Page 39 of Petrichor

They studied together even went to the same college. Marco got a sociology degree, the study of human behavior and motivation—that’s probably why he’s so good at reading people.So much for mobsters being ignorant monsters.I should ask Art what he knows about Luca.

“I’m going to see an apartment to rent…during my lunchbreak,” I add the last part for Marco as I glare at him.

This morning, I almost bumped into him coming out of the gym room wearing only sweats and a white tank top. The sudden rush of lust made me dizzy. Marco Moretti in a suit is stunningly charming, but in casual clothes? He turns into a lethal weapon ready to cause heart attacks left and right. He gave me a once-over and then grunted dismissively at me, making his way to his bedroom.

I was still half asleep, wearing an extra-large shirt with a sleepy cat on the front, no makeup, and my hair was tied in a messy bun. I can imagine Art’s disapproving look at my appearance, his scrunched up nose and disgusted huff. My seduction plan is ad disaster, filled with holes on every side. That’s because I never needed to charm someone. Usually a couple of glances and a few words are enough in a club. With Marco I keep going back and forth on what to do.

It doesn’t keep me awake though. I slept amazingly last night. The guest room is huge with an incredible view of Central Park. No loud noises coming from the other renters or people screaming on the streets. Peaceful silence and a sense of safety I don’t think I ever quite felt before. And it was all thanks to the grumpy man sleeping in the next room.

“Get in. We’ll take you,” Marco surprisingly orders me. When he uses that commanding tone, I feel the urge to fight back whilekneeling at his feet. What kind of reaction is that? Messed up, that’s what it is.

Luca has turned back, looking questionably at Marco without saying anything.

“It’s not that far,” I try to argue, but Marco simply flicks his fingers again at me in a “come here” gesture. Should I lick those fingers or slap them away?

The suit is pulling over his broad shoulders, and I see he’s wearing a dark green shirt with a black jacket, like I suggested in one of my Post-it messages. The thought makes me feel all tingly.

Carlo gets out to open the car door for me. Once we are both seated, he asks me for the address.

“Just a minute,” I tell him as I delve inside my bag. “Where the hell did I put that Post-it?”

“Around my penthouse?” I think I hear Marco muttering.

I pull things out and place them on the seat between me and Marco. Oh! My pink tweezers. I’ve been looking for those.

“Why do you feel the need to carry all this?” He sighs, staring with dubious eyes at my cute sleep mask and extra pair of socks.

“You carry your gun.”

“That’s for protection,” he counters.

“I’ll need this stuff…one day.” I sniff at him. Was the Post-it light blue or green? “Yellow!” I grab it and wave it in the air. Luca’s teasing expression makes me huff. I don’t even glance Marco’s way, I can clearly imagine his blank face.

They start speaking in Italian as Carlo drives into traffic. I don’t try to understand what they are saying and instead decide to answer a couple of texts.

Art

Did you find a place to stay?

Art

Sorry, I can’t have you at my place *crying emoji*

Me

Don’t be. It’s okay

Art

It’s complicated. But I can give you some money if you need

Me

Don’t want to add to my ongoing debt

Art

No need to repay me. Where are you staying?

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