Page 34 of Covetous

I hold my hands up in surrender. “You’re right.” I twist off the lid of my water bottle and take a sip, playfully narrowing my eyes at him.

“Tattoos or piercings?”

Locking eyes with him, the word “Tattoos” slips out. A rush of warmth floods my cheeks, a telltale heat creeping up my face. “Logic or emotion?” I manage, even as I’m sure my blush is giving me away.

He hesitates, weighing his words, the steam from his second cup of coffee curling up between us. “Logic,” he finally offers, his voice a mix of contemplation and certainty as he takes a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “Money or love?”

“Love.” The intensity in his gaze is too much; I have to break the connection. I avert my gaze, feeling the warmth at the back of my neck as I clear my throat, a small gesture to steer us back to safer ground. “Predictability or excitement?”

He straightens in his chair while I tuck my strayaways behind my ears. “Excitement.”

A comfortable smile finds its way to my lips. “That’s a no-brainer.”

“Painful truth or comforting lie?” he asks next.

“Neither.” It’s an evasion, and we both know it.

He cocks his head to the side, a silent challenge. “Neither,” he echoes.

Firmly, I shake my head. “Nope.”

There’s a flicker of something—disappointment?—in his eyes as he observes me. “I’ve always taken you for someone who likes following the rules.”

“I do.” The defensive edge in my voice is unmistakable.

“Until it comes to following the rules of a game you suggested.”

Shoulders sagging, I rub my temples and sigh. “That’s an impossible question.”

“So you would rather be lied to?” he asks, his voice lacking the condescension that I’m used to getting with Ian. He seems genuinely curious and somewhat taken aback.

I shake my head. “No one wants to be lied to. But painful truths aren’t always easy to come back from.”

He looks at me long and hard, his gaze searching. “So you’re happy? He’s good to you?” There’s a note of something deeper in his question, a concern that goes beyond casual interest.

With the tension building between us, I try to defuse it with my most genuine smile. “I’m happy.”

“So he’s good to you.”

I nod, even as a crease forms between my brows, curious about the direction of our conversation. “Yes.”

He leans back, his demeanor shifting as he nods in acknowledgment. “I think that’s dope that you found a good guy. I think you’re dope.”

“Thanks. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re dope too.”

He lets out a smooth chuckle. “Well, I appreciate that.”

This is…refreshing. Last night’s closure was a game-changer for us…I think. Or have we stumbled into dangerous territory? I shake that thought away. “I’ll do the dishes.” Pushing back from the table, I gather our plates.

“Just leave them in the sink. It’s fine.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Plates in hand, I navigate to the sink and turn on the faucet. “Where’s your dish soap?” Before I can adjust the temperature, Victor’s arm is there, eclipsing mine to turn off the faucet. “Back up.” My giggle is nervous and playful as I turn to face him. But the space between us is charged, too tight, our bodies nearly a breath apart.

I can’t help but stare at the line of his throat, traveling upward, taking in every detail until our eyes lock. It’s a moment suspended. The easy banter that was there seconds ago evaporates, leaving something more serious, more dangerous.

The sudden buzz of my phone shatters the moment, sending us staggering back like startled thieves in the night. “I better get that.”

“Yeah.” He steps back, a hand flying to the nape of his neck in a classic gesture of discomfort, then turns to the sink to busy himself, a distraction from whatever just happened—or almost happened—between us.

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