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Just a no-one.
Part of his job, really.
That was all I was. And I needed to keep reminding myself of that.
Still, when I made my way out of the diner a few hours later, there was no denying the disappointment swirling through my system. Even though it had been a surprisingly good tip night. Everyone just seemed more generous than usual. Which meant I was heading home with an extra three-hundred-fifty dollars to my name.
Sure, having the money from the “Family,” as Salvatore seemed to refer to them as, helped a lot. But Wren’s education was expensive. And I wanted to have a little something stashed away for emergencies too. You never knew what life was going to throw at you.
I had no idea how I was going to be able to function working the overnight shift, then having classes just a couple hours later.
But it was possible.
If I stopped tossing and turning and fantasizing about Salvatore and passed out right when I got home from my diner shift.
Three-thirty, that was about.
That would give me, what, a solid three and a half or four hours of sleep.
After school, I could squeeze a nap in. Maybe, if I was lucky, another three and a half hours.
Six or seven hours of sleep total.
I mean, I’d survived on less.
It wasn’t ideal, but it could be done. And that was only if I did all my diner shifts on the weekdays. If I worked the weekend overnights, I wouldn’t have to worry about class on Saturday and Sunday mornings, allowing me to catch up on sleep and errands.
It could be done.
I would figure it out.
Just to ease the financial strain, to put future-me at ease.
The only flaw in the plan was a near future that included me not staying up half the night thinking about a certain silver-fox mafia guy.
And that was what was on my mind as I made my way down the hallway toward my door, slipping my key into the lock.
But this time, I felt that it wasn’t engaged.
I’m not proud to admit this, but my heart leaped right up into my throat, thinking about Salvatore “letting himself into” my apartment again. Maybe he knew he’d be running late, and decided to meet me at my apartment instead.
My mind went wild with fantasies about how that could go. Me, half-naked on the sink counter. But this time, we didn’t have the same self-control as the last time. Which would lead to no clothing and my bed and some good, sweaty fun that might finally make me less obsessed with him.
Long shot, maybe, but, I mean, if we had to go a couple of rounds—or a couple dozen, or hundred—rounds, to get us out of each other’s system, I was okay with that too.
“I don’t have any lasagne this time, but there is some leftover rav—“ I started to say, a smile tugging at my lips as I kicked the door behind me and reached to set my bag and purse down.
And along with it, all of my self-defense weapons.
That I didn’t think I’d need.
Not with a smoldering Salvatore Costa in my house, a man who’d assaulted a guy in the diner just for being rude to me.
But it wasn’t Salvatore “The Surgeon” Costa in my apartment.
Oh, no.
It was someone I’d been hoping never to see again, even if a part of me knew that was a pipe dream, that there was no way he wouldn’t stalk back into my life at some point.
