Page 23 of Worship
“Open the door, Gretchen.” Shit, he knows I know he’s here. Oh man, this was not the morning I’d envisioned.
I grab the door handle, twist, and open, swinging it wide, keeping my arm on the door to block his entrance.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I greet, hoping for cool and collected.
I’m pretty sure I’m failing miserably.
His eyes shoot to my chest. The fabric has been worn down over time and it’s a bit revealing, but I love it and it’s super comfortable. And they’re nipples—I’m sure he’s seen his fair share. But by the way his eyes become hooded, he isn’t thinking about my sleep set.
“Can I come in?” His jaw tenses, and then he licks his lips.
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re here looking like you came to eat me alive.”
His head pulls back, a grin growing on his face. He nods, not saying a word, and lets out a growl as he plants his arms on each side of the doorframe, leaning in closer on me.
I can’t take my eyes off his lips, and I watch them part with his words.
“Would you like me to eat you alive, Gretchen?”
God, he smells like fucking temptation and heaven. The scruff on his chiseled jaw isn’t hurting the allure either.
“Yes,” I whisper so low that I basically mouth the word, not wanting to make it real.
Locking eyes with him, I stand my ground again. “But I thought we’d established that my pussy isn’t an option on the menu for you.” He crosses his arms over his chest and barks out a laugh. “All you get is my friendship, Luca.” I blink once at the smirk still on his face. “Why are you here?”
His finger touches my shoulder. “For you. To talk about last night, to banter, to do whatever it is that we do because it makes me…I don’t know.” His brow furrows like he doesn’t like what he’s saying, and his finger curls back into his hand, then retreats back into his pocket. “I want it.”Me too.
We stand for another moment, just staring at each other. He’s always so controlled, so calculated. But he seems as thrown by our unlikely friendship as I am. I know I’m still attracted to him, but I also like him, and I can’t decide if that makes him more or less dangerous to me.
He shrugs as if he’s answering my thoughts, and I push the door open farther to let him pass me and walk in. He bends down to pick something up from the ground before he walks by me. I close the door and take him in, his back to me, standing in the middle of all my boxes in dark jeans and his white T-shirt and shell-top Adidas sneakers.
“You weren’t lying about unpacking,” he says, looking out into my apartment.
“I never do,” I answer.
It feels intimate having him here. I’m not sure I’m prepared for Luca; I’ll never make it out alive. He turns to where I’m still standing, back against the door, and glances at my chest.
“You need to put on a shirt. Your tits are distracting. And water is running…”
A boost of adrenaline shoots through my body and I jump.
“Oh shit! I left the shower running.”
I race past him into my bedroom and straight to the shower to turn it off. I reach for a towel to dry off my hand when Luca fills the space of my bathroom. I always thought it was a large space until now.
“Lift your arms.”
He holds a gray Columbia sweatshirt that was sitting on the chair in my living room. It’s one I’ve had forever, since graduation.
I look down at the top and back to him.
“I can dress myself, Luca.”
But his face remains serious. He nods but doesn’t move or hand over the shirt.
“Lift.” His voice is strained, as if he’s struggling.
It’s the same way I feel. I can feel his struggle; Luca’s eyes haven’t left mine. This is him doing the right thing, for me and himself.
