Page 100 of Flawed

Her comment strikes me as funny. I chuckle, but it seems to piss her off more.

She tilts her head and pushes my pecs again. "You don't get to judge me, Luca. Now let me go."

I don't release her, replying, "I'm not judging you."

She scoffs. "Sure sounds like it."

I slide my fingers through her hair, palming her cheek. "I've never done that. I have nothing but respect for you."

"You don't know me."

"Don't I?"

"No," she claims, but her voice wavers.

"Maybe we should change that," I suggest, tracing her jawbone.

Her breath hitches. She glances at my lips again, murmuring, "What do you want from me, Luca?"

"You," I answer, even though nothing has changed. I've still not accomplished what I'm determined to do. My life still isn't safe enough to have her in it. Yet I can't control this pull I still feel to her after all these years. And what're the chances we'd see each other tonight? All these years of thinking about her, and it's like she magically appeared. If that isn't fate, then what is?

"You made it clear you aren't a good person," she points out.

It's a knife to my heart. I wish I could deny it. I'd do anything to be able to claim that I'm the man she deserves. But my selfishness can no longer sit in the backseat. Time hasn't made whatever this is between us fade. She might be pissed, but I know the chemistry is still between us. And she knows it, too.

Before I know it, I'm responding, "Do you think any of those men in that club are good?"

She looks away.

I step back and guide her around the couch. "Have a seat."

She glances at it and freezes. Her cheeks turn red. She jerks her head up and questions, "You have the same couch as me?"

I point around the room. "And everything else."

She pins her eyebrows together. "Why?"

I shake my head, take a deep breath, then admit, "Are we putting all our cards on the table?"

She cocks a brow.

I point to the seat, softening my tone. "Please. Sit."

She cautiously perches on the edge of a cushion.

"You can make yourself comfortable," I tease.

She doesn't move.

"I'll be back in a second," I say, then go into the kitchen and open two waters. I return to the living room, sit beside her, and hold a bottle to her lips.

She takes it from me, then takes a long sip.

I take a sip, too, then set our bottles on the table. I clear my throat and admit, "I have the same furniture as you because you're all I think about."

She looks at the ceiling, takes a deep breath, then rises, strolling to the window. Moments pass as she stares out into the blinking city skyline.

For some odd reason, I hear the ticking of her bedroom clock in my head. I go over to her and step behind her, circling my arm around her.

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