bag, putting his drawing tablet inside. “Night, Rabbit.” He directed a twitchy smile at me and hesitated before slipping out of the booth and disappearing behind the kitchen doors. I propped my chin in my palm as I took his place at the table.
“Have I been too subtly hostile?” Peter said, clasping his hands and leaning forward. “Was my I'd-only-have-sex-with-you-if-you-paid-me statement too vague? Exactly how do I get rid of you? A billboard? A letter in braille? Sign language? I could threaten to go to the cops, but I think we both can agree that would be pointless.”
I couldn’t place the reason for my nervousness. For my sweaty palms and racing heart. I wasn’t intimidated by his words
or his anger. I wasn’t scared in the traditional sense. And let’s face it, someone named Peter Cotton wasn’t exactly ominous. It was just him and his furious eyes. He got to me. “Your freckles are adorable.” Somehow I didn’t think Luis would approve of that opening line. And, by his incredulous glare, I knew Peter didn’t. That, or he was seeing spiders crawl out of my ears.
“You’re not just short a few sandwiches,” he said, lip curling up in disgust. “Your picnic is missing the basket and blanket.
There’s not even ants at your picnic.” I couldn’t help the grin. “Tell me about Prisc Alvarado.” “What?” His eyes blinked wide, head jerking backwards. And then he quickly adopted an air of indifference.
“Is he my competition?” I asked.
“Everyone is your competition.” Peter lifted his hand to his eyes and began lowering it incrementally. “It goes normal human beings, crazies, republicans, my hand, imaginary characters, corpses and then, in a moment of lustful psychosis, you.” By the time he was done, his hand was below the table.
Ouch. “A little over the top, don’t you think?” “No.” He tried to scoot out again. I laid my badge on the table and he hesitated, a brief pull of his brows as he stared at it.
“I really do need to know about Prisc,” I said. “Officially.” He sat back down and crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t help you. And if this is some kind of ruse to get in my pants, it won’t work.”
“We’ve established how I can get into your pants. And I didn’t bring any cash.”
“That was a one-time offer.”
“For me? Or does Prisc get a discount?”
At this rate, the sheer amount of time he spent glaring at
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