Page 13 of Vicious Temptation

“So what do you do, Thiago?” she asks when she comes back. “Other than spending your Friday nights at the gym and forgetting your phone.”

“I just got to Philly a couple of weeks ago. I work downtown, mostly behind a desk for now until I get my bearings.”

Remi tosses me a beer without asking, and I catch it one-handed.

Her eyes narrow. “You don’t really seem like a desk guy.”

I chuckle, shifting on the stool and pretending to get comfortable when, really, I’m trying not to topple off the damn thing.

“I won’t be for long. It’s just a transition thing.”

“Ah,” she says, sounding almost bored as she brings the can to her lips. “And where did you move from?”

“Houston. I lived in Texas most of my life. After my father died, my aunt took me in.”

She doesn’t offer condolences, and I’m grateful for it. I stopped knowing what to do with people’s sympathy a long time ago.

“Texas, huh? I had a feeling.”

“Yeah? You ever been there?”

“No, but my—” She cuts herself off with a long drink. “I haven’t.”

Whatever she almost told me stays buried, and I know better than to push when I’m finally getting somewhere with her.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to ask anyway.”

“Why did you change your mind back there? Why did you decide to come with me after all?”

She gives me a long look before setting her drink on the counter and rounding the bar. Instead of keeping the distance between us, she drags the stool beside mine closer and takes a seat. Under the brighter lights, I finally get a good look at the woman I’ve spent the last few weeks studying in photographs.

Her eyes catch me first. I’d seen the blue in her file and caught flashes of it through the rain, but neither came close to seeing them from a few feet away. They’re striking against her black hair and the dark olive tone of her skin. I spend a second longer looking than I should.

And then there’s her mouth, painted a deep red that somehow survived the rain.

“You weren’t supposed to stick around,” she says. “So...why did you?”

“It was late. You were alone, without a phone. Vulnerable...”

She rolls her eyes.

“You know what I mean. What kind of man would I be if I just left you there?”

“The kind that doesn’t know me,” she shoots back. “So they wouldn’t care.”

“Knowing you wasn’t a requirement.”

She reaches over and steals my beer, taking a drink like it already belongs to her.

“I didn’t need you to do that for me⁠—”

I let out a dry laugh.

“Most people would just say thank you.”

“Most people wouldn’t interrupt in the middle of me trying to say thank you.”