Page 54 of Love Sick

“Nope.” The beautiful smile dawns. “You said it. That’s twice now, Julian. What’s gotten into you?”

You.“I—nothing.”

Her mouth. I can’t stop staring at her mouth. I’m powerless in the face of that smile—pure happiness, innocent joy. Simply because I said her name. That’s all it took? And here I thought baiting her was entertaining.

But this—this is so much better.

The woman is disturbingly sweet, and I’m beyond disarmed. All my weapons lay on the table between us. She’s free to pick up any she chooses and destroy me.

Except she doesn’t. She folds her hands and lifts her chin, still smiling bright. “I win today, Julian.”

Shivery pricks wake beneath my skin as I push away a sense of inevitability. This tug-of-war between us is mutating into something else, isn’t it? She won’t only win today. She’ll continue to win, over and over, taking pieces of me each time.

How much will I wind up losing to this woman?

A couple minutes later, our food arrives—a welcome distraction—and an hour after that, I’m standing in the parking lot with a spitfire who’s had three Mambo Taxis and refuses to acknowledge she’s too tipsy to drive.

She puts her hands on her hips. “Your truck is too tall for me, Julian.”

“Then I’ll lift you up.”

She scoffs.

I hold my hand out. “Give me your key, Sapphire.”

“It’s in my bra.”

My gaze drops at once to her breasts, sadly hidden behind loose blue cotton.

She snaps in my face. “Eyes up here, Santini.”

“You can’t mention your bra, then expect me not to look. I’m human.”

She places a red-tipped finger over her lips in thought. “Hmm. And this whole time I thought you were one of the Nazgûl.”

I give her a sarcastic laugh and grasp her shoulders, directing her to my truck. “Come along, dork.”

She sighs. “How am I supposed to get to work in the morning?”

I open the door. “I’ll drop you here before I go to the hospital.”

She spins to face me. “The rumors, Julian. Remember? People already think I sleep around. I can’t be seen doing the walk of shame!”

Ugh. I hate that those thoughts enter her head, that she has to alter her behavior based on misinformation. I want her smile back—the real one I can feel deep in my stomach—so I aim to lighten the moment with a joke. Except when I lean toward her, the scent of her hair draws me in and temptation beckons. My voice grows deeper instead of lighter. “The walk of shame only applies if you fuck me.”

Why!

Why. Why. Why.

Her mouth goes slack. No snappy comeback. No signs of affront. Her eyes darken, and we freeze for three seconds before she clears her throat.

Stupid, Julian!

I take the opportunity to grasp her waist, lifting her into my truck.

By the time I’m settled in the driver’s seat, her arms are crossed and she’s glaring straight ahead, back in her prissy little box. My soft laugh is drowned out by the engine. The car connects to my phone, continuing my last playlist.

Her eyebrows scrunch together. “Is this Kanye?”

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