Page 74 of Chasing Hope

The silence in the apartment is eerie, because as I turn my head, Matteo is still frozen. Throwing my hands in the air, I snap, “What the fuck, dude? Why are you being so creepy?”

“Creepy?” he asks, arching a brow.

“Yes, you’re standing there like a damn scarecrow. Move!”

“Are you demanding me to move in my own apartment?”

I turn to give him my full attention. “Yes, yes, I am, because you’re giving me the heebie-jeebies.”

He shrugs, but even that is stilted. “I like standing. Great for circulation.”

I stand, only remembering as Matteo’s eyes flare that I’m wearing the hoodie I stole from him…again. I can’t explain why but today when I was doing everything to take a leap of faith, I wanted comfort, and as it turns out, I was drawn to the comfort of his hoodie.

Clearing my throat, I put all the focus back on him as I round the couch to come to the kitchen island. “Move,” I demand.

“No.”

I point an accusatory finger at him. “Stop being weird!”

“You’re the one trying to herd me like cattle in my own home.”

“I’m not the one with a stick up my ass.”

Matteo rolls his eyes. I repeat,rolls his eyes!

“I donothave a stick up my ass.”

“Prove it and move.”

He takes one awkward step forward, and I don’t miss the way he slightly winces either.

Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “Did you get hurt?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if you can’t move. Stop being so damn stubborn.”

Finally, Matteo sighs. “Fine, the guys and I were messing around in the parking lot after practice. Irving and Johnson were getting into it and I got caught in the crossfire. Happy?”

I move into his space, having to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. “Was that so hard to admit?”

He full-on scowls at me. “Yes.”

Scoffing, I wrap myself around him, carefully placing his arm over my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asks dryly.

“Helping,” I pant as I try to maneuver him toward the couch.

“Why?”

“Oh, shut up and just move,” I snap.

A deep chuckle escapes him until he takes one step forward and sucks in a sharp breath.

“How bad was the hit?” I ask, gentling my tone. It couldn’t have been good if he’s putting weight on me. Matteoneveraccepts help, but I suppose that’s due to his parents never being around.

“Not the best,” he manages to spit out through gritted teeth.