"Fine. Go." I crossed my arms, trying to ignore that I was standing in my boxers, surrounded by ceramic cats, arguing with a woman who already regretted sleeping with me. "But this isn't over, Nadia. Last night was about more than screwing our brains out, and we both know it."
"You don't know what you're talking about," she said, but her voice wavered.
"I know you've been avoiding me. I know you turned down every date I suggested but never told me to stop asking. I know last night you looked at me like?—"
I stopped. Finishing that sentence would show too many cards.
"Like what?"
"Like you wanted to eat me. And you sure as hell didn't mind when I returned the favor." Crude, but I was desperate to break through the walls she'd been rebuilding since the minute she woke up.
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her expression was neutral. Professional. The same face I suspected she wore for difficult clients and last-minute catering emergencies.
"I need to go. My vendor delivery?—"
"I'll drive," I said, grabbing my jeans off the floor.
"That's unnecessary?—"
"In case you forgot, your van's not here. You need a ride to work." I pulled on my jeans, then a fresh T-shirt. "I'm up. Let me drive you."
"Daemon—"
"As friends," I said, the word tasting bitter. "A ride. Nothing else. Unless you want to call an Uber and wait outside in the cold."
She hesitated, weighing her options. Then she sighed. "Fine. But just a ride."
"Just a ride," I agreed, knowing it was a lie.
Because last night had changed everything, despite what she thought. And I had no intention of letting her pretend otherwise.
Now I had to figure out how to prove it.
The drive to Nadia's commercial kitchen was awkward and silent. She sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window while I navigated the empty early-morning streets of Coogan's Break.
"Thanks for the ride," she said when I pulled into the lot behind her kitchen. She had a death grip on the door handle before I'd come to a complete stop.
"Nadia, wait?—"
But she was already out, slamming the door in a move that said I'm done with this conversation. She crossed the lot in long strides, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside without looking back.
"Well," I said to my empty truck. "That went well."
My phone buzzed with a text from Sofia before I'd even put the truck in reverse. That threw me. Sofia preferred to ambush me in person or use the landline. A text meant that something was wrong.
Saw your lady friend. About time, bambino. Come have breakfast. We talk.
I groaned. There wasn’t a chance Sofia would miss seeing Nadia and me leave. The woman would've been at her kitchen window with her coffee and newspaper at 5:30 a.m., same as every morning.
But refusing Sofia's breakfast invitation was pointless. She'd show up at my door with enough food to feed a small army and stay until I told her everything.
Be there in 10 minutes, I texted back.
I took one more look at the door to Nadia's kitchen, hoping she'd come back out, say something, give me a sign that last night hadn't been a mistake.
But the door stayed closed.
"This isn't over," I said to no one in particular.
