Page 171 of Bitter When He Begs

He shrugs. “Little. But he likes me.”

“You don’t know that.”

He grins. “He told me.”

My eyes snap wide. “Wait, what?”

“He texted me after your documentary dropped,” Luca says casually. “Said you ‘finally found someone with actual taste in cinema.’”

I gape at him. “That’s what made him like you?”

Luca shrugs. “Also said I had good instincts. You know, for a ‘jock.’”

“God,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “You two have secret text threads?”

“Not secret. You just never asked.”

“Unbelievable.”

He squeezes my thigh again, his voice softer. “Sage. He’s already halfway sold. Just let him like me.”

“It’s not that easy,” I mumble.

“It is if you stop fighting it,” Luca says. “And if not? He doesn’t get to decide.”

I look at him, really look, and that’s when the panic starts to recede. Because Luca’s right. My dad can have all the opinions he wants. But he doesn’t get a vote on how I feel about this man sitting next to me. The man who’s held me together in more ways than I can count. The man who made me believe I wasn’t just tolerated but wanted. Chosen. Every fucking day.

Still.

“I just want you two to get along,” I say, quieter now.

Luca glances at me again. “Okay, how about this—your dad’s walking off that plane in five minutes, and I’m gonna shake his hand, smile like I actually know what I’m doing with my life, and then I’m gonna charm the living hell out of him until he loves me more than you.”

“Wow.”

“Too far?”

“Just enough.”

He laughs, and I swear, it settles something in my chest. I exhale slowly, reaching up to fix my hair even though it’s probably fine.

He watches me from the corner of his eye. “You know, for someone who survived the wrath of Luca’s Dad: Final Boss Edition, you sure seem nervous about me meeting the man who calls you ‘kiddo’ in texts.”

“Oh, my God,” I mumble, flopping back against the seat. “I’m gonna die.”

“No, you’re not. You’re gonna survive. And then you’re gonna tell me I was right and he loves me more than life.”

“Arrogant.”

“Confident.”

And just like that, I spot him—Aspen Blackwell—standing just outside the terminal with a leather duffel slung over his shoulder, his salt-and-pepper hair tucked beneath a sleek beanie, sunglasses on, and phone in one hand like he owns the goddamn world.

Because, in a lot of ways, he kind of does.

“Okay,” I mutter. “It’s go time.”

Luca then leans in. “Last chance to tell me to run.”

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