Page 11 of Bound and Blitzed

It can’t be desire or want. But it isn’t pity either.

When the elevator doors part, Avery takes my hand. We step over the threshold. I walk us to the second door and fish my key out of my purse. “This is me.”

He nods and waits for me to open my door.

We stand there for several seconds as I wonder what I’m supposed to do. What does he expect me to do?

Do I ask him in?

My nerves jump at the thought of Avery Callaway in my tidy condo unit, eating up all the space and oxygen with his large frame, his understanding demeanor, his bottomless charm.

Other than my dad, brother, cousins, and a handful of Ale and Carla’s most trusted male friends, I haven’t had a man in my space in years. But Avery’s proximity doesn’t put me on high alert the way it should. The way men have in the past.

Instead, a flare of heat warms my insides. My lower abdomen tightens, and I draw in a sharp breath.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Avery leans closer and my eyes fly to his. I brace myself, lock down my limbs, and don’t move. But he doesn’t try to kiss my lips.

Instead, he presses the softest, briefest peck to my forehead. “Sleep well, Valentina. I’ll knock on your door tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I whisper. I let out a long exhale as he steps away.

He smiles and tilts his head toward my door. “I’ll wait for you to lock up.”

His thoughtfulness nearly brings tears to my eyes. It’s something Ale would do. And, not counting the men I’m related to, there’s never been a guy who has showed me such consideration before.

“Buenas noches,” I murmur.Good night. Then, I enter my flat, close the door, and flip the lock.

I stand next to the door for several seconds, one palm planted flat against the smooth wood, as I try to regulate my breathing.

My heart gallops, my skin feels over-sensitized, and my cheeks flush.

What the hell was that?

And will Avery really knock on my door tomorrow?

No. He can’t. He won’t.

I convince myself there’s no way as I take a long shower, comb out my hair, and snuggle beneath my duvet.

Sleep comes quickly and I sink into its warm embrace eagerly. I’m desperate to block out the events of the evening and the certain mortification they’ll bring tomorrow.

He knocks.

Holy shit. My eyes jump to the clock on the stove. It’s 9:03 a.m. and Avery Callaway is knocking on my door.

I pull in a deep breath and stand from the kitchen island. I’ve been sitting there for nearly forty minutes. As much as I didn’t expect Avery to show, I still couldn’t shake the worry that he would.

I debated calling my abuelita. I know she would give me rational advice. Maybe even objective insights. But she would also be concerned, and that concern could lead to her speaking to my parents about this.

If Rueben and Paloma Garcia thought their quirky middle daughter was about to marry a man she hardly knew, they would lose their minds.

But would they show up here?

I hate that I even ask myself the question.

No, there was no one to confide in aboutthis.

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