It’s dangerous to get to know this man. Fucking him is one thing; being interested in him is another.
He hands me a plate of food and some chopsticks, then takes his own and leans back to focus on the television. It’s peculiar, but I settle back into my nest of blankets and begin to eat. I can’t really taste it, but my stomach settles, happily satisfied by its warmth.
We fall into a comfortable silence, watching the show together. Once I’ve finished my food, he takes my plate to the sink, immediately washes the dishes, and packs the leftovers in the fridge. It’s strange. I don’t know Dante well, but I feel like this domestic version of him is laughable.
When he comes back, he starts pulling at the edge of my blankets.
I grab them tightly. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Don’t be so selfish; share the blanket. I’m cold too.”
“Then put a shirt on,” I bite back.
“Pfft. I bet you’re wearing nothing but those tight little pants and a crop top.”
True. He finally pries the edge of the blanket from me and then slides under it with me. “Come here. I’m warmer than these blankets.”
My eyebrows arch in surprise. “You want to… cuddle?”
He frowns. “Don’t make it sound weird. Body heat is good for you. Doctor's orders.”
I give a half-hearted complaint but find myself drawn to his warmth as he pulls me in, my back against his chest. “I bet you’re not even a real doctor,” I say under my breath.
He chuckles, the rumble of laughter feeling like some kind of reward. I reprimand him and try to push him away. He finds it amusing. It’s as if it’s turned into a twisted little game. “You’re the first woman who's taken this much convincing of anything. Especially cuddles.”
“Don’t start getting any wild ideas. You’re just convenient to pay the bills and to fuck. That’s all.”
His chest rumbles beneath me again as he laughs. “That sounds very relationship-y to me,Cattivella.” My body immediately goes rigid at the foreign word.
I bite my bottom lip, internally fighting myself because I don’t want to play into his game, but I grow curious about the nickname.
“What does that word mean?” I find myself asking, but continue to stare at the television. I can feel his gaze on me, but I refuse to look up, knowing more than likely he thinks he’s won.
“It means troublemaker.”
Troublemaker.
I try to jerk out of his grasp, but he pulls me in tighter. My heart pounds as an overwhelming sense of urgency to break free takes over.Troublemaker.It’s what my father used to call me.
“Don’t worry, Romi. I’m not trying to woo you. If I were, you’d know it.”
I freeze when he says my name. It’s strange hearing it fall from his lips. But I quickly save face. “Pfft. I doubt you’ve ever even had a relationship.”
I will my pounding heart to slow, the fatigue of being sick happily taking over. It’s just a coincidence. He doesn’t know that’s what my father called me. Hell, he doesn’t know anything about me.
“I could say the same about you,” he’s quick to bite back. I fall into the bickering as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, my heart easing once again.
Cattivella.He most likely means it as an insult, but when he holds me like this as we cuddle and watch TV… it feels endearing. But I can’t let him know how much it unnerves me, or he’ll only use it more often to provoke me.
“I’ve had tons of relationships,” I correct him. None lasting any more than a few months, but… semantics.
I hate to admit it, but the asshole was right; he is warmer than the blankets.
His body jolts beneath me as he sneezes, and I look up, wide-eyed, and then smirk as I lean over to get him a tissue. “Looks like I’m not the only one who caught a cold.”
He doesn’t say anything as he takes the tissue and pulls me tightly back in, and his palm begins to stroke up and down my arm.
I’d usually fight off the touch, hyperaware of anything that feels too intimate. But I’ll allow it tonight, despite my better judgment, because it feels nice while I'm feeling so defeated and exhausted.
