Soulless Devil (Sons of Valentino #3)(7)

“Dad, stop. Whatever crime statistics you’re going to use to try to scare me into coming home, I don’t want to hear them.”

“Livvy, this is serious. You need to be careful. Where are you right now?”

“I’m walking back to my dorm room,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.

“From where?”

“From the library. It’s literally a five-minute walk, Dad. I’m fine. How are Mom and Skylah?” Asking about my mom and little sister usually gets him off my case.

“They’re good, safe here in Covington,” he groans.

“Dad, I promise, if I thought I wasn’t safe, I would run right home.”

“Okay, maybe I can come out to New York and visit for a while.”

“And where would you stay? In my dorm room? I don’t think my roommate would appreciate it, Dad.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He sighs.

“I love you, Dad. I gotta go. I’m about to enter the elevator and the signal cuts out.” I press the button on the panel. I’m forgoing the stairs tonight.

“Okay, sweetie. Your mom says hi and sends her love.”

“Right back at ya. Bye, Dad.” I hang up without waiting for his reply. I love my parents but, god, they can be overbearing at times. Okay, most times. They’re suffocatingly loving. Which I know isn’t a bad thing. It’s just that I’m not a child anymore. I’m not sure they’re ever going to accept that fact.

“You’re early,” Sandra says as I walk through the door.

“I am.” I smile.

“Good, I’m hungry. Dump your bags. We’re going out to eat. My treat.” She stands and looks me up and down. “Right after you change.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask. I actually made extra effort today. I put on a nicer skirt and blouse and even flat-ironed my hair.

“Nothing, when you’re sitting in the library.” Sandra walks over to her wardrobe. “Here, wear this.” She tosses a black dress my way.

“I can’t wear your clothes. I’m fine in what I’m wearing,” I tell her.

“You can and you will. Please… for me?” she asks, with a pout and while batting her eyelashes.

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” I sigh, holding out the tiny black dress.

“Nope, besides, I’ve been dying to go out with you.”

“When you say out, what exactly do you mean?” I ask.

“Dinner, and maybe some drinks,” she says.

“I’m not twenty-one. I can’t drink,” I remind her. Neither is she, but that doesn’t ever stop her.

“Rules are made to be broken, babycakes.” She winks at me.

“Rules are set to make us safe,” I fire back. I have no intention of drinking tonight. I will, however, go to eat, because I’m starving and my package of chicken-flavored ramen isn’t looking that attractive right now.

“Okay, whatever. You don’t have to drink. But we are dancing.”

“I can’t dance,” I tell her.

Sandra shakes her head at me and points to the bathroom door. “Stop stalling and go change.”

Following her directions, I head into the bathroom and jump in the shower quickly. I avoid getting my hair wet, because I don’t have time to dry it. Also, I spent an hour in here with the flat iron this morning. I’m not wasting that by getting my hair wet again.

It isn’t long before I’m walking out of the bathroom while pulling at the hem of the dress. Sandra and I might be the same size, but her style is vastly different from mine. Where I’m all conservative and like to keep things covered, she’s more the if you’ve got it, flaunt it type. Which I adore. For her. Not for me. All I want to do is add a few more inches of fabric to the bottom.

“I knew that dress would look better on you. Here.” Sandra reaches up and pulls the tie out of my hair. The strands fall down over my shoulders. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

I slide my feet into a pair of black ballet flats, and then let Sandra pull me out the door. “Wait, I forgot a coat,” I tell her, tugging on my arm that’s still in her grasp.

“You won’t need one. It’s not even cold out.”

“It might get cold,” I argue.

“It won’t. Come on, we’re going to be late. I got us a reservation.”

“Okay, but if I catch a cold, you’re nursing me back to health.”

“Deal.”





Fifteen minutes later, I’m following Sandra through a swanky, packed restaurant. “It’s Tuesday night. Why are so many people here on a weekday?” I ask. Back in Covington, everyone only ever went out on Fridays and Saturdays.

“It’s always busy here. That’s how you know the food is to die for.” Sandra smirks.

“Here you go, Miss Frendato.” The waitress who led us to our table gestures towards our seats.

Just looking around has me feeling anxious. This isn’t the kind of place I could ever afford and I’m feeling awfully guilty that I’m going to let my friend pay for me.

“It’s fine. Trust me. Relax, Livvy.” Sandra grips my hand from across the table.