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Proud of my surprise, I shrug with a smile on my face and fire rushing through my veins. Damn, I missed him!
His buzz cut, which had grown out a bit before he left, is back to super short, unlike mine, which definitely needs a trim. I keep my hands in my pockets to channel my need to touch him. We stay here, suspended in the moment. Gazing. Appraising. Longing. At least, I am.
I don’t want to impose, so I offer a sheepish smile. Before I’m able to say anything, an emotionless mask slips over his face. Reality’s dawned on him, and he’s about to slam the door in my face.
I’m faster. My foot blocks the closing door, and I keep my voice as cheerful as I can manage. “I brought your lost luggage… and rum, Nino.”
“Fuck you, Ashton Cooper!”
“I wish…” I trail off, my longing eyes caging his angry ones. There’s another lingering emotion that I can’t quite decipher for once. Indecision?
“I already told you: Burn the damn thing and get the fuck out of my life. You’re a liar and a traitor. I have nothing to say to you.” Once upon a time, he wouldn’t shirk away from showing his emotions. Today, they are unreadable, hidden under a mask that I have trouble staring at, no matter what. His crude words and detached tone speak volumes. He hates my guts.
“Then don’t say anything, but hear me out… please. What you thought you saw wasn’t what it looked like... I swear. Can we have some privacy?”
He’s not listening. Instead of answering, he hisses, “Fair warning, I’m shutting the door whether your foot is there or not. Remove it or I might break it.”
Did Silas’s abuses taint my past and ruin my present?
I can’t allow it.
I won’t.
CHAPTER30
SAVE ME
Ash
Same time. Same place. Different week. Unsure of Nino’s current living arrangements, I’ve been knocking at Garcia’s door for four days in a row—without success—and I can’t push my luck much longer. I’ve allotted a week to win back my man, then I have to head home. So far, my boss has been accommodating, but I’m not willing to compromise my job situation if salvaging my relationship with Nino is a lost cause.
On day two, I met Garcia in person. I should have expected it. What I wasn’t expecting, though, is that she’d let me in while Nino was out. I sheepishly agreed, and we ended up getting to know each other over dinner at a nearby bistro. There, she admitted that her best friend confessed the reason for our breakup—we can’t be broken up, can we?—but it wasn’t her place to interfere. I swore that this was all a misunderstanding and he had to hear me out. I sincerely hoped she’d talk some sense into him so that my French addiction would listen.
On day three, I didn’t have time to utter a word when I arrived at the doorstep. Nino stubbornly refused to open the door and shouted that I should get the fuck out of here; he must have seen me through the peephole.
On day four, I had a heavy heart when I was greeted by a closed door and silence. Fuck!
Tonight, I have mixed thoughts as my feet climb the last flight of stairs to Garcia’s place. Haven’t I groveled enough? Why can’t I let go? Are my overwhelming feelings towards this man worth fighting for?
Damn, I hate when my head tricks me into playing Twenty Questions without any valuable answers!
Catching my breath, I mindlessly rap my knuckles against the crimson door nonetheless. My jaw clenches the second the door slides open to what looks like a well-rested Nino. Our eyes meet. My pulse races. His frame straightens.
His jeans sit low on his hips. They’re paired with a fitted lavender polo that compliments his skin tone and reveals a sliver of his chiseled Adonis belt.
Definitely a modern Adonis… He steals my breath, but his words are harsh. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Nino’s incredulous voice breaks before he ends the sentence.
Suddenly, I feel exposed and overdressed in my light khakis, dark blue linen shirt, and brown loafers.
What was I thinking?
“Today’s your lucky day. I’m in a good mood. You’ve got two minutes.”
Right…
“May I come in?” My parched throat itches, but I feel the need to add, “Sir.”
“Don’t push it!” he snaps, but I don’t miss the glimmer of lust that flashes in his eyes. “And don’t play games, Twenty Questions or otherwise. You owe me that much.”
