Chapter 6
Aubergine.
My six-thirty AM alarm blared from the side table. I groaned, my neck and back protesting as I reached to silence it.
Then another groan sounded. Not from me. It was deep and masculine.
My eyes snapped open. They darted downward.
Nicola was also slowly waking, and turned against my lap before suddenly freezing.
I froze.
Slowly, his head turned until our eyes met.
“...Fuck," he whispered.
Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.
He slowly rose off me, rubbing at his neck and shoulders. I scrambled to turn off the alarm.
Nicola was still blinking the sleep from his eyes as he pushed his hair out of his face. The same hair he’d asked me to pet, like... we were lovers or something.
But we weren’t lovers.
“You’ve got work today?” he asked.
“Yep.” I stood, trying not to be awkward. Probably failing. “Coffee?”
“Sure.”
Nicola disappeared into my bathroom while I filled the coffee pot with water, scooped fresh grounds into the filter, and switched it on.
I stared blankly at my stupid coffee machine as it hissed and steamed.
What was I supposed to do?
Nicola Moretti was in my fucking apartment.
I glanced toward the living room. He toed off his shoes beside the couch. His jacket and tie hung over my chair.
And his damn rings were scattered on my countertop like a husband dropping his car keys off by the door.
It was like he was getting comfortable over here.
Yet... he made no move on me. I mean, did I want him to make a move?
No.
...
Yes.
Nicola approached from behind, his body almost cornering mine in the tiny kitchen.
“I'll skip coffee, I’ve got to go." His breath was warm against my ear.
Nicola’s fingers brushed lightly through my hair, sweeping it over my shoulder. They barely grazed my neck, yet electricity raced through me.
It was too early in the morning to be this aroused and this confused.
"Okay," I wheezed.
The heat of his body disappeared, but every inch of mine still felt lit up like a Christmas tree.
My hand drifted to my neck, pressing gently over the spot where he’d touched me.
I watched as Nicola slid back into his shoes. He looped his tie around his neck and shrugged into his jacket with alarming efficiency.
I was sensing some major 'I need to get the fuck out of here' energy... which was not great for my self-esteem.
Either way, I wasn't letting him go without a fight. I grabbed his rings and met him at the door.
"Thanks." He smiled faintly as he took them, slipping them into his pocket.
Great. He was avoiding my eyes, too.
“Why did you stay last night?” I blurted.
Nicola opened his mouth. Then closed it.
One simple question and somehow I made the world’s biggest talker completely mute.
He scratched at the growing stubble on his jaw and then gestured out. “We’re friends.”
Slowly, I nodded in mock understanding, pursing my lips. “So all mafiosos fall asleep with their heads in a woman’s lap when they’re just friends? I’m just a little rusty on the protocol.”
Nicola didn’t respond. The coffee maker let out a loud foaming pop. Liquid began dripping into the pot.
“Alright. We’re friends. Got it.” I folded my arms and nodded to the white envelope still on the counter. “Don’t forget the cash, friend.”
Nicola adjusted his jacket and gave me a dirty, withering look. “Keep the fucking cash, Abby.”
He stormed out. The door slammed behind him.
I scoffed at no one. And after a beat, I threw my hands into the air.
“What the fuck do you have to be mad about?” I shouted at the door.
I was the one getting yanked around on his chain! I was the one battling between the fucking angel and devil on my shoulders!
Meanwhile, this man got to walk around believing the world bent to him.
Fuck. That. I was done with Moretti men.
Even the nice ones who saved me from flying bullets.
Just before noon, I sat in the stairwell where Nicola and I had eaten lunch the day a couple days before and called my dad.
“Hey, honey,” he said. I was relieved to hear his voice. He sounded sleepy, and I hoped that meant he hadn’t heard about the shooting. “I missed a call from Michael last night. Did he—”
“Yeah. It’s all taken care of,” I said quickly. “No worries. Um... how are you feeling?”
“Nauseous. But I’m alright. Getting around.”
“Oh, I can head over there—”
“No, no. Don’t miss more work. I’m fine. A couple of the guys from poker are gonna come by and bring me dinner tonight.”
I smiled a little. “Okay. Great. But just... let me know if you need me, okay, Dad?”
He hesitated. “Abs?” The concern in his voice almost undid me.
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
I licked my lips and fought the sudden stinging in my eyes.
It was anyone’s guess if the chemo would work.
I almost died last night.
The man of my fucking dreams and nightmares combined slept on my lap... then ran off the second things got too real.
No, my Father dearest. I was not okay.
“Oh yeah,” I replied, forcing a laugh. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
“Okay. Well, go eat something. Don’t worry about me.”
I said good-bye and we hung up.
I wiped at the corner of my eye, careful not to smudge my makeup. I spent a little extra time on it this morning.
No fucking idea why.
After that performance, it wasn’t like Nicola was going to come moseying into the lobby asking for me.
And it wasn’t like I was trying to impress him, either.
When I got home from work, I dropped my bag in the foyer and kicked off my heels, sending them skidding clear across the living room.
I groaned aloud as my feet finally hit hardwood, wiggling my toes in relief.
I couldn’t wait to get out of my bra, which had been digging into my shoulders all day. I had already unzipped my dress down the back by the time I passed through my bedroom.
I pulled the dress over my head and discarded it, then reached behind me to unhook my bra as I went straight for my closet.
The bra came undone and I let it drop at my feet. Sweet freedom.
A throat cleared behind me.