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It’s like a warm breeze, fresh air entering my tower.
The kind of breeze that would make you want to risk jumping in order to feel it on your skin.
One hand on my jaw moves to the dip in my waist, wrapping me, pulling me tighter, and it’s like I’m where I was always meant to be.
This feeling, though . . . regardless of how nice it is, is a reminder.
It's a reminder I’m probably going to ignore, but it’s there, nonetheless. A reminder that led me to sneak out of this man’s house without a note. A reminder that told me that this feels good—too good—and I don’t deserve something that feels this good. I don’t have time for something that feels this good. I have hell to wreak, I have debts to pay, and I have rights to wrong.
I don't have time to get lost in my own life.
And I could lose myself in Dante Romano. I could let him be a fucking beautiful distraction.
Before I can act on the unsettling mix of passion and despair churning in my gut, he breaks the kiss, setting his forehead to mine.
“Missed you,” he says in a whisper, a genuine set of words that I don’t think he means to say, but I smile all the same.
“You don’t even know me,” I say.
“I know you in all the ways that matter.” One of my hands moves to his neck, resting there even if it goes against everything Ishouldbe doing. “What are you doing?” he asks, his breath warm in my ear.
“I, uh . . . I’m shopping. Getting groceries.” I tip my head to the cart, and he laughs.
“Ahh, picky eater fodder?”
“Hey, I got salad stuff, too,” I say, scrunching up my nose because there isn’t much I’m self-conscious about, all things considered. I work at a strip club to pay off my gambling addict father’s debts while trying to take down a mafia family from the inside, so really, stones, glass houses, you know.
He kisses my nose.
“No. No, don’t. You’re sweet; you’re beautiful. You’re right.”
“I’m right?”
“You know what you want. Why deviate?”
“You know, I’ve bumped into you twice now, and neither time have I looked decent,” I say.
“You’re gorgeous. I prefer this to your work outfit.”
“Is that right?” I say with a smile, and somehow, it’s like I’ve forgotten we’re in a grocery store and not just chatting alone.
Strange how I can feel so easy with this man I barely even know when my whole life I've felt like I have to wear a mask to fit in.
“Unless it's for my eyes only, then yeah. You want to wear one of those outfits off the clock?” A chill runs down my spine. “What are you doing tonight?” he asks, and even though I move to make room for another cart coming down the aisle, he holds me tight, refusing to let go.
I wonder if he feels it, too. The magnetism. The feeling that if I step back and let a gap grow between us, I won’t be whole anymore.
That’s insane, right?
Insane to feel that?
Is that what happens when you lose your virginity to some hot older man? You become insane and start making up grand gestures and feelings that aren’t there?
“Uh, nothing. Celebrating.”
“Celebrating?”
“I got a promotion.” He continues to stare at me, and I elaborate. “I’m off the stage. I’m a server now,” I say with a small smile. “New uniform and everything.” He smiles wide.
