eyes finding mine, an apology in them.
Elle scoffs. “You always do that—slip into Italian as if you’re hiding something.” She rakes her fingers through her hair, staring him down. “Next time I define the relationship, I’ll say it in both fuckin’ languages so there’s no confusion.”
I lift a hand. “Hi, hello,” I say, because I’m the idiot still standing here, and I think they might’ve forgotten. “So, solid argument, really—did your research, very convincing. But...” The word hangs long enough for me to reconsider getting involved. I don't, reconsider that is. “Girlfriend doesn't equalexclusive. Just wanted to, y'know, throw that out there. Sofidanzata? Sure. But property? Eh, no contract.”
Andrew stops, stares at me, then smiles.
Yeah. That’s right. I know some Italian.
I also knoweat. Andeat me. Andfuck off.
Y'know, covering all the essentials.
“Not that I give a fuck,” I add fast?—
“I got no skin in this game..."
They’re both staring at me now.
I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.
I step back.
Once.
Twice.
“Aight.
“Just gonna moonwalk outta here while you two figure your shit out.”
Then his hand shoots out,
fingers hovering my arm,
his body moving before his brain could stop it.
He’s not touching me, but he’s so close
I can feel the heat off his skin.
And I freeze.
So does he.
Me, because I wasn’t expecting it.
Him, because he wasn’t expecting himself to do it.
His eyes lift fast.
In them, lust and longing are singing backup.
“Allison’s eating with us,” he says suddenly.
Then he turns to Elle, filling her in.
“She’s eating with us.”
