“And I’m sorry about whatever happened today with Edward.”
She looks straight at me. Narrows her eyes as if she’s assessing my sincerity. I imagine her pulling a cord that opens a trapdoor beneath me as she yellsliardown into the hole.
“Are you sorry—about Ethan?”
She steps forward, her tone suddenly curious. The way she says his name is like she’s cursing. Her body language shifts—her puffed-up anger relaxes into something warmer—more languid. I should step away, but the way she moves—tilts her head to the side,teeth tugging at her bottom lip—has me frozen where I stand. My gaze slides to her mouth, then down her chin, past the constellation of freckles and along her neck. My fists clench and unclench at my side as I imagine how soft she’d feel. The chorus of “O Fortuna” breaks through the sudden thickness around us, and she jumps back as I pull my phone from my pocket, still watching her.
I tear my gaze away from her and look at my screen. It’s Tommaso, the owner of Il Pinguino, a college bar in the center of town. I run my hand along my jaw, trying to find a positive explanation for this call. An explanation that doesn’t end in a headache for me.
There is none.
I accept the call, tapping the speaker button.
“Pronto,” I say.
The noise from the bar seeps into the quiet of the night like we’ve opened a bag of pissed-off hornets. The bass is bumping and the sound of laughter and yelling makes Ava put her fingers to her temples. I feel her pain.
“Gi, ho bisogno di te,” Tommaso yells over the din. “Gli Americani …”
His voice gets swallowed by shouting.
“Va bene. Sto arrivando,” I say, already making my way back toward town.
Ava’s footsteps crunch behind me. I turn and look down at her.
“Go to bed,” I say. “You don’t need to deal with this.”
She lifts a brow. “Yeah, I do. I’m your assistant. I’m literally supposed to assist you.”
“In the classroom, Ava. We aren’t Batman and Robin,” I say.
She lets out a laugh, and it’s ridiculous how much the sound pleases me. I walk away faster, but she just hurries after me.
“I think I’d rather be Catwoman—the Anne Hathaway one.”
“I don’t have time for this. What if it’s a fight? I don’t want you to get hurt,” I say.
She waves me off like I’m an overprotective dad. Or a horsefly.
“I do kickboxing and tai—”
“Ava!”
I stop and she steps forward and clenches her jaw, her eyes wide and chin up, as she pokes a finger into my sternum harder than necessary.
“I’m coming, James. You think I can’t handle a little Italian scuffle. I’m from Philly for fuck’s sake.” Her eyes drop to where her finger is pressed against me and she lets out a long breath, then adds quietly, “Besides, I need a distraction.”
She shakes her head like she’s physically trying to remove something from inside and then looks back up at me. I let out a long measured breath and turn back toward town, calling over my shoulder, “Fine. Let’s go, Robin.”
I don’t bother to look back and watch her eyes crinkle in the corners when she giggles behind me. And when she starts singing theBatmantheme song, I just keep my focus forward—away from her—where it needs to be.
DICIOTTO
Ava
The moment we step through the port-of-sally-whatever, I can hear the low bellowing bass. I can feel it shaking the inside of my head and vibrating over my skin. James leads us up a shadowy alley with strong Jack the Ripper vibes that would normally terrify me, but with his broad shoulders blocking my view and his quick steps forcing me to hustle, I don’t have time to even look around and acknowledge the haunting surroundings.
“When we get there, I want you to let me handle it,” he says.
