“That’s not an answer,” I snap, the same line I’ve used on him before. It tastes familiar. Bitter.
Lorenzo’s mouth curves faintly. “It’s the only one you get.”
I exhale sharply. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re very annoying?”
He drags the gauze across his skin, then tapes it down, movements precise. “A few times. But not for long . . .”
I ignore his comment, knowing very well that he’s trying to bait me into a conversation I don’t want to get into right now.
Instead, I continue watching him take care of himself. Something about his movements makes my chest ache.
I don’t want to know this version of him. Knowing will make me vulnerable, and I can’t afford vulnerability.
Lorenzo finishes taping the gauze, then places his sweater back on and straightens it.
For a second, he just stands there, breathing slowly, eyes locked on mine. It’s almost like he’s waiting for me to say something stupid. Which, in all fairness, will probably happen. I keep my mouth shut despite my heart banging against my ribs.
I force a laugh that comes out too thin. “Congratulations. You’re not dying.”
“Disappointed?”
I huff out a bitter laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He takes a step closer, but I don’t move. I hold my ground. It feels like heat rolls off him. My skin pricks at his proximity.
“You look shaken.” His voice is low.
My chin lifts. “You wish.”
His gaze flickers with amusement. “I don’t need to wish. If I want something, I can just take it.”
My breath hitches, and I swear the room feels smaller. Warmer.
“This is . . . ridiculous,” I whisper, backing up half a step.
Lorenzo follows that movement like a predator following his prey. “What is?”
“This.” I gesture vaguely between us, my hand trembling. “Me . . . standing here. Caring. Wondering if you’re hurt. Wondering if this means something.”
His eyes soften, and it scares me more than his wound did.
“It does mean something.”
My throat tightens. “It shouldn’t.”
His hand lifts slowly, like he’s going to touch my cheek.
I freeze.
The distance between his fingertips and my skin feels too close. Is he going to touch me? Do I want him to?
“You still remember?” His voice is low and hoarse.
“Remember what?” My voice cracks.I hate that it does.
His gaze drops to my mouth. “How it feels when we were together.”
I do remember.
