Chapter 23
A ngry, loud gangsta rap pulses through my ears as I push myself a little faster, picking up speed.
“So if you’re at the show in the front row,” I sing.
“I fucking hate you, you bitch ass ho.” I snicker to myself at my changeup in the lyrics.
It’s actually helping. Maybe I should have started twisting lyrics like this four years ago.
“A crazy muthafucker from tha street, bitch I’ll be your freak in the sheets. ”
Yeah… I gotta work on this. That’s been done.
I’m in my final mile, knowing I can’t outrun or drown out my thoughts completely but giving it my most valiant effort anyway.
And nothing says zero romance or zero fucks to give like N.W.A.
They turned misogyny into an art form. Because stupid fact, if I’m not freaking out about the upcoming solos, I’m freaking out about Luca.
And any time I try not to think about the solos or him, that all seems to backfire on me, and I think about them more. Especially Luca. Especially about the alley and the flowers and the hospital the other day. I still can’t decide which way I come out on this with him.
Come . Right. More gangsta rap.
But if I go any louder, I’ll burst my eardrums and then I’ll really be screwed. Screwed . Ugh!
I don’t know how to stop this or what to do about him.
The deep, gnawing pain he caused in the darkest depths of my desolate soul.
The way he’s storming his way back into my life with the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.
The way I seem helpless to stop him from doing that. The pathetic thoughts plaguing my mind.
I can’t stop them, no matter how loud I listen to music or how much music I play or how early I force myself to bed or how hard I work out.
I’m curious about him. I have many questions I’m desperate for answers to. I want to know about the last four years of his life that I missed. I went from needing to know every thought that passed through his mind to avoiding everything that ever had anything to do with him to this.
I didn’t know he worked at Children’s and Brigham and Women’s.
That must mean he does both pediatrics and adults.
But why? Why did he do that when he had been so set on adults?
And his shoulder? It’s obviously healed, but does he ever have any residual issues from it?
Is his darkness completely gone and was I truly the reason for that?
But the worst question of all… the one I keep cycling back to… Argh! Enough! I need to stop doing this to myself.
The cold November wind stings my face and arms as I pump faster, my breath shooting out of me in white plumes.
Up ahead is my building and just as my feet hit the exit of the Commons, someone’s hand forcefully grabs my arm, trying to pull me back in.
A scream hits the air and I spin around, flip the trigger on the small can I have poised in my hand, and spray with everything I’ve got.
The man bellows out in agony, releasing me as he staggers back a few paces while swearing and clawing his face as if it’s on fire. It likely is since I’m spraying him with a man-made form of the active ingredient in hot peppers, oleoresin capsaicin, right into his eyes.
Only… “Luca?!” Oh my God! I just sprayed an entire can of pepper spray into his face.
The can slips from my hand, clanging on the ground as I run over to him, grabbing his arm and dragging him back a step because he’s blindly getting dangerously close to the edge of the sidewalk and the street.
“What the fuck? You maced me? Ow! My face is on fire.”
“It’s pepper spray actually. Mace is illegal in Massachusetts without a proper permit. But who grabs someone when they’re running in the park?”
“I called your name. Twice! Who runs in the park before dawn?”
“Someone with pepper spray. Are you okay? Can you see?”
He’s still wiping furiously at his face, now using his sweat-drenched shirt to aid his efforts and if I wasn’t terrified that he was blind or that I did some serious and permanent damage to his retinas, I’d be ogling his abs. Wrong time, I know, but damn, you haven’t seen these things.
“My face feels like it’s been blasted with a grenade and a blowtorch at the same time. Fuck!”
“I’m so sorry. You scared me and my dad always taught me to act first and ask questions later.”
“Spoken like a true double-oh-seven.”
“Are you following me?”
He chuckles, but there is zero humor to it. He moves his hands away from his face, blinks, and then winces, clenching his eyes shut again. “You’re the one running before dawn. And on a Saturday no less.”
I frown at the accusation in his voice. When I first moved to London, I kept up that routine.
I told myself it was easier to run so early because then I got it out of the way or because I had a full day and no other time for exercise, but the truth was, I was heartbroken and running that early made me feel close to him in a way I told myself was quasi healthy because it involved exercise.
Then it just became part of my life and I stopped thinking about the reasons behind it.
“Come on.” I take his arm, giving him a jerk so he’ll let me lead him. “Let’s get some water on your face.”
“I’m shocked you’re not throwing a parade at my pain right now.”
“Don’t tempt me.” I look both ways as we cross the street. Thankfully, it’s early, so there isn’t much traffic. “Walk, Luca, we need to get you inside and your eyes washed out.”
“I thought you weren’t going to ever invite me into your apartment.”
I throw him a look he does not see. “Do you want me to let your face burn off?”
“Only if you’ll nurse me back to health.”
I roll my eyes as we hit the sidewalk, my hand locked on his arm, helping him since he can barely see. “Good morning, Dr.—are you okay, Dr. Fritz?”
“Morning, Greg. Yes, I’m fine. Just startled my lovely Little Bird here, is all.”
I smirk, shaking my head as I lead us through the lobby and toward the elevator.
Greg is right beside us, pressing the button for me while staring at Luca, terribly concerned. “Can I get you anything? A cold compress or some water?”
“No, I’ll just go up to my place to take care of it. I’ll be fine, thank you.”
“Your place?” I parrot, my eyebrows knitting for approximately one second before I realize just how stupid and naive I am.
The man owns the building. Of course he lives here.
I just haven’t seen him since I moved in.
I come and go at strange hours, and he does too.
Honestly, I truly didn’t consider it. No one I told I was moving here or living here mentioned anything other than it’s Luca’s building.
I took that to mean he owned it, not lived in it too.
The doors part and I help him on, all the while glaring. “You tricked me.”
“I did not. You never asked where I live. Now punch in 3-7-0-0 into the keypad.”
“That’s my birthday.”
“Yup. It sure is.”
I enter his code and the elevator doors close. He falls back against the wall, holding his shirt up to his face once again, and I stare up at his profile. Tussled dark hair wet with sweat, abs cut from steel, gorgeous, indented V dipping into his track shorts. And… is that—
“If I told you I lived here, you wouldn’t have agreed to move in.”
“Because you knew I wouldn’t want to live in the same building you do.”
He shrugs up an unconcerned shoulder. “Next time do your homework. Your father raised you better than that, Miss Act First And Ask Questions Later. Speaking of, I happen to know you never mentioned a thing to him until after you signed the lease.” He squints one eye open and glances down at me, only to immediately shut it once more.
“I just wish you had told me.”
“And I’m glad I didn’t because now you live here and so do I.
All’s fair in true love. After you, beautiful.
” He waves me out of the elevator into a foyer that’s obviously part of his apartment.
He clearly has the entire floor to himself.
“I need to go wash my face. Make yourself at home and no running out. I want to show you something after my eyes are no longer melting from my face.”
“What if I don’t want to see it?” I call after him as he walks down the hall straight into what is likely a powder room.
“You do. Besides, you owe me after this.”
He has a point.
“It better not be your dick.”
He doesn’t reply, but I hear the water running, and though I’m tempted to go snooping around his home, I’m also too afraid to do it.
Nothing worms a man into your heart or out of it completely like their home can.
It’s already not starting off well for me.
It smells clean in here. Like his cologne and wood polish.
And from what little I can see from the foyer, his furniture isn’t all black leather either, which is a shame.
I was hoping for a dingy black leather sectional with stinky sweat socks hanging off it and opened, empty pizza boxes scattered all over the floor. No such luck. I see cream and dark wood and gray and I refuse to go any farther.
“You ready?”
I spin around to find Luca smirking expectantly at me.
“You thought I’d run.”
That smirk grows into a grin as he steps closer to me, towering over me with his height, forcing my gaze up. His poor eyes are bloodshot as hell and the skin around them is red.
“I thought I’d have to chase you, yeah.”
“You’re always going to have to chase me if you ever want to catch me.”
“Challenge accepted.” He holds out his hand to me. “Let’s go.”
“So… it’s not your dick?”
He laughs, but his hand is now holding mine and he’s leading me through his ginormous place. I mean HUGE, and no, that’s not a euphemism for—
“Not my dick, but that’s certainly on the menu if you’re interested. I have four bedrooms, Little Bird, and I’d happily christen each one with you.”
I snort, rolling my eyes to the sky and then back. “Right. Like you haven’t already done that with at least half a dozen women in each room.”