Blind Loyalty with the Enforcer

Chapter 7: Gravity

Pauly's POV.

“I don't know if it's the fact that it's the only option, or if it's the chips themselves but these are amazing," Eleanor practically moans. It catches my attention as she continues to devour the second bag of sour cream and onion chips.

The only option we had was the well-stocked vending machine or the mysterious grey hot dogs at the gas station across the street. Weighing between the very likely possibility of food poisoning or junk food, we scavenged from the vending machine.

It wasn't the most romantic of dinners. Definitely not how I had envisioned my first night alone with Eleanor Hart. Eating mini bags of over-seasoned potato chips, along with a variety of other items that we had scavenged from the vending machine. Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest or even the most romantic of dinners. But I found myself finding it absolutely perfect.

My mind had been grasping for how I had responded to her in the car. But instead of finding myself pulling away from wanting to pursue her, I found myself having to hide the very evident signs of attraction. I didn't know if it made me an incredibly sick man that I liked the idea that no man had ever touched her. That there was a possibility that I could be the first.

When the hotel manager informed me of there only being one room, one bed, I selfishly felt like I had won some sort of lottery. With one bed. Silently my mind relished the idea of sharing a bed with her. Quickly to be drowned out by the more sensible voice. The voice that echoed her experience with men was one where she was never given choices. I stood outside of that bathroom, completely prepared for her very valid response of refusal.

My soul soared in victory, although completely stunned by her response. Until the reality that there would absolutely no bullshitting my attraction to her when we were alone in this room set in.

“Are you okay? You haven't touched your pile much," Eleanor asks around a mouthful of chips.

“I was eating sparingly… At the rate you're going, I was preparing myself for you to eat through yours and mine," I easily reply, loving the way her blue eyes sparkle at my joke.

“You're different out here than you were in Chicago," Eleanor replies, sorting through her quickly-thinning pile of junk food.

“How so?" I ask, genuinely confused.

“I don't know." Eleanor starts leaning back, stretching her legs out in front of her on the bed. I try to keep my eyes locked on her eyes instead of trailing them up her tempting body. “You seem more like yourself. Which sounds completely stupid for me to say, seeing in how I only know one version of you. But you seem… comfortable. Like somehow in Chicago, you were always anxious for the other shoe to drop—"

“How do you do that?" I ask her.

“Do what?" She quietly responds.

“See through me like I'm glass."

“I'm sorry." She says as she sits up straighter. “It's kind of this bad habit of mine—"

“No." I stop her short. “No. Don't apologize. I like it. I like that through all of the bullshit, you see me for me."

“Paul—"

The shrill sound of my phone followed by the obnoxious sound of the vibration interrupt what was going to come out of her mouth next. I mutter an apology, leaning across the bed to grab my phone. A familiar number flashes on the screen.

“s**t. I'm sorry I've been waiting for this phone call," I apologize once more before climbing off of the bed and rushing out of the hotel room.

“Took you long enough to answer," a voice from my past says as I click receive the phone call.

“I was a little preoccupied."

“Hey now, you contacted me. You better be thankful I called your ass back with the way you left town." Mo's accent is thick.

The full-blooded Polish man was raised in a household that only spoke the language of their home country though they were all born and raised in the States. Leaning into the culture of their heritage. Unlike my mother, who wasn't Polish at all.

“Don't go there Mo. You know I didn't have much of a choice. If I did, I would have come back as I had planned." My anger had been completely stoked with his not-so-gentle prod.

“Yeah, man. I know. I know. I'm just giving you s**t. Didn't mean to scrape against your nerves."

“Did you get a chance to look over the files I sent you last night?" I ask, completely ignoring his apology of sorts.

“Boy did I," Mo laughs. “You sure do know how to make an entrance, Pauly."

“Seems like I'm a glutton for punishment," I mumble.

“What was that?"

“Nothing. Was that enough intel for us to be able to formally invite ourselves into the syndicate circle?" I stumble through my question, fully aware of how new I am at being the Enforcer of the Russo family.

“I don't think there would be ever enough intel in this line of work. s**t, Pauly. How did you end up wrapped up in all of this in the first place?" Mo asks. The role he was playing earlier dropped and the man I had known since I was a kid finally surfaced.

“It's a story for another time. I have someone waiting for me," I explain.

“A woman?" Mo teases.

“Even if it was, I wouldn't tell you," I quickly reply.

“Scared I'd steal her." It wasn't a question. Mo had confidence most men were envious of.

“Totally," I laugh, the sound of it foreign to my ears.

“Regardless of the reason for your return, Pauly, I'm happy that it's bringing you home. We… We've all missed you." Mo's words twist my insides till they ache.

“Have you seen her, Mo?" I can't help my curiosity; there have been so many times I've hoped that someone from my past—someone I've trusted—would have looked in on my family. I knew if it were to be anyone, it would have been Mo.

“In the beginning, I'd see her around town with your mom. I introduced myself. Or, I should say reintroduced myself to her. I had forgotten we had met before at your birthday. The year before your fight in Chicago."

“When was this?" I ask him, finding myself desperate for any information on my sister.

“It was a few months after you didn't return. Your mother had her waiting outside of some bar downtown. I sat with her. She didn't talk much. But when does anyone get to talk much around me?" Mo laughs. “She's a good kid, Pauly."

“Thanks, Mo. I sent you Ren's number. If you need any other intel, call him. He'll send you over everything he has. I'll call you when I get into town," I say, completely deflated.

“Drive safe, Pauly," Mo says as the phone clicks off.

I take a deep breath, gathering myself before I head back into the hotel. I did not want to carry this dark cloud back into the space where I was for once starting to feel like myself again. I couldn't fix what had happened in the past.

I couldn't predict how Cheska would feel about my return. All I could do was hope that Eleanor's words were true. That kids were resilient, and that she would be understanding. Shedding the overwhelming pressure on my shoulders, I exhale, walking back into the hotel room.

My eyes struggle to adjust to the stark contrast in front of me. Eleanor's no longer sitting on the bed surrounded by junk food wearing the same clothes she wore on the road.

But instead, she's sitting cross-legged on the bed wearing soft pink pajama pants with a matching thin-strap top. Her blonde hair is piled on her hair in an adorably messy bun, her face clean of any makeup she was wearing before. She rewards me with a shy smile.

“Hey," she says quietly.

“Hi." I swallow thickly.

“Everything okay?" she asks as I kick my shoes off, avoiding the temptation on the bed. I head straight to my bag at the bathroom sink.

“Just a friend back home who's helping me with something," I say, chucking off my shirt and quickly putting on a new one. I decided against removing any other clothing. Digging into my bag for my toothbrush, I make quick work of the task at hand.

“I was thinking. You know a lot about me. Embarrassing as that is. I mean you know a lot about my dating life. But I realized I don't know a lot about you," she calls out clearly from the bed.

I spit in the sink catching my reflection in my mirror. I note the bright flush of my ears and instantly hate my pale skin that gives away any and all emotion.

“What do you want to know?" I turn around, leaning against the sink, facing her in the small room.

“When was the last time you were kissed?" Her bold blunt question causes my heart to race, and the blood in my veins to race to a certain part of my body.

“When was the last time you were kissed?" I ask her, closing the short distance between the sink and the bed.

With a boldness unlike her. Eleanor raises to her knees, her hands capturing my face. Before my mind can catch up with what is exactly happening, her mouth descends on mine.

Nothing has ever felt more perfect, more electric than this. Losing some of her boldness Eleanor pulls back.

She searches my face, doubt starts sinking in. I chase it away by recapturing her mouth, pouring every ounce of my attraction into the kiss.

I tease her bottom lip with my tongue, begging for entry. I feel triumphant when she allows me access. Gently dancing together our frantic kiss starts to slowly grow more desperate.

“Eleanor," I quietly speak between breaths. “Eleanor. I don't want our first time to be on some questionable stained comforter."

Eleanor pulls back looking at me. Her lips were swollen red. Pride swells inside of me knowing that I did that to her. Her pupils are blown with lust.

“Can we at least keep doing this?" she asks, her eyes dipping down to my lips.

“Yeah. Hell yeah."