Page 48 of Broken Deal

“What’s reckless is how hot this coffee is,” I exclaim through an exasperated breath.

“What can I say? I like my coffee extra hot.”

I place the coffee mug on the counter with a loudthud,the coffee spilling on my hand, burning me.Great. I’m all over the place today, and it has everything to do with the man in front of me who gave me two delicious dry-humping orgasms and nothing to do with the lack of caffeine.

“That’s ridiculous,” I hiss, snatching a paper towel to wipe up the mess. “Were you raised by heathens?”

“Some would say that.” He shrugs casually, hiding his smirk behind his cup.

I prop my elbows on the counter and shoot him a glare, resting my cheeks on the palms of my hands as a small huff escapes my lips. “Now I have to wait a hundred years, because you drink coffee that’s hotter thanhell.”

He grabs my mug and dumps the liquid in the sink then rinses it and places it in the dishwasher. “How about this? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee on our way to our destination.”

“And our destination is?”

He shrugs, opting for silence with a knowing smirk.

I shoot him a glance and roll my eyes. He’s so cryptic about the stupidest things. I can almost guarantee he does it because he likes to mess with me. There’s no point in arguing about it, because I know the chances of him telling me are slim to none.

Uhm, hello? Are we going to ignore the big elephant in the room?

“We need to talk about what happened yesterday,” I blurt.

He leans against the counter casually, crossing his arms and looking at me expectantly. After a beat of silence, he says, “If you expect me to apologize, it’s not going to happen. Because I’m not sorry.”

I should find his brutal honesty endearing, but sometimes it’s just too much—and that’s coming from the girl who’s equally as blunt.

I let out an exasperated laugh. “It can’t happen again, Lorenzo. If we’re going to spend this summer together, it has to remain strictly professional.”

A heavy silence hangs between us, thick with tension. His gaze roams over me, the intensity of it setting my body ablaze. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, and a part of me aches to be the one tasting him instead.

Seriously, Sophia. Get a grip. Buy a vibrator like a normal person and stop thinking about these things.

“Fine,” he replies with a simple shrug.

I take a step back, a little shocked.Huh?I thought he was going to put up a fight. There was no denying what happened yesterday was crazy but hot.

As if reading my mind, he continues, “I told you I would follow your lead. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

His reply should make me feel at ease; instead, a pang of disappointment hits me out of nowhere.

You have to make up your damn mind, woman.

If I have any chance to survive him, it has to remain professional. I have no other option.

“Good,” I reply shakily.

He nods with a boyish smile that does nothing to calm my racing heart. “Now go get ready, we have places to be.”

A resigned sigh escapes my lips as I walk back to my bedroom. “Give me thirty minutes,” I say before disappearing back into my room to take a shower.

I’m honestly too tired to do anything today, but I’m still excited to see what new behind-the-scenes things I’ll get to witness. Despite everything that has happened, spending time with Lorenzo isn’t the worst thing in the world. And if we overlook the whole dry-humping fiasco, that moment of honesty he had with me yesterday almost felt like an olive branch. He’s the type of guy who doesn’t like to share anything about his life. Not willingly, anyway. And I will never force him. But it kills me to not know why he thinks like that. How can a man who’s so successful, always has a smile plastered on his face, and loves being the life of the party talk like this about himself?

I brush my hair and put it in a messy bun, rolling the wild strands of hair with my index finger in hopes of taming them a little. The humidity and heat are unbearable, and I can’t stand having my hair down another day. I’ve always loved my long hair, but when I’m in hot places like these, or during summertime in general, I always regret it. I dig through my bag, looking for the comfiest, weather-appropriate outfit, and end up with some jean shorts and a graphic T-shirt that saysBorn To Read, Forced To Work. I laugh, remembering Isabella gifting me this shirt as a joke. Who knew the grump of the group had a sense of humor?

I grab my phone and shoot a quick text to Mom. Typically, I talk to her every day, but yesterday was so hectic I forgot.

Me

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