Page 42 of Broken Deal

As I’m drying my hair after getting out of the shower, I hear a soft knock on the door. I stride to the door and open it, finding Lorenzo standing in all his six-foot-three glory. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a black summer polo shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and strong arms. My curiosity about how far his ink reaches tames a little as my eyes roam. Besides the random small tattoos he has all over his arm, there’s one that seems to be like a clock with roman numerals, some type of flower, and an ace of spades—how fitting. There’s a tattoo on his tricep that catches my attention, but I can’t get a good look because of the fabric that’s hiding it.

And now my curiosity is sparked all over again. I just want to see all of his tattoos, just once. Is that too much to ask? Strictly for research purposes, of course.

Pft. Yeah.Research.

My eyes keep roaming the rest of him a little too eagerly. He’s all tanned skin and strong, lean muscles. While he and Damian look somewhat alike, there’s something about Lorenzo. His beauty is pure and raw, like a firethat hasn’t yet been tamed, bright and intense, pulling you in without even trying.

He leans against the door frame of my room, crossing his arms. “You hungry?”

It takes me a moment to respond, because I’m totally checking him out and I’m sure I’m being fairly obvious about it. What can I say? The man is on his own level of handsomeness. I’m sure he knows it. Everyone does.

As if on cue, my stomach grumbles. “Actually, yeah. We got anything here?”

He shakes his head. “No. But I’m sending someone to do groceries tomorrow. Get dressed and we’ll go out. There are some wonderful places around here.”

“What category does it fall under for us to have dinner together?” I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow. “Careful, Ace.”

He licks his lips, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “I’m assuming it’s in a safer category than you blatantly checking me out when I knocked on your door,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

The scent of him—smoky and so intoxicatingly sweet—hits me as he towers over me, and suddenly my throat goes dry. I force myself to swallow, hoping it hides the nerves that kick up whenever he’s near.

“Stop checking me out, Blue. Have some manners,” he adds, a knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t act like you hate it,” I retort, recalling what he told me that night.

He grabs a strand of my hair, twisting it around his finger with a playful hum. “On the contrary.” He leans in, his mouth almost brushing my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “You can look all you wantandtouch all you want,Blue.” His whisper is low and inviting, carrying a weight of secrets that sends a thrill coursing through me.

“You’re an impossible flirt,” I say, a little breathless.

His grin is wicked, unapologetic. “Only for you, Blue. Think you can handle it?”

My back stiffens at his comment, and I take a sharp step back, squinting at him before shutting the door in his face with a mix of frustration and flustered nerves.

Walked right into that one.

His hearty laugh echoes through the closed door as he calls out, “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Getting a rise out of Sophia is turning out to be one of my favorite things to do. Dare I say it’s more fun than poker? She makes it so easy. When will she learn I’m not normal? Playing games is my thing. And as I’ve come to find out, it’s her thing, too. She can deny it all she wants. Be stubborn about it. It doesn’t make it any less true.

I know the group has been joking lately that we’re the same person, and while I know Sophia is offended at the thought, I find it interesting. I’ve never met a woman like her. Someone who likes to challenge me and call me out every chance she gets and is unapologetic about it. It’s my favorite trait about her—personality-wise, anyway. I can think ofmanyfavorite physical traits.

Her intense blue eyes.

Her long, shiny, perfect brown hair.

Her perfectly shaped lips.

Her round, perky ass.

The list is endless. It’s no secret I’m attracted to her. We slept together, after all. And even though people considerme the biggest playboy of the Chicagoland area—as everyone oftenlovesto remind me—little do they know, that’s the farthest from the truth lately. I haven’t slept with anyone since I crossed paths with Sophia. I’m not pining for her or anything. I’m smarter than that. She has made it very clear she’s not going to touch me with a ten-foot pole, even when her eyes betray her sometimes and blatantly check me out. It’s just a game. No one has ever taken me seriously. Women want me for one thing: sex. They don’t care about getting to know me, why would they?

Women using me as a pit stop before meeting their prince charming should be depressing, but you can’t be depressed at something you’ve always done. Something you’re used to being. I’m not boyfriend material, much less husband material. Women come to me when they want to have the night of their lives, not when they’re looking to settle down. And even though I’ve always felt this hole in my heart, and I’ve come to find it tiring from time to time, I’ve never understood what has been missing from my life.

Companionship, maybe?

Love? Extremely doubtful. That was an unknown concept at my house. While other kids were being unconditionally loved by their parents—hell, even grandparents—I was being trained on how to make mindful business decisions. On how to always make more money. On how to carry on the stupid family legacy. And what do I have to show for it? A stuffy vice presidency position. Oh, and my misery.

I’m overthinking shit too much. My life is great. I have no one to tie me down, nor do I answer to anyone. Ishouldbe happy about it. Iamhappy about it.

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