Page 77 of Burn for You

As soon as my skates hit the padded ground, I’m half hobbling, half running over to the bench to yank my skates off and stuff my feet back into my sneakers.

“Since when is there security around here?” Leo asks no one in particular.

“Since now,” Caio says, his voice unserious as he ties up the laces on Isla’s sneakers. “Come on, we can go out the back.”

I take a step to follow them, but instinctively look back to see Rafael behind me, in no visible hurry to get out of here. He looksmore intent on searching my eyes for something, for the truth. All I give him is a subtle nod before Heath's broad hand finds my lower back. “You coming?”

I drag my gaze away from Rafael to look at him. “Yeah, let’s go.”

chapter twenty-eight

RAFAEL

I stand staringat the dusty pink floral wallpaper that lines every wall in Olive&Vine. I can’t believe I’ve never thought about it before. Just yanking on the corner and tearing it from the walls. Because now that I’ve thought about it, I can’t hold back the urge.

I pull a chair out from the table next to me and line it up with the wall, cringing internally as I step on the seat of it. “Scusa, Nonna.”

I pick at the corner of the paper, flicking my fingernail under the edge trying to pull it up. It catches, and I have enough to get my fingers around the edge and pull.

A horrifying ripping sound echoes through the empty building as the paper tears down the wall in a rough slash. It didn’t peel off perfectly, but god was that satisfying.

I tug on the ripped edge and pull another chunk off, throwing it on the ground below me. My face breaks into a psychotic smile as I pull more and more of my nonna’s beloved wallpaper off the wall. It’s almost therapeutic.

I can feel the weight lifting off my shoulders with every scrap of paper yanked from the wall, feel it in my bones that this is right.

The bell that rings above the door is usually barely audibleabove the chatter of guests and clanging of cutlery, but today it’s like a clock tower.

My eyes snag on the girl that just walked through the door.

“Hey,” May says, her eyes raking over the horror show of the wall in front of me. She’s holding two takeaway coffee cups and has her handbag resting against her hip, the strap cutting across her body, dipping in between her perfect tits, and my brain just takes me back to that night, like it does more often than I’d care to admit.

She’s wearing a tiny pair of fleece shorts, paired with an old worn singlet, just light enough that I could probably see the shade of her pink nipples if I was close enough, so I pin my eyes back to hers.

Aside from the fact that she looks effortlessly sexy with her hair with little braids tied through it, she looks dressed for work.

“Hey,” I finally respond before I step off the seat.

“Going in full throttle I see.” She moves between the tables making her way towards me.

“Yeah,” I laugh before I sit on the table she’s standing next to. “The urge was overwhelming.”

She hands one of the coffees over to me and jumps onto the table herself. “Well, it’s a good start.”

I take a sip of the coffee, and the subtle taste of cinnamon warms my insides as I swallow the liquid. She must’ve stopped by The Sugared Plum on the way here. Vanessa is the only one who gets the cinnamon to coffee grind ratio this perfect.

She yawns before she takes a sip of her own drink, and I have to stifle back a laugh and how unladylike that just looked. “Feeling tired after last night?”

She raises her brows. “Hell yes, but even if I wasn’t, did you ever see me up before eight-am when I lived with you? Not a morning person, remember?”

I think about it for a minute. I didn’t see her much, but the times I did were mostly after midday. “Huh, I guess not. Except for when we went to the cabin. And…the morning after.” I look over to her and she is laser focused on her coffee cup in her hands, swirling the liquid around in the cup as if that will save her from the fact that a bright red blush is climbing its way up her neck.

“I was thinking maybe I could just take that wall out completely,” I say, nodding to the wall I had started ripping apart. She doesn’t want to talk about it. And to be fair, I’m not sure that I do either. Even after last night, after finding out she doesn't truly regret it, it doesn’t change anything. Because the most important part is that she wished she did. She doesn’t want this, and I can't force her to.

The game has changed. Now it’s the two of us knowing exactly what’s happened, but choosing to move on from it. Or, in my case, pretending to be okay with moving on from it.

She frowns. “What’s behind it?”

“My office and an empty storage room. My office could do with a makeover.”

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