Page 100 of Offside Angle

“Morning,” I whisper back.

“Do you regret it?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead.

Matteo’s eyes soften for a second before that familiar cocky little smirk returns. “No,” he says. Then, because he can’t help himself, he adds, “I regret how smug you look about it.”

I laugh under my breath and lean in closer, hovering just above his mouth. “Oh yeah?” I murmur. “And here I was thinking I was being subtle.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning now, that lazy, post-sleep, post-everything grin that does dangerous things to me. “Subtle?” he echoes. “You took pictures of me while I was sleeping. That’s not subtle, that’s borderline obsessive.”

I nip at his bottom lip in retaliation. “Obsessive would be printing it out and putting it in my wallet,” I say against his mouth. “This was just… artistic appreciation.”

Matteo slides a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me down the rest of the way. “Keep telling yourself that, camera boy.”

I kiss him again, slower this time, letting it linger. When I pull back I’m smiling too, unable to help it. “Admit it,” I say quietly. “You like it when I’m smug about you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me, a little shy under all that bravado, then tugs me down for another kiss instead of replying.

I’ll take that as a yes.

I lean down and give him another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then playfully swat at his thigh. “Up. There’s a toothbrush in the bathroom.”

I pull back and stand up, already turning toward the kitchen. Behind me, Matteo huffs. “Bossy,” he mutters, but I can hear the smirk in his voice.

A second later his phone starts vibrating like it’s possessed. He groans and reaches for it on the nightstand. I hear a long, dramatic whine.

“Mmmm… Finalists have been announced. Damian’s demanding us in the film room in an hour.”

I glance back over my shoulder, fighting a smile at the way he’s pouting at his phone.

“Chop chop, Rivera,” I tease, already grabbing another mug from the cabinet and pouring him a cup of coffee. Black, just how he likes it.

Ten minutes later he wanders into the kitchen wearing nothing but the jeans from last night, barefoot and still a little sleep-rumpled. He’s walking in slow circles around the living room area, clearly looking for something.

“I can’t find my damn shirt,” he complains, running a hand through his messy hair.

God, he’s adorable.

I set his coffee on the counter and lean back against it, watching him with open amusement. “Bedroom,” I say. “Left side of the closet, cariño. Pick whatever you want.”

He nods and heads toward the bedroom, still muttering under his breath. I bite back a laugh because I know for a fact his shirt is currently on the floor right next to the couch, half-hidden under one of the throw pillows. I saw it when I walked in earlier.

I don’t say anything.

Instead I sip my coffee and enjoy the view of him walking away in nothing but those low-slung jeans, knowing he’s about to come back wearing one of my shirts.

Matteo comes back a minute later wearing a soft black button-up that’s a little too loose on him and definitely not his usual style. It hangs just right on his shoulders though, the fabric soft and slightly oversized, the sleeves a little too long for his arms. It looks wrong on him in the best possible way.

I forget how to breathe properly for a second.

He’s gorgeous.

He’s fighting with the sleeves, trying to roll them up with a small frown of concentration, completely oblivious to the way I’m staring at him.

“Come here.”

Matteo walks over without looking up, still messing with the cuff of one. I take the coffee I poured for him and gently press it into his hand, just to give him something else to focus on.

He takes it on autopilot, but his eyes stay glued to his wrist.