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“Would you like me to be?” he asks me, leaning a hip against the Ducati.
“There is nothing I would like less,” I reply.
He recoils as if I slapped him. “Fine.” He lifts his hands in the air, acting all mean and closed-off in that way guys do when you have hurt their feelings. When they feel their ego has taken a hit.
But I didn’t say anything to ‘hit’ his ego, did I?
I’ll never get boys, I swear.
“Right,” I say, pretending that I’m cool with all of this (I’m not). “So what happens in the one-bed trope?”
“I sleep on the floor, that’s what happens.” He says it in a final sort of way, turning his back to me and busying himself with checking his bike over. “Or I don’t sleep at all.”
“I see. Do I… Do you kiss anyone in the one-bed bedroom?”
How very bold of me. But, hey, I said it, even if my voice shook a little. Ok, a lot.
His eyes snap to mine, azure like the ocean on a summer’s day. The night is thick all around us, but the street light over our heads sheds a cone of white light around us. It’s after one o’ clock in the morning.
Marco swears under his breath. Then he reaches me in three long strides and crushes me to his mouth. He gasps against my lips, devouring my mouth. He moans softly as his tongue runs over my teeth, and his hands reach up to my face, brushing the curls away from my temple.
“Stop me,” he says. “Stop me, Olivia.”
“What’s going to happen if I don’t stop you?” I ask against his lips.
He grabs my head with both hands and lifts my face away from his, just enough to look at me. His eyes are hooded, full of need.
“Oh,” I say. “That.That.Is that why you want to get that room?”
His eyes grow cold immediately. Cold and hard.
I guess I said the wrong thing again.
He hops on the bike, and waits for me to climb behind him.
***
“I want to take you dancing,” he says as soon as I’m seated on the Ducati. “There has to be a bar here somewhere.”
“Um…” is all I can say. I want to apologize for hurting him with what I said about the room, but he seems to be over it already. Or to not care. Or to understand how inexperienced and scared I am, and to be incredibly patient with me.
I don’t know which of these is true.
“What?” his eyes snap to mine. “You don’t like dancing?”
“I don’t know if I like it, that’s the thing. There’s not a lot of dancing in bars when you’re the crown princess.”
He looks at me and sighs softly. “You’re killing me, my queen,” he says. “As usual.”
I lift an eyebrow.What did I do to him now?
He leans in, and my nostrils fill with his familiar smell.
“Because now I’ll have to take you, won’t I?” I shiver and he wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close for warmth. I think it’s for warmth. “And teach you. And…” He stops himself, inhaling sharply. “We both know it’s probably going to kill me.”
I snort. “Literally,” I say. “As far as we know, I might have two left feet.”
“I meant that in a different way,” he smiles. “Besides, who cares if you are good at it or not? You’ll be with me.”
