MYSTERIOUS LOVER #1: FALCONE

CHAPTER 5.1

C H A P T E R F I V E

There was one benefit to having your house broken into in the dead of the night cause your sister was a moron, having to call your parents, and then spending the night with them: when they had to wake up early to go to work and you didn't, you could escape the conversation the following morning when they would want to know everything about your dumb sister, how she put you in jeopardy, how you put yourself in jeopardy, why you didn't tell them right away, and why you've been hiding it from them.

I didn't speak to Dad or Melinda while I slept in.

However, when I went to the kitchen for coffee, I discovered a letter from Dad on the counter, which read:

G -

We are going to have dinner tonight. 6:00 sharp. Show up.

Pack your bags because it won't be fixed on your window for at least a week.

Don’t you dare disappear or I'll send Ryan and Micah after you.

I love you, Dad.

Men are allegedly attracted to women who are similar to their mothers, while women are allegedly drawn to men who are similar to their dads. I must be drawn to hot, super-macho, dominating males, therefore this must be true.

Additionally, Melinda had left me a message that read:

early in the day,

Einstein's has recently baked bagels in the refrigerator. Your preferred cream cheese is whipped.

See you tomorrow!

Hugs, Melinda

PS: After meeting Falcone, I can't really express to you how glad I am for you! He is adorable! He's also quite kind! And he's in love! YAY! Cute? Sweet? Smitten? with italics? And…yay?

My Dad obviously didn't find ladies like me attractive. very good to know

I had taken more care with how I looked after having coffee, a bagel, and reading notes than normal because I kept running into gorgeous males. I frequently worked in yoga pants, camisoles, baby doll t-shirts, and thin hoodies. I may alter it up with shorts if it were summer.

Melinda was one of the many reasons I loved her. That morning, I used her makeup and curling iron to curl my long hair into a mass of curls and waves with a heavy fall of hair at the front. I had no idea why she needed a curling iron with curly hair, but she had everything that had anything to do with being a girl. Moreover, I applied makeup, something I seldom did unless I was going out. I was unable to assist with the remaining tasks since I had to leave in the middle of the night due to a break-in, a chance encounter with a gorgeous new guy, and yet another strange and frustrating (but regrettably hot) altercation with Falcone. It consisted of simply jeans, a light blue t-shirt from Dina's (a hip boarder shop downtown; I didn't board but, as I indicated, I could shop anywhere), a black belt, boots, and a thin, hooded cardie sweater. The t-shirt had a red "T" and "S" on it over my breasts.

And as I pulled up to my house and saw it had a number of motorbikes and a large, black van parked in front of it, I was delighted I'd curled my hair, done my makeup, and that I put on my killer, wire-rimmed, police sunglasses with the gray semi-mirrored lenses.

Holy crap, what a mess!

I attempted to maneuver my small, blue Hyundai into my driveway while keeping an eye on what seemed to be an army of motorcyclists loitering on my lawn and coming and leaving from my home.

And as I pulled up to my house and saw it had a number of motorbikes and a large, black van parked in front of it, I was delighted I'd curled my hair, done my makeup, and that I put on my killer, wire-rimmed, police sunglasses with the gray semi-mirrored lenses.

Holy crap, what a mess!

I attempted to maneuver my small, blue Hyundai into my driveway while keeping an eye on what seemed to be an army of motorcyclists loitering on my lawn and coming and leaving from my home.

I immediately began comparing as I gazed up at him. He was shorter than Falcone and Magtanggol, but he was a skilled face hair artist. And the day before, I wasn't experiencing a daydream. He loudly rang the highest bell on the hotness meter. "Hey," I replied, although my voice was a little breathy.

He said, "Hey peaches," in a loud, gravelly voice that was everything but breathy.

"What are you doing here, um?"  I remarked, taking the chance to look toward my house where I saw a motorcyclist measuring my window with a tape measure.

I turned to face Finn, who added, "Heard you had a guest last night."

I explained to him, "Kind of, he was... uh, stopped before I could, um... hand him any chocolate chip cookie dough."

I got a smile with salt-and-pepper goatees surrounding my pearly whites as a result of this, and I made a mental point to quit being a smartass since obviously badasses preferred smartass ladies.

"You didn't call," Finn said after that.

I replied, "Um, no, I didn't call."

He said, "Told you, you get into a problem, you call."

I peered at his sunglasses through my own. He didn't have a biker's temper. He wasn't acting frightful. I wouldn't have to ask since you could see, hear, and feel it when he was there.

Finn went on. "So, I heard you had a problem, but you didn't call, so I figured you're the type of lady that wants the call. So I'm calling."

I took a peek at the cyclists on my yard and at my front door. Then I turned to face Finn.

"I apologize for missing it. Perhaps my phone ran out of power."

"No, darling," he said as he lowered his head to the side, "that's me calling."

I returned my gaze to the bikers, then to Finn. Then it occurred to me that this was how Finn made his call to proclaim his interest and intent to do something about it.

Uh. Wow.

"Oh," I muttered.

At the same moment that I was feeling warm and fuzzy all over, I was thinking that this was not good.

One black van glided up behind another, this one newer, finer, more costly, and extremely glossy. I heard an engine growl and glanced to the side to see a sleek dark gray, new model, kick-freaking-a*s Chevrolet Camaro coming to a stop behind the black van.

Falcone, who was also wearing shades and had aviator spectacles that were even more badass than the Camaro and the Camaro was hot, folded out as the door of the car opened. A group of commandos wearing tight, cargo-pant-style clothing and long-sleeved t-shirts leaped out of the vehicle. Falcone's sunglasses slashed our direction.

Uh-oh.

I was mistaken. This was bad, and I was no longer filled with goodwill.