Page 167 of Vicious Temptation

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

She studies me for another second as if trying to determine whether she believes me. Apparently deciding I’m hopeless, she shakes her head and heads for the door.

I watch her go like I always do, and every time she does, letting her walk away gets a little harder.

Forty-Two

remi

Thiago: I missed you today.

Me: Missed me not bringing you breakfast?

Thiago: Missed your face.

Aridiculous amount of warmth floods my chest.

I stare at the message for a few seconds, then lock my phone and shove it into my bag. Thiago’s flu lingered for nearly five days after I found him half-dead on his couch, and I spent most of them checking on him. I’d stop by before work, and other times I’d show up afterward with food, medicine, or some other excuse that definitely wasn’t an excuse.

He’s been back at work for the past week and has been spending his evenings training, so our time together has been limited.

Maybe that’s exactly what I needed, though. A little distance might have given me a chance to clear my head. Instead, I somehow ended up in worse shape than before. I catch myself thinking about him first thing in the morning, then spend the rest of the day wondering what he’s doing, whether he’s eaten, and whether he’s remembering to take care of himself now that I’m no longer hovering over him.

The man has infected me with something far worse than the flu, and the most frustrating part is that I don’t mind it entirely.

“Your situational awareness is concerning.” Matteo rests his forearms on my open car window. “I’ve been standing here for a solid twenty seconds, and you haven’t even noticed me.”

“Don’t be annoying. Besides, I’m always lost in my head, but never unaware. Don’t confuse the two.”

The statement is only partially true, but I’m not about to admit it when he already thinks he’s onto something.

Matteo quirks an eyebrow. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Get in, loser. We have shopping to do.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes before opening the passenger door and climbing inside. “You know, most people say hello before insulting someone.”

“Most people aren’t me.”

“Very true.”

I pull out of the parking lot, and one look at his face tells me he’s holding back.

“Just say it. Say whatever it is you’re about to say.”

“I didn’t even say a word.”

“You don’t have to.” I point a finger at him. “Your face gives you away. Now spit it out.”

“Fine,” he says with a laugh. “So you and the cop, huh?”

“We’re just friends, Matteo.” Pulling into the next lane, I pass a row of slower-moving cars and press the accelerator.

Matteo immediately grabs the handle above the door, and I have to suppress the urge to laugh.

Some things never change.