The Lucky Doberman

Chapter 34: Time To Learn

"What are you in the mood for?" I asked from the kitchen as Marco sat on the couch.
It felt strange to call him Marco. I still had to get used to it. Marco de Luca.

He stood and walked towards the kitchen. He stopped in front of me.

"Can I ask another question?" I began.
He just stared as permission. Like usual.
"If I can call you Marco now...do you wanna call me Zoe?"
"No."
"Oh..."
"I enjoy calling you Lucky." he stated.
I nodded.
"Zoe is still pretty." he assured me.
I smiled softly.
Then I thought of something.
"While you're healing, what will I do? I don't like not doing anything."
"Well you were adamant on takin' care of me even though I don't need it."
"That's not a part of my job description. I'm just being nice."
He sighed.

I watched him go into his pocket. He took out his phone and set it on the counter.
"Answer calls." he stated.
"Is that all?"
"I have nothin' else for you to do."
"Okay."

"Did you bring the notebooks?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"We can work on those if you want."

He looked at the floor.

"Or not..." I fixed.

"Fuck." he sighed. "Fuck!"
"What is it?!"
"I left it."
"It's okay. We can just go back to get it. You have your car."
"No."
"No?"
"The one with the numbers. I left the one with the numbers in the car."
I stood there, confused.
"In the car that was shot up. In the passenger seat."
My eyes widened.

He began pacing as he wiped over his face with one hand while the other rested on his hip.

"Well...we can just drive and get it. Right?" I asked.
"It's a forty five minute drive from here and I don't know if when they cleaned up, they moved the car."
"Cleaned up?"
"When they grabbed Mike. Or-..." he stopped explaining. "I don't know if the car is still there."
"Doesn't hurt to check, right?" I offered.
He turned and looked at me.
"I'll drive." I offered and grabbed my keys and phone.

~~~

We sat in the car and had gotten most of the drive out of the way.

"How's your wound?" I asked.
"Are you gonna ask me that every five minutes?"
"Well...maybe..."
He didn't respond.

To be so attracted to someone who speaks so little as a person who speaks a bit much, is weird. I always feel like I'm talking too much and he doesn't like it. I feel like he prefers silence but...I don't. I don't want to turn on the radio in fear that we have different tastes in music but I felt awkward in this situation.

I just kept my eyes on the road and tried to stay busy with my thoughts.

"You're quiet." he stated.
"Hm?"
"You're quiet. You ain't talkin'. Why?"
"I thought I was annoying you. You seemed like you preferred it quiet."
"I ain't say that."
I didn't respond. Regardless of what he's saying, I'm judging off of his reactions. He doesn't want me to talk.

We were on the street that the shootout happened on.

I drove slower.
I couldn't see a car on the road. Especially not the one we were originally in.

"Where's the car?" I heard him ask.
I looked and saw he was on the phone.
"Mike's car. Where'd you put it? It in the junkyard or what?" he pestered.

"Stop the car." he commanded after hanging up. I did as I was told.

He got out and I followed. I was just scared that what happened before would happen again, I'd feel safer with him than by myself.

We walked down an alleyway. The same one I hid in before.

He turned to the left and we saw the car parked on the side.
Strange place to put it.

He opened the door and got inside.
I felt a bit sick that he was sitting in the spot Mike had just died in. It made me uncomfortable. I turned and looked away.

"Let's go."
I looked at him walking past me and looked at his hands. He held the notebook.
I followed behind again.

When we got back to my car, he opened the back door.

"You want to sit in the back?" I questioned.
"I wanna focus on this for a while. Get in. You get in the front and they can see you better. Get in the back and you can duck and hide." He got inside.
I took a deep breath because it was basically a warning and a reminder of how dangerous this job is. I realized that it was why I was getting paid so high.
I got in the back with him then shut the door.

He opened the book.

"You got a pen that's a different color from this?" he asked.
I reached into the front seat to see. I opened my armrest. There was a pen from when I was filling out job applications but it was the same color as the other writing in the notebook. I grabbed it anyway.
"I don't see one." I stated.
I looked back and saw him staring at my ass.
I tried to pretend like I didn't see and just sat back down.
"I'm sorry." I stated. "All I have is a pen that's the same color." I handed it to him.
"It's fine." He was looking at my eyes now before they went back to the notebook and he took the pen.

I looked down at the notebook but my eyes caught when his hips shifted and I looked between his arms that rested in his lap.
He was...excited.
I ignored it and looked back at the notebook.
He was reading.
Is he not gonna try to do something about that?
He just kept looking and flipping through the pages.

I kept looking between his legs.
Why isn't he trying to handle it? Is he not gonna ask me? It's my fault isn't it?

He began writing on his hand.
Numbers.

1, 30, 7, 8, 15, 23, 34, 56, 11, 48
39, 27, 4, 21, 19, 52, 41, 12, 24, 3
60, 2, 17, 18, 6, 44

It was each number used in the book.

I tried staying focused, but my eyes kept wandering back to his lap.
Why isn't he trying to fix it? Doesn't that bother him?

"Um..." I began.
"What?" he replied.
"You're...hard..."
"I know." He said with eyes still on the book.
Well of course you know.
"You aren't gonna do something about it?"
"Do you want me to step out the car and jerk off or somethin'?"
"I just...I don't know. I expected you to tell me to do it."
"Why?" He looked at me, finally.
"I don't know."
"I'm not goin' to 'tell' you to do anything."
"But didn't I cause it?"
"No."
"No?" Something about that hurt my feelings.
He looked back at the notebook in his hand. "I caused it by lookin' at your ass and remembering how well I painted it last night. You didn't cause shit."
Painted it?
"So...you're not gonna try to get me to handle it?" I questioned.
He sighed and looked at me again. "What's the matter with you?"
"What?"
"Why are you expectin' me to force you to make my dick cum?"
"I just..."
"Did he teach you that?"
"Wha-..."
"That because I got wanderin' eyes, it's your fault my dick got hard?"
I didn't answer and just looked away from him.
"It ain't your job to handle my dick. It's a dick that's attached to my body. I'm not worried about it. You shouldn't be either. It ain't your job. If you wanna assist, fine. I don't give a fuck. But it ain't your job."
He looked back at the notebook.

I just sat there.

Now I felt like he was mad at me for asking.
"I'm sorry..." I stated.
He looked at me like he was confused. "For what?"
I didn't respond.

"For fuck's sake. Come here." My throat was grabbed and I was plunged into a deep kiss.
He pulled me closer and into his lap.
"You wanna handle it? Fine." he stated and lifted my dress.
"But your injury..."
"Won't hurt as bad if you ride me."
Ride him? I don't know how to do that...I've never done that...what does he mean 'ride' him? I can't do that!
"I don't kn-..."
"You'll learn." He put our lips back together.