Page 15 of Ciao, Amore

This time her eyes widened. “Areyouserious now? You’ve never used one on any of your partners?”

It was probably going to make him look like a selfish asshole to say so, but why stop now?

“None of them ever admitted they had them if they did,” he said, trying not to sound defensive. “And I was told I did pretty good with my own equipment, alright?”

She tossed her hands up and murmured, “Hey, you don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“And while we’re at it,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “Let’s clear up something else. This is the second time you’ve told me you won’t fuck me. What I don’t remember is me ever once sayingIwanted to fuckyou.”

Her mouth fell open while her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?” she said, with her hand on her chest like a Victorian-era lady.

“Oh, you heard me. Let me say it in the Bronx dialect: I don’t wanna fuck you, so relax.”

Then he sat back and enjoyed watching her rock back and forth with that shocked expression, spluttering a disbelieving laugh. Utterly fucking cute. He loved knowing he could rile her up.

“You know what?” she said, slapping her thighs with her palms. “That’s cool. I’m glad we’re on the same page about that because I think we’d have an awful time in bed.”

He scoffed. “An awful time?Getthe fuck outta here, awful time. You don’t think I could rockyourlittle world in bed?”

Dani’s eyes went wide. “Rock whose world? Mine? I doubt that.Ilike a little extra flavor, and apparently,youlike your sex like you like your ice cream…” She flipped through her little book, then tapped a page with her pen. She circled a word with an evil smile, and showing it to him, she whispered, “Vanilla.”

Nico drew back with indignation. “Vanilla sex?” he exclaimed loudly and then looked around at the airline staff, who raised an eyebrow at the echo. He lowered his voice to an angry whisper. “You think I’m vanilla in bed?”

“May I have your attention, please? Now boarding Flight Twenty-One-Seventy-Seven bound to Rome’s Leonardo Da Vinci Airport. Now boarding for Flight Twenty-One-Seventy-Seven to Rome. Passengers, please have your passports ready for check-in. Now seating First Class…”

Certain his face was the color of her lip gloss, Nico stood up and snatched his bags, hoisting the backpack on his shoulder and scowling at her. Their teasing just got serious. Vanilla sex? That’s what she thought he was serving? Now the challenge to prove her dead wrong started cranking up as he pressed his passport into the reader, grumbling under his breath. Vanilla sex. If it wasn’t for that stupid pact, he’d show her he was capable of all the spice in the goddamned cabinet.

Dani tossed a smug look over her shoulder as she walked ahead of him down the accordion to the waiting aircraft. The flight attendants were pleasant yet sharp-eyed as they greeted them. They were directed to the left, to first class. Despite being outraged about the vanilla remark, Nico watched Dani’s face to see her reaction, anticipating her awe at the cool, quiet luxury of the cabin.

“Ah, it’s gonna be so nice to stretch out,” she said, sailing right in.

To Nico, she seemed happy but not quite as impressed as he’d hoped. “Is this your first time flying first class?”

“No. Melody got us first class when we went to Iceland. Unlike us basic Martinas, her family is crazy rich.” She hummed as she set about stowing her bags away and arranging her fashion and pop-culture magazines, headphone buds, and tablet.

He’d forgotten that her lifelong friend Melody’s parents were self-made entertainment moguls.

Deflated, Nico muttered, “Oh yeah. That’s right. More billionaires.”

“But I’m super grateful we’re here now. Thank you,” she said with a sincere smile.

Mollified by her gratitude, Nico paused and said, “You’re welcome.”

Sitting down with a sigh, she touched the tablet attached to the wall on her side of the divider and scrolled through it.

“I’m hungry. Let’s see what’s on the menu. Crab cakes, lobster, veal parm. Pasta options. Tiramisu for dessert. Oh darn, no vanilla ice cream. How disappointing for you,” she said with a soft, mocking pout.

It occurred to him to kiss that mouth to shut her the hell up, but he lifted his chin and focused on getting his own things organized.

Nostrils flaring, he sat down stiffly. “I happen to love tiramisu. It’s your loss if you don’t.”

She hummed again after she put the menu away and eased off her sneakers to replace them with a pair of comfy slip-ons she found in the complimentary travel kit. The song was familiar.

“Are you seriously humming ‘Ice Ice Baby’?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“No way,” she exclaimed, wide-eyed and innocent. “That’s ‘Under Pressure.’ I thought I told you I'm a Bowie and Freddie Mercury fan.”

“You know, we have a saying in the Bronx. ‘Fuck around and find out,’” he said close to her ear. Despite her playing coy, he felt her quiver when his warm breath caressed her ear.

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