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“I said I wasn’t going to keep you from living your life, kid,” Theo replies, his gaze darting to me for a moment before returning to the road. “Not that I wouldn’t keep an eye on you.”
“Not a kid,” I remind him, leaning my head against the window. “You make it sound like you’re my bodyguard or something,” I continue, raising an eyebrow at him. “I mean, come on. Your dad’s Victor Emmerico. You must have better things to do than follow me around the city while I make bad choices.”
Theo snorts. “My dad would agree with you.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” I mumble, fighting back nausea as I press my forehead against the cool glass.
“There is.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Not tonight, kid.”
I sigh as I stare out the window, watching the city lights outside. My head is starting to clear a little. “You know, it’s kind of ironic,” I say. “I’m swimming in gangsters, and the most danger I end up in is still some asshole at a dive bar.”
I can feel Theo’s eyes on me as we pull into the parking lot outside the apartment. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says.
“You sure about that?” I ask as the Maserati rolls to a stop. “No one forced me to go out tonight. Hell of a way to celebrate, eh?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Theo repeats. “I’m just...” He hesitates, glancing away. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“How sweet,”I joke. He shoots me a glare that’s softened by the faintest trace of a smile, and I have to fight to ignore the way my cheeks burn in response. “I’m glad I’m okay, too.” I hesitate, and then add, “Thank you, Theo. For back there.”
“You’re welcome.” His smile fades, and he gets out of the car without another word. I linger for a moment longer before I get out as well, my body still tingling from the look he just gave me.
* * *
I wakeup the next morning to the worst hangover I’ve had in a very long time, not to mention a wrist that’s sore as shit. The first thing I do is check to make sure Callie got home safe. She did, thank god. It’s bad enough that Theo had to save my ass last night; if my friend had gotten into trouble, I’d never forgive myself. She’s in the same boat hangover-wise, but otherwise fine.
Practically the minute I read her text, a new one comes in from Lucas, short, terse, and to the point:Work taking longer than expected. Theo will be staying for another week.
Another text shows up before I can even finish answering the first one.I want you lying low for the next couple days. Understood?
Gee, how romantic. And here I was thinking he was my husband, not my drill sergeant. I resist the urge to send a cranky response and agree to his order, then drag myself out of bed.
I slept in my clothes, so I change into shorts and a hoodie before stumbling to the living room, groaning as I practically fall onto the couch in an effort to avoid looking at the blinding sun outside.
Lucas is at the stove, frying something in a pan. The smell wakes me up a little bit and I watch him for a moment, still in a haze. Everything about him screams power: his confident movements, his broad shoulders, his hard jawline. Like he could kill someone without blinking an eye.
Just like that, I’m instantly flooded with images from last night. The bar. Theo’s gun. The look on his face when he showed up... and the look on his face when he asked me if I was okay.
I’m still staring when he turns around. “How’re you doing?” he asks.
“Hungover as shit,” I mutter.
“You look like it.” He turns away from the stove, carrying a plate of French toast, which he promptly sets down on the coffee table in front of me. “You should eat something,” he says.
“I’m not really hungry.”
“You’ll feel better.”
I look up at him, raising an eyebrow, and he gives a sensual chuckle. “Or not. Suit yourself.” He turns back to the stove, so easy and unbothered that I can hardly believe this is the same guy who I watched nearly kill someone last night.
Grudgingly, I take a bite, and damn if it’s not the best French toast I’ve ever had. “Shit,” I mutter. “That’s good.”
“Told you,” Theo replies from the stove.
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
