Page 38
Chapter Eleven
Enzo
Monday
Tilly was pissed when she left too early yesterday morning, barely saying anything on her way out, and, despite myself, I understood why. She trusted me with her body—unprotected and drunk. When it was time to pull out, I couldn’t bring myself to, and knew I was wrong and disrespecting her body. I felt like I was fucking the only girl I was meant to fuck, and now, I’m wondering if I’ll see her again because I fucked it up. My jaw shifts.
Mick was right—everything I touch turns to shit.
A girl like her at only twenty-one—nearly twenty-two—isn’t asking to become a mother. I’m not scared of any consequences from last night—just that she’ll resent me forever if what I did takes.
My mom must have felt this way.
Although she was older than Tilly when I was born. I’d hope my conception was different from what I did. And I had no business telling her not to take Plan B. I’m so fucked up for all of it. But what’s done is done now.
My Mondays are always busy, catching up on emails, calls, quotes, and metaphorical fires from the weekend. I hardly had time to think of Tilly until I was home alone, forced to face my thoughts. Is this guilt for Saturday night?
It’s damn hard to separate my emotions right now.
After I force myself to eat a quick salad, I settle on the couch and unlock my phone. Just out of curiosity, what is she up to? I didn’t hear from her yesterday after she left, but I gently told her to reach out. Not that I expected her to. Now, I might blow a fucking fuse if I see her out this late at night.
There has to be some force to bring her back to me.
I begrudgingly pull up the tracking app on my phone. I’d expect her to be at home. I hate how often I open this app, but I can’t stop. I need to know she’s safe and not finding trouble. I wish there were a simple way to track her phone, too. She runs a lot, and it pains me to think about what would happen if she slipped. Especially in those secluded hills.
Why the fuck is her car actively moving right now? It’s literally a goddamn Monday night.
She’s headed southeast towards Napa. I pace the open floor plan while I watch her car head toward town on my phone. Minutes fly by as I stare at the screen, and I’m about to reach for my keys when she turns into my neighborhood. If her path holds, she’s coming here.
Be cool, Enzo. Be fucking cool.
It’ll either be a pleasant visit—or a bad one. Just in case her reason is less than ideal for coming here, I pull my shirt off. Seeing me half-naked could sway her mind.
I see headlights flash on my street in sync with the app. I turn off my phone screen and set it on the coffee table, waiting for a knock or a text that she’s here.
My phone doesn’t buzz, but her knock echoes through the hallway. I take a calculated pause to avoid seeming too eager to answer it. It’s not like I was supposed to be expecting her. She didn’t tell me she was coming, so reasonably, I wouldn’t be waiting on the other side of the door like a creep.
I unlock the door and open it, and she looks delectable in her normal uniform of a tank top and leggings. She mixes up the colors she wears, but white looks best against her naturally tanned skin. It makes the sun-lightened golden tones of her brown hair pop, too.
“Hi,” she breathes.
“Hey,” I say.
“I need you.”
Need me?
Her hand is on the back of my neck in an instant, and she steps on her tiptoes to crash her lips to mine. She’s wearing that cherry lip gloss again, which feels intentional, but damn, I knew she’d come back for more.
The horniness of this girl is something to be studied.
She breaks her lips from mine long enough to ask, “Can we go upstairs?”
I slam the front door shut and lock the deadbolt. “That’s too far.”
I grip the sides of her head like I did the very first time I kissed her in a parking lot, and I back her into the living room just off the foyer. I accidentally bump her into the side table, causing a lamp to fall over and shatter on the floor.
“Oops.”
