He grins, pressing a quick kiss to my shoulder before stepping back. “What? Just throwing it out there.”
I shake my head, laughing under my breath as I turn to rinse the mugs. “You arenotjoining my stream, Matt.”
“Oh, come on,” he says, voice dipping lower, teasing but threaded with that old familiar heat. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
That makes me pause. My hands still under the water, and I glance back at him over my shoulder. He’s watching me—really watching—with that half-smile that always meant trouble.
“Those were different times,” I say, but it comes out softer than I mean it to.
“Different how?” He closes the distance between us, his breath warm against the back of my neck. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels a hell of a lot like old times.”
His hands slide around my waist, palms splaying over my stomach. I can feel his smirk against my skin when I exhale a shaky breath.
“Matt,” I warn, though it doesn’t sound convincing.
“What?” he asks, that damn smirk still tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You said it yourself—you’ve got a stream tonight. I’m just… getting into character.”
I bite back a laugh, shaking my head. “You arenotabout to flirt your way into my work.”
“Work?” he echoes, his mouth brushing the side of my throat. “Does that make me a co-founder?”
“You were a distraction,” I breathe, though I can’t hide the smile pulling at my lips.
He chuckles low in his chest. “Still am, apparently.”
His hand drifts lower, fingers tracing lazy circles just beneath the hem of the shirt I stole from him. The coffee machine gurgles behind us, forgotten.
“Careful,” I warn, turning in his arms until we’re face to face. “You start something now, we both know how it ends.”
He grins, eyes darkening. “Yeah. We do.”
For a heartbeat, the air thickens between us. The teasing shifts, deepens. Every breath, every small movement feels charged, like memory and desire are colliding in real time.
“Old times, huh?” I whisper.
He leans in, his voice rough. “Better. Because this time, I’m not hiding.”
I bite back a laugh, shaking my head, though the heat pooling low in my stomach makes my resolve shaky. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he allows, leaning closer until our foreheads touch, lips almost brushing. “But maybe we make a good team, huh? Old times, new rules.”
I glance at him, caught between exasperation and temptation. “Old times, yes. New rules, definitely not. If we’re doing this, the mask stays on. And your shirt, the last thing we need is someone seeing your Points tattoo.”
“Fine, I can keep the shirt on,” he says easily. Then his mouth curves, eyes darkening with that familiar, dangerous spark. “But the mask gets in my way. I’mverygood with my mouth.”
I groan, pressing my face briefly into his shoulder. “Matt, this is a terrible idea. Don’t you need to get back to Italy?”
“Terrible ideas are usually the best ones,” he murmurs into my hair. He pulls back just enough to look at me, expression turning serious beneath the teasing. “I’ll blame it on Points’ business. Owen or one of the Finlay brothers can cover if anyone asks. With everything going on, Jonathan won’t out me, not to Salvatore. He might tear strips off me later, but…” His smile turns cocky. “Worth it.”
I brush a few unruly strands of hair back from his forehead, and for a second I’m lost in the green of his eyes—measuring his words, weighing the consequences. The pull of one more stolen day with him tightens in my chest, impossible to ignore.
“So,” he says softly, tipping my chin up with a knuckle, all confidence and quiet hope. “What do you say? Just for tonight?”
I pull back a fraction, studying him. He looks absurdly sure of himself, and somehow tender too, like he knows exactly how far he can push before I break, or laugh, or give in. I shake my head, even as the corner of my mouth betrays me.
“Fine,” I say. “But only this once. And the shirt and mask are non-negotiable.”
His grin is immediate, and before I can second-guess myself, he dips his head and kisses me—unhurried, certain, like this was always the outcome.
