She shook her head. “You have—You’re so annoying sometimes, but I’ll let it slide because you can be weird, but maybe next time, don’t respond to me like you are trying to send an email to the mayor of Milan.”
“I have never emailed the mayor of Milan; I have people who do that for me.”
She glared. “Elio.”
“I do not—” I breathed. “I do not know how to text like you want me to. If you want to teach me, then I will gladly learn as long as it pleases you.”
“Oh, how kind.”
“I am kind to you, even though you just tried to kill me, which is a clear message that you have no trust in me, which is wise. I must commend you, but you should appreciate me more. There are lots of terrible ways I could have reacted to subdue you.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have hovered.”
I shifted a bit but stilled a wince. The muscles in my stomach ached from the impact of her knees slamming into my torso.
She noticed my discomfort because now there was a frown on her face. “You idiot,” she said, her fingers going to unfasten the buttons on my shirt.
Oh?
My gaze left her fingers, moving to her face. My eyes took in all there was to see, but it was not enough; her hair, wild and curly, a mess… a beautiful mess.
She caught my stare, looked away, and then back in a double take.
“What?” she snapped at me, brows furrowing in annoyance.
“I like looking at you,” I told her.
Her fingers paused their movement on my shirt, her eyes searching mine as I rose onto my elbows.
I watched her swallow, watched the way she flushed and her pupils dilate an inch, her blinking abnormal, alongside her breathing.
She looked away from me, fingers working unsteadily on my last button. “I think by now you should know those little flirty compliments do nothing for me,” she said while she pulled my shirt apart, her fingers pressing softly on the bruise that was already forming.
“They don’t?” I asked, supporting my weight with one elbow while I raised my other hand to her hair, smoothing loose strands behind her ear.
She raised her head, eyes locking with mine. “No—they don’t.”
“Are you all right?” I asked with a mock concerned frown, raising myself until I was at eye level with her, my hand caressing the side of her neck, below her ear, and inside her hair.
Her gaze dropped to my lips. “Yeah, why?”
“You’re flustered.”
“I’m not.”
“It is cute.”
“Stop it; those compliments make me cringe. I told you it does nothing for me.”
I felt her breath as I drew closer. “You look quite taken by it.”
“You are wrong,” she said with a lowered voice, her pupils widening in size, our body heat mixing.
“I can even hear your heartbeat.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Then maybe it is mine.” My voice was hoarse and raspy but soft as I tilted my head to the side, drawing my face closer, the side of my nose brushing against hers. Our breathing mingled, our lips were so close, one push, just one push. “It gets hard to tell sometimes,” I whispered.
