He was proving that he wasn’t the same man I rolled my eyes at across the paddock garages. He wasn’t just the fast-talking charmer behind the wheel. He was complicated and messy and unexpectedly gentle.
God help me, I think that might have beenworse. Because I could handle the version of Matteo who flirted just to get under my skin. I had armor for him. Sarcasm. Sharp edges. But this version? I was not prepared for it.
“Matteo,” I said quietly, not even sure what I’m going to follow it with.
But he cut in first, voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
He was smiling then. “And you’re also the one I think about when I can’t sleep. Which, for the record, is extremely inconvenient.”
My lips parted. I tried to form words. But they scattered like birds in a storm.
I swallowed, eyes darting down to Gianna, like she was some kind of anchor.
“She’s asleep,” he said, noticing. “You can say whatever you want.”
But I couldn’t.
I didn’t know how.
Because part of me wanted to tell him not to look at me like that.
And the other part—the dangerous part—wanted to saylook at me more.
So instead, I did the one thing I could manage.
I rested my head on the back of the couch, just slightly closer to him now, and whispered, “It’s becoming rather difficult to find reasons why I should hate you when you’re over here sharing things like this.”
He laughed softly—and just for a second, we existed in that delicate balance between something almost and something real. Gianna shifted in his arms, letting out a tiny sigh, and the spell broke.
“I’ll put her to bed,” he said, getting up and scooping her into his arms. She snuggled in closer to him. My heart squeezed in response.
When he came back, he shut the door to the bedroom where Gianna’s crib was and plopped down on the couch and smirked at the ceiling.
“You wore red again.”
I rolled my eyes, and a reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. “If I knew you were going to turn that into a thing…”
“It is a thing,” he said, grinning. “You wore my team colors.”
I tossed a pillow at him. He dodged it with obnoxious ease. “It’smyteam, actually. Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late.” His laughter filled the room like sunlight through curtains, and I hated how good it felt. How easy it was. How right. I reached for one last fry, but he’d already taken it.
“Asshole,” I muttered.
He stretched, grabbing the empty takeout bags and headed toward the door. But just before he reached it, he paused.
Turned back.
And smirked.
“Give me your phone.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He wiggled his fingers. “Phone. You know, the small computer you are practically physically attached to?”
