Page 7 of Out of Control

“No, it’s not.”

“Watch me.” She finally gets the gumption to walk away.

And I do watch her, although what I focus on, what I admire, is the sway of her ass. No man in his right mind wouldn’t look. But those seconds pass and I’m left thinking about that prick’s hands on her.

And fucking hell, I follow.

I’m already cursing myself as I fall into step beside her. There’s just something about her.

“Stop following me,” she says.

“I’m not. We’re both headed to the same stage. You heading to see BENT?” I ask of the popular band, completely oblivious to when and where they play other than it being sometime tonight.

“You just made it clear why my brother was right—why I shouldn’t like you.”

“Why? Because I like BENT? That’s weird. You’d think it would be over something way more important like my character or my—”

“You’re not funny and you’re still following me. Why?”

I scrub a hand through my hair and scan the crowd in front of us. I don’t think she’ll buy fuck if I know as an answer even though it’s the truth. “You’ve been drinking, Navarro.”

“It’s Sofia.”

“We all have. There’s no judgment there. Is it so bad if I want to make sure you’re okay and get to where you want to go?”

“I’m fine. I assure you.”

“Looked like it a moment ago. In case you didn’t know, guys like to take advantage of women in situations like this. Happens all the time.”

“Go away, Rossi.” She turns her back to me.

Is she here with someone? Fuck. Was she here with the prick?

“Who was the asshole anyway?” I ask.

“No one I know. A random guy I just met who started following me. You know, kind of like you,” she mutters but refuses to look at me.

“Watch your step there, Bellissima. I’m the one who has to fight women off me. Not the other way around.”

“God, you’re so . . . you,” she says. Like that could be the worst thing in the world.

“Exactly. Wealthy. One of the top in his sport. Talented. Athletic. Good-looking—”

“Full of himself. A manwhore.”

“At least I can handle myself.”

“And an asshole.” She smiles, and there’s more of that trademark confidence back in her eyes and demeanor. My job is done here.

“And yet, you still want me.”

“I, what?” she shrieks incredulously.

“You heard me. You want me. It’s okay, everyone does. It’s something I’ve had to learn to deal with.”

“Oh my God,” she says with a slight shake of her head as if she’s trying to process the truth. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

I shrug. “It’s okay to admit you do.”