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Tizio’s voice hasn’t risen but he might as well be shouting as every person in the place is staring. God, I hate him.
I eye my friend, mouth sorry, and grab my things. If I interrupt, it’ll only make things worse for him, so I go.
Oh, yeah. I storm off while Tizio’s being some kind of macho asshole who thinks I’m his property. I storm straight past the desk and into the dusk.
How dare he crash my date. And fine—I stomp straight ahead, forcing a loving couple to release each other’s hand—the date was a male friend, but how would Tizio know? He’s a nightmare, and I need a drink.
I push open the door to the Belle Jar, a hole in the wall with cheap drinks and a faux literary air that students like, and go to the bar. “Bourbon.”
“She’ll have a Coke.”
The low voice shifts slowly over me, warm and amused, and I curl my hand on the bar, set my shoulders, and whirl to face him.
Tizio’s leaning against the bar to my right. I didn’t see him. I was in such an angry haze when I got here, but there he is. Somehow, knowing where I’d go and beating me. It doesn’t seem possible. I smile sweetly. “Bourbon and Coke.”
The bartender throws her hands up and gets my drink as he drinks what looks like vodka and soda, which doesn’t seem to fit him at all.
“What’s your problem, anyway?” I say, glaring at him.
He shrugs, downs half his glass, and sets it down. “You. You’re a fucking pain in my ass.”
“Takes one to know one.”
My drink hits the bar, and I don’t want it. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom.”
I don’t give him a chance to reply. I just take off out the side exit and go home. I was going to walk, but I pull out my phone and get an Uber.
This way, I figure I don’t have to see him until morning and . . . shit. Sometimes, when Fallon goes away, he gives me a number to contact him with, and other times, he doesn’t. He didn’t this time, but Tizio must have one. I’ll get that tomorrow.
I jump out of the Uber when we reach my address. I bound up to the door, unlock the three locks, and step inside, into the dark.
I’m not alone.
Another presence winds around me, and I start to tremble, but there’s a hint of something in the air, like . . . Tizio. I slam on the light.
There he is, on the sofa, looking at me.
“Psycho,” I say.
“Pain in my ass,” he counters.
“How the fuck are you everywhere?”
He gets to his feet. “You’re sort of hard to miss.”
“Stop shaming me. And go away.”
Tizio ignores me. “Two things. Fallon’s away for a while, and since you won’t behave, I’m moving you in with me.”
Um, what?
Someone, please, tell me he didn’t say that.
Chapter Three
TIZIO
The look on her face is fucking priceless. All shock, narrowed eyes, and the kind of dislike that could strip the paint off walls.
