I stop staring at the swell of her bountiful bosoms when she asks, “How many blocks away is the internet café we drove past last night?”
She tugs a tight pair of designer jeans up her thighs while she waits for me to answer. I stare at her, unmoving and unspeaking. She can’t seriously expect me to carry a conversation while her tits are out, staring at me, begging to be consumed.
I’m drawn from my inappropriate thoughts when Regan drags a satin shirt over her head. You’d think being denied the opportunity to gawk at her naked breasts would snap my focus back to the task at hand. It doesn’t. Her nipples are budded against the satin material of her shirt, and the fit is so snug, if it weren’t for its purple coloring, I could pretend she is still naked.
Regan clicks her fingers in front of my face. She appears stunned by my braindead response. I don’t know why. I’m neither an agent or a man in her presence. I’m a bumbling idiot.
“What would you prefer?” When I stare at her, fucking lost, she fills in, “The internet café or my apartment? Which is the safer option?”
“Neither.” I’m not talking with my cock. I’m being straight up honest. Her stalker isn’t a standard run-of-the-mill crazy. He’s dangerous. So, until he is apprehended, I’d rather she stay right here, preferably with a similar amount of clothing she was wearing thirty seconds ago. Perhaps even a little less. Her panties were tiny, but they still hid a treasure trove of goodness.
Regan’s rolls her eyes. “We’re doing one or the other, Alex, so pick quickly, or I’ll choose for you.”
Ignoring my beet-red cheeks warning of my growing anger, she heads back for the living room. She doesn't stop like I expect. She crosses straight through it, her focus on my outdated kitchen. The black knee-high "fuck me" boots she put on sometime during my coronary attack click the tiled floor as she seeks something apparently hidden in the bare bones of my kitchen cupboards.
When she discovers nothing but tubs of frosting and the occasional condiment, she pivots around to face me. I can tell she is curious about my apparent obsession with calorie-laden foods, but with her focus on other matters, she reins in her need to know everything.Barely.
“Where are the pennies you referenced last night? I’ve got no purse or phone, which means I have no way to fund my campaign, leaving the task to you, my campaign manager.”
Before I can voice an objection, she spots my wallet sitting on the dining nook separating the living room from the kitchen. I push off my feet, beating her to my wallet by half a heartbeat. I’m not worried she’ll fleece the handful of bills not depleted by our taxi ride last night. I don’t want her seeing my ID. Not yet.
Regan’s top lip forms a snarl when I slip my wallet into my back pocket. Hoping to evade an interrogation on my sudden backflip on a trip to a cafe, I caution, “You should reconsider your shoes. The café is at least three blocks from here.”
Although I declared minutes ago that she is safer here, with her standing mere inches from my working and unlocked laptop, a morning adventure sounds mighty enticing right now.
“Puh-leeze. I can walk miles in these babies.” Even with enough room between us to park a train, Regan’s chest somehow scrapes mine when she scoots past me. “It’s only when they’re digging in some random guy’s ass do issues arrive.”
With a growl, I follow her giggling frame out of my apartment, striving with all my might not to react with the same idiocy I used last night. Let me tell you, it is a fucking hard feat.
Chapter Seventeen
I turn away from Alex when I feel tears pricking my eyes. I haven’t scrolled Luca’s Facebook page in nearly two years. I thought as the years moved on, so would the number of posts added to his wall each day. I was wrong. His page is as up-to-date today as it was the day his life perished nearly eight years ago. I shouldn’t be surprised. He was loved by many, even though he was only truly known by one: me.
After eradicating the nerves from my face with a few sharp breaths, I divert my focus back to the computer monitor. The image I am looking for is concealed by many, but just as I told Alex earlier, Luca could never fade into the background.
I locate the photo I am looking for in under a second. It is imprinted in my mind as indelibly as Luca engraved his name on my heart.
“This is the photo missing from my apartment,” I advise Alex, pointing to a picture of Luca wearing a bright orange jumpsuit with a bunch of leaves woven through his dark locks. “Someone called him a fruitcake at a school dance. He apparently missed the cake part of his statement. Determined to stop bullying, he wore an orange suit for a week. If it wasn’t for his mother demanding to wash it, who knows how long his protest would have gone on for.”
“How many times was his head flushed in the toilet that week?” Alex asks, somewhat amused, somewhat apprehensive.
“None,” I reply with a smile, wordlessly assuring him the sheen in my eyes isn’t from bad memories. “Everyone loved Luca, just as he loved everyone.” My smile fades at the end of my sentence.
Nodding, Alex jots something down on the notepad he borrowed from a waitress after she took our order. If she had it her way, I’m confident Alex’s request for a straight black coffee with three sugars wouldn’t be the only dish she’d serve him today. She’s cute, but her clumsy,look at me, you’re so pretty I’m falling over my feetroutine is lost on Alex.
I heard his back molars grind together after her second “accidental” drop of dishware had her bosoms scraping his thigh, and I’m fairly sure he was two seconds from combusting when his request for a refill had more than a coffee pot thrust in his face. The waitress wants to believe my presence is the sole reason Alex has rejected her numerous flirtations, but I know that isn’t the case. Alex wants a woman who challenges him. That’s why I didn’t bolt the instant he gave me permission to leave.
Bickering with him has been the most entertaining thing I’ve done the past five years. Working for Isaac is great. My extensive knowledge on business acquisitions and keeping his assets away from the prying eyes of the IRS in a legal manner has kept my bank account well nourished, but nothing can replicate the high of bantering with someone as equally stubborn as you. It is the reason Luca and I immediately clicked. We were similar, yet so very unique. It is just unfortunate his baggage was a lot more complicated than mine.
I stop glaring at the waitress’s impromptu grind of a stool when Alex asks, “Do you recognize anyone besides Luca in this photo?”
I drop my eyes to the photo. “To be honest, until now, I didn’t notice anyone milling around in the background. I’ve only ever saw Luca.”
Alex grinds his teeth for the second time in under twenty minutes. His jealousy is utterly ridiculous. Luca is dead—he can’t come back from that—but even if he could, they would never be in competition. Jealousy cost Luca his life. I won’t let that happen again.
Pretending I can’t feel my heart whacking my chest, I appraise the photo more diligently. There are over a dozen people snapping Luca’s picture during his protest against bullying. They’re all smiling at him. . . all except one.
“Who’s that?” Alex asks, spotting Danielle’s slumped lips as rapidly as me. “How tall is Luca? She seems around the same height as him.”
