Sin eight through infinity: Everything else about my life.
I roll over. Press my face into my pillow. Make a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a scream.
I’m one throaty laugh away from Enzo joining the ‘Ruined Me With One Body Part’ club.
What am I doing?
The ceiling doesn’t answer. The ceiling is beige and unhelpful, like everything else in this apartment.
Except Saul’s blanket and Dario’s things.
And somewhere in this city, Enzo is walking around with the taste of me still on his lips.
Three men. Three completely different situations. One absolute disaster of a woman who apparently deals with witness protection by collecting mobsters like sex-positive Pokémon.
Gotta catch ‘em all hits different when your Pokédex is full of emotionally unavailable men with felony potential and excellent jawlines.
I need coffee. I need therapy.
Instead, I get up and make cookies.
The cookies are stress-baking. Obviously.
Chocolate chip. Basic. The kind you make when your brain is too busy spiraling to handle anything complicated.
Enzo kissed me like he was starving and I was the last meal before a hit.
And now I’m in here baking cookies like a horny Stepford corpse who got dickmatized by a hitman.
I’m on my second batch when someone knocks on my door.
Saul? He usually calls first.
Someone from the family? Enzo said I was spotted. Said Sal wanted me found.
Enzo? That last option makes my skin flush in a way that’s deeply inconvenient.
I wipe my hands on a towel. Walk to the door. Look through the peephole.
Enzo.
Standing in my hallway holding a pizza box and looking like he’s not entirely sure why he’s here.
I open the door.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
We stand there looking at each other.
The last time I saw him, his tongue was in my mouth and I was making sounds I’m choosing not to think about too carefully.
“I brought pizza,” he says, lifting the box. “Figured you probably haven’t eaten.”
“It’s eleven in the morning.”
“Which is practically lunch if you squint.”
