Because the truth was,he fit here better than I did, and I had no idea what to do with that.
When we got home, he mentioned something about taking a shower and heading to bed, which I took as my cue to stay put in the kitchen. I mean, the idea of being in the same room with Marco while he undressed ... Nope. Too risky. Too tempting. Too much.
I tried—and totally failed—not to imagine him down the hall, water running, shirt off, steam filling the room. I shook my head, forcing myself to snap out of it.
Privacy, Valentina. Give the poor man his privacy.
I stayed in the kitchen, standing there for a few minutes like a complete idiot, until I remembered the ice cream. Perfect distraction. Ice cream would help. Ice cream was safe. Ice cream didn’t have bright blue eyes that saw right through me.
I opened the freezer, pulled out the tub, and spooned way too much into a bowl. Did I need four scoops? Probably not. Was I going to eat all of it anyway to distract myself from Marco and the running water just down the hall?
Absolutely.
Eventually, Marco stepped out into the room looking stupidly attractive in his stupid sweatpants and stupid black shirt.
Who would’ve thought the man owned something other than a suit?
His hair was damp, that slight scruff on his jawline more noticeable than usual, and I needed to stop noticing these things right now. Immediately.
I cleared my throat and opened the freezer, grabbing two tubs of ice cream and holding them up. I was willing to share.
“Want some ice cream?”
He tilted his head, giving me one of those amused looks. “You bought ice cream? When?”
“A few days ago. Some people prefer their kitchens to contain actual food.”
He moved closer, leaning against the counter. “What else did you buy?”
“Essentials,” I said vaguely, pulling another bowl from the cabinet. “You know, ice cream, cereal, probably things you don’t approve of.”
He smiled a little. “Ice cream is an essential?”
“Obviously.” I held up the two tubs. “Chocolate or vanilla?”
He paused for maybe half a second. “Chocolate.”
Interesting choice. I glanced up at him, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Didn’t really peg you as the chocolate type.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No? Why’s that?”
“Because,” I said, scooping out the ice cream and definitely not looking him in the eye, “you seem ... vanilla.”
“You think I’m vanilla?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging as if it were no big deal, even though my pulse was definitely racing now. “Are you? I’m still evaluating.”
He didn’t answer right away, which of course made it worse. He just stood there looking at me with that annoyingly intense stare of his, dragging it out long enough for my imagination to spiral into places it really shouldn’t.
“I can be.”
Oh?
Marco never said things like that. He’d never casually admit he had other sides to him—especially when I’d already convinced myself he was completely unavailable and off-limits. But that single little comment was enough to send my thoughts racing, imagining exactly what he meant by “can be.” Because if Marco wasn’t entirely vanilla—if he could switch gears and be something else, something more—I was officially screwed.
And judging by the look on his face, he knew exactly what he’d just done to me.Asshole.
“So there’s a kinky version of you hidden under all that seriousness?”
