Page 36 of The Wrong Move

“You were not like this.” She stands and comes around to me. She wipes a finger over the counter and inspects her fingertip. “Nothing.” I fight the urge to wipe her finger smudge off the marble. She opens a drawer. And another. And another. “You’re next-level, Byron. You would hate living with me.”

I still. For days, I have imagined living with Giana as a perfect life. “I highly doubt that.”

“My studio is tidy…”

I laugh. It’s like a tornado ripped through the room.

“… for me.” She stares at me. “I tidy occasionally. I prefer to have fun and paint, go out and meet people, eat all the food and drink all the wine, swim in the ocean, and paint some more.”

“It sounds like a vacation.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I work hard, but in my downtime, I have fun. I didn’t waste time cleaning and tidying.”

“You were in another country. I’d probably do the same.”

She shakes her head. “No, you wouldn’t. How could you relax? You’d be out running, watching your diet, cleaning up my messes. Did you ever leave your dishes for the morning because you had a great night and were too tired to clean up?”

“It takes two minutes to stack a dishwasher.”

“You’re missing the point.”

I spin around. “What point, Gi? That without even trying, you can’t see us being together?”

Fuck.

“Settle down, Byron. I was merely pointing out my faults.” She twists her long hair on top of her head and secures it with a tie.

I turn to serve up dinner. “I apologize.”

“Accepted. And since you don’t require my help, I’m going for a swim.”

She walks outside and slips out of her dress and bra, then slides her G-string over her thighs. I stare at the bowls of pasta, ready to eat.

What?

I can’t take my eyes off Giana’s body as she steps into the pool. Her skin still radiates from the Italian sunshine. Her sexy curves are fucking perfect. This woman is going to kill me.

Giana glides through the water to the far edge of the pool and stares out beyond the sprawling city to the sun setting over the ocean. I carry our plates and forks outside, then return to get her wine, pour myself one, and take them poolside.

I dangle my legs in the water, eating my pasta while Giana is on the other side of the pool. My gut tells me she needs a minute.

“We both love this view,” I say.

She turns, studies me for a moment, and understands what I’m saying. “We do.” She paddles back to me, picks up her wine glass, and takes a sip. “You’re having a glass?”

I nod. “If I’m with you, then the rules need to change.”

“I don’t want you to change.” She picks out a prawn and drops it in her mouth. Water drips from her hand into the pasta.

“Jesus, you’re killing the taste and texture.”

She giggles. “It’s worth it to be in a pool eating my favorite food and drinking gorgeous wine.” She picks out another, and more pool water drips into her bowl.

“Stop.” I take her bowl, twirl the linguine around the fork, and hold it in front of her mouth. “We’ll compromise.”

As she takes the bite, she closes her eyes and makes a noise that makes me want to jump in with her. She flutters her lashes. “I like this compromise.”

“If I jump in to silence you, I’ll be throwing the pasta in the trash.”

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