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That’s right, baby. You want to play games?
She sizes up the gap between Dante and me that’s blocking her exit path to the lobby, and even though I feel like I will literally die if another day passes without touching her, I stand farther back and let her through. I may play our familiar games—the ones she loves so much—but I won’t go that far in manipulation.
Dante and I both turn to watch her walk away into the open lobby, where she stops at reception and gets directions. My feet stay planted, my gaze locked on her until the elevator doors close. They steal her from me, and then she’s gone, on her way upstairs to meet Edmund.
Only then do I suck in a breath and feel air return to my lungs.
And then I shove my best friend into the nearest wall. “Your smarmy lips never touch that again, asshole.”
He smiles, showing me all of his white teeth, and lets out a bellow of a laugh. “Man, you have to step up your game if you want to get that back!”
“What are you talking about?” My hands are on my hips, and my breathing is still all jacked up. I don’t need to hear whatever Dante’s brilliant advice is.
“You were a dick! You have to woo women, talk sweetly to them, speak to them in the language of love,” he whispers and kisses his fingertips.
“Shut the fuck up,” I shake my head at him.
“Like this,” he approaches a planted tree in the lobby and starts delicately petting a long green leaf, cooing at it, “Bellissima, mio amore, senza di te la mia vita non ha senso.” He starts making kissy noises at the leaf.
“The hell is wrong with you?” I watch him romancing the potted plant as two mechanics walk by and take in the scene.
“I will teach you, you’ll see. ‘Gorgeous girl,’” he mocks my American accent. “Try tesoro, cuore mio, polpetta.”
“Meatball? You want me to call her a meatball??
? I’ve picked up some Italian from Dante over the years, though polpetta probably came from restaurant menus if I had to guess.
“If you want her to feast on your meatballs ever again, yes,” he nods.
Jesus Christ, this guy.
“She likes gorgeous girl,” I mumble and shuffle my feet. Part of me is keenly aware that I am now discussing wooing Emily with Casanova here who wants me to call my girl a meatball.
Also, I haven’t decided yet if I am wooing Emily. I don’t woo.
Not anymore.
I wouldn’t even know how to woo anymore.
“Hmm,” he thinks as we leave behind his latest girlfriend, the potted plant, and continue through the lobby, “smart girl like that probably wants you to appreciate her mind, not her body. Maybe luminoso?”
“She knows she’s smart, doesn’t always know she’s beautiful,” I sigh and think of all the times she trusted me with her insecurities and fears. All the times I kissed them away and showed her just how goddamn gorgeous she is.
“Interesting,” Dante nods.
“Pro-tip, you douche, smart girls want to be called pretty, and pretty girls want to be called smart.”
My girl, she’s both.
“This is brilliant, I’ll try that out tonight,” Dante slaps me on the back.
“You do that.”
Dante keeps walking past the elevators and doesn’t notice that I’ve stopped and am waiting for the damn thing. Finally, he looks back, wondering why I’m not following him to the simulators. “Tell the guys I’m sick or something,” I shrug.
I have bigger concerns right now.
Ninety minutes later, I burst through the door of Edmund’s office. Emily has finally left the building, though I can still feel her energy buzzing around me.
