Page 9 of Bound and Blitzed

“Valentina,” I say, waiting for her to look at me.

When she does, it feels like being bulldozed. Those bright eyes are slightly glazed but still spark with curiosity and…hope. The anger from our initial meeting has softened into one bordering on admiration. That alone makes me feel a million feet tall because this intelligent, quick, beautiful woman doesn’t revere me because I can throw a perfect spiral. She’s interested because our conversation has been substantial.

It’s skirted right over the shallow and into real depth.

That alone is something I haven’t shared with a woman, not counting the women in my family or the women dating my friends, in years. Years!

Valentina tilts her head, silently asking me to continue. She rolls her lips together and I note how plump and shiny they are. The freckles on the bridge of her nose stand out and I love that she doesn’t wear foundation to cover them up.

She’s…real. Upfront. Honest.

And I’m in a position to help her.

“Valentina,” I repeat. “Do you want to marry me?”

Her mouth drops open, and her eyes widen. They swing over my face and the bar before dropping to the two tequila shots I ordered ages ago.

She reaches for one and tosses it back, wincing from the sting of the strong burn.

I reach for her arm to steady her.

She shakes off my touch and stares at me. “Can you say that again?”

“I…um…do you want to marry me?” I repeat, dumbfounded. This has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I’m offering marriage—marriage!—to a woman who is hardly a damsel in distress. For fuck’s sake, until two hours ago, I thought of her as my harmless stalker.

And after witnessing the love between Raia and Cohen tonight, shouldn’t I strive for that? Not just a breath of fresh air and a non-shallow conversation with the first woman I run into at the bar.

How low have I set the bar? Hell, is it just rolling across the floor?

And yet, I don’t take back my offer.

I let the words hang there, stretch and contract, take all different kind of shapes, as I wait for Valentina to respond.

While logically, I know she should say no, a part of me wants her to say yes.

It makes no damn sense. Nothing about tonight makes sense.

“You’re serious?” she breathes out.

“Sure,” I say, taking the other shot glass and downing its contents. The sting of alcohol roots me to this moment. To this woman. “Marry me. It will sort out your visa issue in no time.”

Chapter4

Valentina

I literally pinch myself.

I have to be drunk—there’s no other explanation.

On the second pass, I dig my fingernails into my skin for good measure. “Ah!”

“What are you doing?” Avery’s hand darts out and he takes my fingers in his, squeezing them lightly. His expression is confused, concerned.

“You can’t actually be proposing marriage,” I say evenly. Rationally.

Avery’s eyes soften and the look he gives me—his eyes liquid ink—almost hurts. It’s too understanding; too tender. Too…out of my comfort zone. “Why not?”

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