He frowns, his eyebrows pulling low. His jawline tightens and those lips I want to nibble on press together. He releases his lips with a pop. “And what’s that?”
I move to slide off him, but his hand tightens on my thigh, holding me in place.
“This wasn’t a mistake. Don’t apologize to me for crossing a line or worry about Alejandro or tell me it won’t happen again?—”
“I would never say something so fucking stupid,” he bites out, cutting me off.
“I—what?” I question, surprised by the anger in his tone. Luca is always…steady. Not necessarily calm but mostly predictable.
“I don’t make mistakes when it comes to women.” His voice is low. “I know exactly what I’m doing and there’s not a chance in hell I could kiss you, taste you, and then pretend I won’t do everything in my power to ensure it happens again. And again.”
“Oh,” I say. “Seriously?”
A small smirk tips the corners of Luca’s mouth. “Really.”
I bite my bottom lip, uncharacteristically shy. Because this is new territory for me. Usually, I call the shots. I keep things lighthearted. Mostly physical with a small sampling of emotional investment.
But with Luca…well, I’ve desired him for so long, there’s no chance of keeping my feelings out of whatever transpires between us.
“But…” Luca continues, passing me my shirt. “I do think we should end this here tonight.”
“You don’t want to see my bedroom?” I muse, half teasing, half not.
He laughs and shakes his head. “You know I do. But not tonight, cucciola. Tonight, you need to rest.”
I sigh, trying to tug my shirt back on. “Argh,” I cry when my elbow slams into my ribs.
“Here,” he says, sliding me off his lap and taking my shirt back. He settles me beside him and slips the shirt over my head. Then, he gently guides my hands through the arm holes, carefully minding my ribs. “You okay?”
I nod, brushing my hair out of my eyes, and remember that he came here to talk. “So, I know we got sidetracked…”
Luca quirks an eyebrow.
“What did you want to talk about?”
He waves a dismissive hand. “That can wait.”
“I’m curious.”
“Are you sure you’re not too tired?”
“Tell me.”
“Alright,” he agrees. “I came by to ask for your help. I need a favor.”
He pauses, gauging my reaction to this, and I twirl my finger, encouraging him to continue.
“You know my camp in Tuscany?”
“Yes…”
“I started it years ago. It was a dream of my father’s. We were supposed to run it together one day. After he passed, I tucked it away but never forgot about it. When I signed my first big contract, I bought some of the land that bordered my parents’ property in their hometown in Tuscany. Over the years, I made additions. I purchased and renovated a farmhouse, made connections with a nearby agritourism hotel, incorporated as a business. Little by little the camp came into existence. I’ve been running it for nine summers now, for the last two weeks of June.”
“Alejandro told me about it.”
“He was one of our guest coaches three summers ago. The boys were ecstatic.” Luca grins. “We’re a small, community-heavy organization. But we have solid retention, nearly eighty percent. About twelve percent of our boys get call-ups to regional or national youth teams. Nearly a quarter of the older boys go on to play for academy teams. And it’s fun. The past few years, we’ve been able to offer more scholarships. A lot of players I know pass through to help out. It’s…it’s special.”
“Sounds it,” I murmur, knowing exactly the kind of camaraderie and sense of belonging camps like that foster. I’ve attended a few while I was growing up, but when I joined my university team, I really felt like I belonged to a family.
