He knows it. Loves it.
I grab a cookie off the counter just to have something to bite.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I say around a mouthful of chocolate chip. “I’m impressionable.”
“You’re dangerous.”
“I’m deeply unstable.”
“Yeah.” His voice drops. “I noticed.”
And fuck. He says it like it’s attractive.
He’s into it. He wants more.
I feel that click. That fuck-me-but-also-marry-me beat of attraction that’s so much worse than lust.
He saw me spiraling. Saw me snarky, scared, half-unraveled and he smiled. He flirted back. He didn’t run. He leaned in.
And now I’m fucked.
The kind that involves eye contact and feelings and maybe him eating cookies off my stomach while telling me I’m the best bad idea he’s ever had.
We sit on my couch and eat pizza at eleven in the morning like this is normal.
It’s not normal.
Nothing about this is normal.
I’m sitting three inches from a man who could kill me with a shoelace and I want him to do very different things with that string.
No thoughts. Just: choke me softly and tell me I’m doing okay.
“So,” I say around a bite of pizza. “About last night.”
Enzo tenses slightly. “Yeah.”
“We should probably talk about it.”
“Probably.”
Silence. More pizza.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit finally. “With any of this. With you, with Dario, with my entire life. I feel like I’m making it up as I go and doing a terrible job of it.”
“Join the club.” He sets down his slice and looks at me. “I don’t know what I’m doing either. I’ve never.” He stops. Starts again. “I don’t do this. Whatever this is. I do my job. I follow orders.”
Whatever it is?You have me mentally bent over this couch eating cookies off your abs.That’s what it is.
“Make out with witnesses you’re supposed to be strongarming?”
“That.” His mouth twitches. “That’s new.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t usually kiss mob enforcers in my apartment.”
“How many mob enforcers have been in your apartment?”
“Just you. But the sample size is growing.”
