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No wonder the girl can drink liquor like a man.
I don’t know what could possibly be worse than living in a car–and I don’t think it’s wise for me to ask–but she's obviously been through some shit.
I shouldn't care; I know I shouldn’t. After all, people who come in here upset or broken are a dime a dozen. Still, something about this beautiful, delicate woman ignites a protective fire in my chest that can't be extinguished, despite the amount of internal reprimanding I do.
"Damn," is all I let myself say, even though I want to press for more.
Nope.Do not get attached, Alessandro.Caring only ever gets me in trouble, and trouble is something I can’t afford right now.
I’m a businessman at the height of my career, and the restaurant has been having its best year yet. With plans to expand into a second location about an hour north of the city, I don’t need things going to hell anytime soon.
Everyone goes through shit; it's part of life. This might just be part of her growth, part of what molds her into who she becomes.
She's young. She has a lot of growing left to do. Hell, we all do. It shouldn’t be any of my business where she lays her head down to sleep at night, but–
"You're staring at me.” Her accusation slaps me across the face.
I clear my throat and pretend to be cleaning again. Now that the restaurant is mostly empty, it's much quieter. My words travel farther across the space, and I’m not keen to be overheard.
“My apologies. I was just thinking,” I say, keeping my voice low.
“About staring at me?” She cocks an eyebrow over the rim of her glass, and I chuckle at her gall. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or her natural combative nature, but either way, it’s sexy as hell.
“I’m just wondering whether or not you’ll be able to walk out of here after you’ve finished that drink,” I shoot back. Not the whole truth, but the thought is still weighing on my mind. “How far away did you park?”
She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Not far.”
My jaw hardens. It’s too vague for my liking and not what I want to hear.
I want to know exactly how far she’ll have to walk when she leaves, how far away she’ll be if she needs help. If she needsme.
There’s always some level of risk to living in a car, regardless of who it is. A young woman alone in the middle of the night poses a temptation for far too many sick fucks out there, and I don’t like it.
Not one bit.
"I’ll be fine,” she assures me, which I find hard to believe.
I’m tempted to argue with her, to tell her she’d be way safer with someone looking after her. She could come back to my place and sleep in one of the spare bedrooms–at least she’d be off the street and have a roof over her head.
Who the hell am I kidding?She could take my king-sized bed and I’d sleep on the floor if it meant she’d be safe.
I pour another half glass of bourbon and take a swig, determined to drown the unwanted thoughts. This whole thing is absurd, and I need to put it to rest before I convince myself to do something stupid.Like take her home.
That would be catastrophically stupid.
Maybe it’s time for Damon to relieve me after all. Getting away from her piercing blue eyes that watch me with increasing intrigue might be what it takes to break whatever spell she’s placed on me. Unfortunately, knowing my dumb ass, I’d find a reason to come back just to watch her until she leaves.
“What’s your name?” she asks, and I know I’m done for.
Names form connections, and despite my best efforts, this is clearly a connection I can’t avoid. Not that I want to, it just makes sense to keep my distance, especially since I’ve already toyed with the idea of taking her back to my place.
This whole thing smells of good intentions and tragic letdowns, but I can’t ignore her question when her eyes are burning their way straight through me.
“Alessandro Costa, but most just call me Alex.”
“Alessandro.Alessandro.” The name rolls off her tongue like honey, especially when she mimics my accent. “I like that.”
And fuck, I like it when she says it.
