Page 61 of Broken Deal

I nod, trying to forget about everything and live in this moment.

Lorenzo goes first, and once they jump, I step to the edge. Everything looks so small and insignificant from this high up, and it makes me think for a moment how much more there is to this life. How, even when I’m drowning in my problems most of the time, there’s more to look forward to. The wind roars in my ears, the deafening rush drowning out every other sound. My heart lodges in my throat with a wild rhythm that matches the adrenaline surging through my veins. The sky is the lightest shade of blue, with the whitest, most beautiful clouds I’ve ever seen, and the ground is a patchwork of green and brown that seems impossibly distant.

And before I know it…we fall.

For the briefest second, my stomach lurches, a free-fall that seems like it will never end. The air rushes past me, cold and sharp, biting my cheeks and tugging at my clothes. He taps my shoulders twice, and I open my arms wide as I start laughing to the point of tears. I laugh and laugh like never before. I’m weightless, suspended between earth and sky, untethered from everything that once felt solid and certain. It’s an exhilarating feeling, one I don’t want to let go of. All of my problems and swirls of thoughts wash away from me with every second we continue falling, and every sharp wind that cuts against my face. As my arms stay wide open, I let the wind catch me, lift me, and for a moment, I’m flying. Truly flying. Not just falling or drowning in the uncertainty of life and my decisions.

I’m…living.

This is the feeling I’ve been chasing. A reminder that I amalive, and I get to experience things like this. That I can take risks and be happy while doing them.

The parachute opens above me, yanking me back to reality. As we land, the world below me seems so peaceful now, almost serene, as a strange sense of calm settles over me. Once I’m settled, I quickly get out of the equipment, throw my helmet and goggles on the ground, and turn around, frantically looking for Lorenzo. When I find him, he’s already out of the parachute, too, looking at me with a bright smile. Before I know what I’m doing, I start to run and run until my legs feel like giving out and leap into his arms. I wrap my hands around his neck and my legs around his waist, hugging him tightly. Lorenzo easily catches me, his hands gripping the curve of my ass to keep me firmly in place. The sensation of having his body pressed against mine makes me feel alive all over again.

My lips find his ear. “Thank you,” I whisper shakily, on the verge of tears. “You have no idea what this meant for me.”

His eyes find mine, and he gives me the most mouth-dropping, gorgeous smile he’s ever given me. He kisses the top of my head then rests his chin on top of it. “Don’t thank me. I’m just glad I was able to help you forget about your problems for a moment.”

I knew he did this for me, but to hear that come out of his mouth makes my heart soar with so much…contentment.

It makes me feel understood.

But more importantly? It makes me feel seen.

After we skydived—I still can’t believe I get to say that now—Lorenzo decided he wanted to try to makeRopa Vieja. I’m currently cutting the vegetables as he’s seasoning the meat. I thought it was mesmerizing to see Lorenzo take over the poker table, with his natural talent and commanding presence. But him in the kitchen is something out of this world. He’s in his element, in every sense of the word.

“You’re holding the knife wrong,” he says, washing his hands and drying them on his apron. You would think he would look silly wearing one, but the man is so incredibly handsome, is quite the opposite. He looks ridiculously hot wearing a cedar-blue denim apron and a backward hat. He walks over and stands behind me as his arms wrap around me, his hand holding mine on top of the knife. His masculine, intoxicating cologne envelops my senses, and I hold myself back from doing or saying anything, because I selfishly want him to embrace me for a little while longer.

His lips are close to my ears, whispering, “Grab it by the handle and rest your finger against the side of the blade.” His hand guides my thumb to where he wants it. With his other hand, he tucks my fingers under, forming a claw shape. “This will help you grip the vegetable as you cut and keep the control.”

Lorenzo’s voice is naturally deep and sultry, capable of making anything sound sensual. His whispers in my ear send tingles down my spine and ignite a fire in my lower belly. I only manage to bite my lip and nod, because I’ve lost the ability to speak with his proximity. We cut the peppersin silence, the only sound between us the steady rhythm of the knife against the cutting board.

“Got it,” I manage to say hoarsely.

He buries his nose in my hair, inhaling. “Have I ever told you that you smell like summer?” he asks, his voice taking an even deeper tone.

I drop my knife and bite my lip again, stifling a small whimper. “Uhm, n-no. I don’t think you, uh, have.”

He chuckles softly, stepping back, and the moment he does, a wave of emptiness rushes in, leaving me cold in his absence. “It’s funny how someone as fierce and wild as you can smell so intoxicatingly sweet.”

I rear back as I look at him and tilt my head. “You think I’m fierce?”

He grins, his eyes glinting with admiration as he steps back in, just close enough that I can feel his warmth. “Oh, you are,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur that makes my heart stutter. “You’re fierce in a way that makes people take a step back. Like you could burn someone if they get too close.”

My cheeks heat up at his words. “I…had no idea you thought that.”

“I don’t think it. I know it,” he replies with one of his killer smiles, the one that makes his dimple pop.

With that, we go back to prepping the food in silence, but the air between us is charged with a tension thick enough to cut.

“When did you realize you enjoyed cooking?” I find myself asking, trying to avoid the energy that’s flickering between us.

He drops the vegetables in the Dutch oven with a tiny bit of extra-virgin olive oil, the sizzling and earthy smell filling the air. “Is this your question of the day?”

I hop on the kitchen counter, swiftly grabbing my glass of wine and taking a sip before replying. “I have more than one question, so we should play another question game instead.”

As he sautés the vegetables, his lips twitch into a smile, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Enjoying playing games with me, Blue?”

I throw a fake gasp at him, bulging my eyes. “Ugh! As if!”

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