“No,” he admitted. “You’re careless. Always expecting someone to pick up after you.”
“But I never asked you to.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, desperately trying to keep my smile at bay.
“No, but you have a real habit of putting yourself in situations where you need to be saved.”
“Do I?”
Marco didn’t answer, which felt pretty typical for him.
He’d been around a lot more lately, always showing up when things went sideways, silently judging me from across the room, appearing right when I’d started to think I was managing to survive on my own. The fact I’d noticed his pattern at all probably said more about me than it did about him. Because Marco wasn’t exactly a knight in shining armor. More like a Grim Reaper in an overpriced suit, ready to collect when I inevitably screwed up again.
And yet he hadn’t. Not really. He’d rescued me—from Max, from that horrible event with the Clarkes—but he’d done so begrudgingly. If he hated cleaning up after me so much, why was he always the one to do it?
Was it his job, or was it me?
Maybe I was reading too far into it. Maybe I just liked the idea that someone—anyone—cared enough to keep me from falling apart completely, even if they seemed perpetually pissed about it.
Eventually, he pulled into my street and parked along the curb. “Well, thanks for the ride,mijo.”
“Marco,” he corrected angrily.
I slumped my shoulders. “Thanks for the ride,Marco.”
His jaw tightened at the thank you as if he’d never heard it before. Probably hadn’t—at least not from me. Gratitude wasn’t exactly my strong suit.
“Hopefully next time, you won’t need one,” he gritted.
“Yeah,” I said softly, finally reaching for the door. “I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Great,” he mouthed.
Was he this tense with everyone, or did I bring it out in him? God, I hoped it was the latter. At least then I wouldn’t be alone in whatever ridiculous tension was happening here.
Maybe he needed to get laid.
Hell, maybeIneeded to get laid.
It’d been ... Jesus, how long had it been? Longer than I cared to admit. Not since Sebastian, and God knows, that wasn’t exactly quality material. It was always rushed and messy and tangled up in way too much trouble to be worth it. Fun, sure. But trouble nonetheless.
Marco though ... That was different. He wasn’t messy. He was the opposite: structured, organized,annoyinglydisciplined. Like those people who wake up at 5:00 a.m. just because they enjoy it, or drink green smoothies without being forced at gunpoint like Sasha.
And he was attractive. Stupidly attractive. Even when he was frowning at me like he wanted to strangle me—which, if I’m honest, was about 80 percent of the time. Especially lately. Especially tonight.
“Maybe next time, you shouldn’t offer one,” I said as I opened the car door.
By the time I’d stepped out, Marco was already by my side, following me up the steps of my building.
“Then stop being a problem for me. The men. The drinking. The constant need for negative attention instead of just doing what you’re told.” His voice was quiet. It sent a thrill up my spine. “You could’ve walked away from that table, Valentina. But you had to put on a show.”
“If you think Max’s little FBI project is the man for me, you’re dumber than I thought.”
“I don’t give a fuck who you end up with.”
“Is that right?” I asked as I reached the door and unlocked it.
Marco followed me inside.
