He shook his head. “I guess it’s going to take me a minute to let my brain catch up with the fact that you are no longer my therapist, and we’re actually on a date.”
Her eyes flickered, something deeper flashing there before she masked it with a smirk. “Careful, Rocco. You’re starting to sound like you’ve been thinking about me, overanalyzing everything.” He didn’t answer right away because he wasn’t sure what to say, exactly. His go-to move was to joke around, but he didn’t feel it was fitting for the circumstances. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice.
“I have been overthinking everything about tonight, if I’m being honest,” he admitted. That wiped the smirk right off her face.
The waitress came over to their table, breaking the moment, and they ordered. He barely registered what he picked, because he was too focused on the way Luna kept glancing at him like she was trying to figure him out all over again—like she didn’t already know too much.
“That’s weird,” she said after the waitress left.
“What is?” he asked.
“Not knowing everything about you. I usually have the luxury of you telling me exactly how you’re feeling about things. But tonight, you’re not giving me much to go on,” she said.
He scoffed. “You don’t know everything about me.” That was pretty much a lie. She knew more than most people knew about him.
She tilted her head. “I know more than most people do about you, Rocco.”
“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “You do.” Silence stretched between them for a second.
“Does that bother you?” she asked. He thought about it—really thought about it.
Then he shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?” she questioned.
“Because you still showed up, so I can’t be all that bad, right?” he asked. Her breath caught again, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I did show up, and you’re right, you’re not that bad.” Their food came, but neither of them ate much. They talked instead about stupid things at first. She told himabout her older brothers, and he told her about his friends at the gym.
But their conversation didn’t stay surface-level for long. It couldn’t, really, not with Luna already knowing him so well. “You don’t drink anymore,” she said at one point, watching him.
“No,” he breathed.
“Did you stop because of therapy?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Partly,” he admitted. He knew that not giving her the truth wouldn’t end well. Luna could tell when he wasn’t being completely honest with her.
“And the rest of the reason why you stopped?” she asked.
He met her eyes. “You.” That truth seemed to shake her a little, and he liked that he could still do that.
“You make me want to be better,” he added, quieter now. “Drinking took away my clarity, and I didn’t want to be that person anymore.”
Luna looked down at her hands for a second, then back up at him. “That’s a lot to put on someone.”
“I’m not putting it on you,” he said. “That’s on me. You just helped me see it.”
She swallowed, nodding slowly. “Good,” she said softly. “Because I don’t want to be your crutch, Rocco.”
He leaned forward again, his voice firm. “You’re not.”
Her foot slid up his leg under the table—slow and intentional. He could tell that she was testing him to see what he’d do next.
His breath went tight, his hand clenching on the edge of the table. “Luna,” he warned.
She smiled that same dangerous smile. “What?” she asked innocently. “I’m just seeing if you can handle me outside of a boxing ring.”
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea what I can handle.” Her breath caught again. And this time—neither of them looked away.
