“Coffee.” Luca’s pitiful voice comes down the hall, husky and low. “Hurry.”
“I’m naked—give me a second,” I say, yanking my dresser drawer open and grabbing a neatly folded T-shirt from the stack.
“Don’t care, let me in,” he whines.
I roll my eyes and unlock the door, throwing it open with my head only halfway through the hole of the oversized shirt. Luca yanks it into place for me, then stumbles to the kitchen to fumble around with the coffee pot.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t go see the kids at a more reasonable time,” he grumbles, shaking the bag of coffee beans, then shooting me a dirty glare. “You’re almost out.”
“I’ll add it to the list.” I study Luca as he grinds up the beans, then starts the machine. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. I only mentioned it last night because I thought you might want to.” I open the fridge to grab the bottle of creamer. From the weight of it, I’ll need to add that to my grocery list as well.
“Acting like a mistreated mother hen is an interesting choice when you’re not wearing a scrap of underwear,” Luca says.
I level him with my most serious scowl. “You can’t tell if I’m wearing underwear or not.”
“Trust me, I can.” Luca inhales, his eyes flashing. “Must have been a good morning.” With horror, I remember my dream orgasm and bite my lip. The way I see it, I have two options: be embarrassed or attack. It’s an easy choice.
“Hey,” I snap. “A girl is entitled to as many wet dreams as she wants.”
Luca blinks at me. “I never said she wasn’t.”
“And you’re in my apartment, where I can wear as much or as little as I please.”
“Again,” Luca sighs. “I don’t care about nudity.”
“It’s rude to draw attention to a perfectly natural, healthy bodily function,” I insist, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I didn’t...” Luca groans, then rakes his hand over his face, muttering something under his breath. The coffee pot beeps, and he looks at it like a life preserver he swam six miles through shark-infested waters to reach. He pours himself a cup and takes a massive gulp of the scorching liquid before inhaling deeply.
I tap my foot impatiently.
“Celine,” he begins. “Let me be clear about something. You can be as naked and as horny as you want to be, whenever and wherever you want. If you feel like rubbing one out in front of the MGM Grand, I’ll distract the cops until you’re done. But if you don’t want me to know your pussy is dripping wet, maybe wear pants next time. Can you pass me the creamer, please?”
I try to hold on to my irritation, but I can’t. From Luca’s stubble-covered chin and his rumpled hair to the frustrated grimace on his handsome face, the whole situation is hilarious. A giggle escapes my mouth.
I hand him the creamer, and he dumps it into his mug with a shake of his head and another ragged breath. “Must have been one hell of a dream.”
“Luca!” I bat him with my hand, and he grins.
“I can’t tease you about it? What if I promise to let you make fun of me if I pop a boner?”
I blink at him as my brain provides a detailed rendering of what that might look like, then raise my eyebrows. “Please,” I scoff. “You’re trying to tell me that there’s any context in which you would be okay with me laughing at your dick?”
He holds his hands up. “Woah, woah, woah—I said make fun of me, not it.”
“What if it’s funny, though?”
“It isn’t.”
“I mean, we can’t be sure,” I tease. “I might find it hilarious.”
“Celine,” Luca rasps. “If you ever see my dick, I promise you won’t be laughing.”
I want to give him shit, because that line is too cocky—literally. But the half-lidded heat in his eyes... Shit, there’s something unbearably hot about the grumbly intensity he’s throwing my way. And he’s right. It’s not funny at all.
I leave the kitchen to get dressed, breaking the tensionbetween us in the process while yelling at myself silently about how to behave.
Fifteen minutes later, I grab my keys from the table by the door. Luca doesn’t try to argue. He pulls my spare helmet off the hook and follows me outside, settling his hands confidently on my hips as he climbs on my bike behind me. My skin hums beneath his fingers, even through my clothes.
