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“Are you going to say anything to me tonight?” I finally demanded after about ten minutes of silence. “Or are you planning to sit there like a mute the entire time?”
The car had been winding its way west, away from Belmont. I realized I’d been too lost in studying him to notice where we were going. He could be taking me anywhere.
Michael turned to me, black brows raised in mild surprise, like he’d only just realized I was there.
“Would that put you off, Tess?” he asked quietly. “Make you do the right thing and leave me alone?”
I examined him for a long moment. I knew a dare when I heard one.
“I’ve got four sisters, Scarrone,” I informed him. “If you think a pathetic little silent treatment is going to make me tap out, you have severely underestimated this woman. I win that contest every. Single. Time.”
A full-throated laugh burst out of him, like confetti on New Year’s or balloons falling at a graduation. It was so joyful. A momentary but complete celebration that made my skin prickle and dance, and every cell in my body wake up in response.
My God, he was beautiful when he smiled.
“Christ, Lea,” he said, wiping away the tears of mirth. “You are too damn much, you know that?”
I smirked. I didn’t particularly like being the butt of an unspoken joke, but I did like breaking down that wall. Because Michael Scarrone had definitely erected walls around himself. More than walls, really. He lived all alone in a fortress of his own making. But now, I’d found a crack in the mortar.
As quickly as it came, the light in his eyes was gone. I wanted it back. It made me want to do more than fight with Michael Scarrone. For the first time, I found myself wanting to make him happy, just to see that joy again on his otherwise too-somber face.
Before I could say anything more, the taxi came to a stop. We were no longer in the Bronx but had crossed the Harlem River into Manhattan. The car was right outside the subway station on 207th, outside the 1 train, the number blazing in a red ball on the sign.
Michael paid the cabbie, slid out of his side of the car, and then quickly jogged around to open my door for me. There I found him standing, hand extended.
“Come on, contessa,” he said, his voice a deep growl in the night. “We’ve got a train to catch. And don’t worry, I promise I’ll talk on the way.”
THIRTEEN
IT’S JUST WATER UNDER THE FERRY
Michael
The second we got onto the train, I knew that this night was a mistake. Actually, I knew it the second Lea popped her head out of her bedroom window after I’d tossed pebbles at it. A girl like her—smart, beautiful, loyal to her family, obviously going places—and all I’ve got to offer are rocks. I should have obeyed her nonno’s orders and walked away right then. Or better yet, never come in the first place.
But I told myself this way was easier. I already knew Lea. Tell her she can’t have something, and she’ll work that much harder to get it. That saying about how behind every great man is a strong woman? She was the type they were talking about.
Or she would be. If I could only get out of her way.
When she came out to the street, though, I couldn’t take one step away from the girl. That’s when I knew I was fucked.
She looked beautiful, dressed in tight pants, a winter coat, and dark hair that fell down her back like satin. Her full mouth smirked when she caught me glancing at her ass, and the twinkle in those emerald greens made me feel like I couldn’t walk straight.
Like I said. Fucked.
We sat on the train, wedged together on those tiny seats, while the train car grew increasingly full with every stop toward the city. I could feel the heat of her leg pressed against mine, but I still kept my hands white-knuckle gripping my own knees. And it felt wrong, all wrong. Not to touch her. Not to kiss her. Not to let every dude in this place know she was mine.
Wrong, just fuckin’ wrong.
“You’re still quiet,” she told me, direct as ever, while I wondered how I’d gotten myself into this mess.
But this couldn’t happen. I was literally forbidden by my boss—in a job I was damn lucky to have—to have anything to do with this very person. But instead of following Zola’s rule number four, I’d been badgered into a date with the apple of his eye. And I couldn’t bring myself to sabotage this date the way I needed to.
I swallowed, looking up to find, of course, a subway crime PSA advertising Rikers fucking Island.
Of course.
I’d never be able to escape the last two years. Never see beyond it. Never be anything more.
