Page 110 of Vicious Games

I nod and rest my hands on her hips. “Goodnight, Frankie.”

“Goodnight, Lucky.”

Her eyes darken just a little, her lips parting, eager to be met by mine. I lean in slowly, brushing my mouth against hers. It’s soft and sweet until it’s not.

I press harder, deeper, tasting the quiet ache I’ve been holding back for days. Frankie lets out the faintest whimper just as I turn her gently, pinning her back against the door. My hands slide along her waist, anchoring her there while our kiss turns hot, messy and breathless, and so fucking good.

When I’m sure her knees are close to buckling, I hold her steady, pulling back with a low exhale.

“Goodnight,” I murmur again, barely able to get the word out.

She stares at me for a second longer, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. And then, to my utter disappointment, she turns around and steps inside, slowly closing the door until her gorgeous face disappears from view. And just like that, I’m standing in the hallway alone, completely wrecked by one little kiss.

I stare at her door like an idiot, willing it to open. As if I stared at it long enough, she’d come back out. Change her mind and say screw it to the risks and rules and family dinner still happening downstairs and stay with me for the night. But her door stays shut. Locked up tight. And after standing there for what feels like forever, I let out a sigh and drag myself into my room.

From the sound of music, clinking glasses, and bursts of laughter, the party’s still raging downstairs, but I’m not in the mood to join in on the celebration. Not tonight. Not when all I can think about is her. Frankie.

Somewhere between trying to corrupt her and trying to save her from wasting her life with a vow she’d regret… I fell in love. I’m in love with Frankie O’Malley. Fuck me.

Does her punching me in the face count as a meet-cute? Is that the story we’re going to tell our grandkids?

Jesus fucking Christ, but I must have it bad if my mind just spun out of control to think of grandkids all of a sudden.

After a quick cold shower, I sit on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, palms running over my face, wondering where it all went wrong.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I never expected it, and I sure as fuck never planned for it. But it happened anyway. And now I can’t go back.

Laugh it up, Enzo,I think bitterly, since the asshole called it from the start. He joked that I’d catch feelings for the would-be nun from the get-go.

Well, you were right, brother. I fell. And by the looks of it, fucking hard.

I lie back against the pillows, eyes closed, trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do next.

This changes everything. Or maybe it doesn’t. Shit if I know. It’s not like I’ve ever been in love before. I’ll probably be bad at it anyway. It’s not like being selfless is in my DNA.

One thing is for sure, falling in love with Frankie complicates things. Because how do I tell a girl like Frankie that I’m in love with her without scaring her off? Without making her think it’s all just some game? But then again, isn’t that, by definition, what love is—vicious games you play with your heart?

Great. Now I’m pulling heartfelt philosophies out of my ass. So far, this love shit stinks. Sticks to high fucking hell.

A soft, faint knock on my door cuts through my downward spiral. I pause, waiting for a second knock, telling myself I must be imagining things—maybe a symptom of whatever love-sick illness I’m battling. But then I hear a barely audible click. My eyes snap to the doorknob, watching as it slowly begins to turn. As the door creaks open, Frankie stands in the dim hallway light, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that barely covers her thick, mouthwatering thighs.

My breath catches in an instant, forcing me not to breathe or make any sudden movements that might scare her away.

She doesn’t say anything. Just steps inside, closing the door behind her with a quiet click, and turning the key to lock us both inside.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispers, her blue gaze scorching my skin with one look.

I rise off the bed like a man pulled by gravity, drawn to her as if she were the only thing in the room that mattered. Because right now? She is.

The Lucky that woke up this morning would have cracked a joke right about now. Would have said anything just to ease the tension in the room. But the Lucky I am at this very minute doesn’t have it in him. All I manage to do is extend my hand to her, praying she latches on to it. My heart pounds like a war drum when she places her soft hand in mine. And on instinct, I pull her toward me, her chest slamming against mine, stealing the air from both our lungs.

“You can’t be here,” I growl, my voice ragged.

“Why not?” she asks, breathless, her eyes searching mine.

“You know why.”

“Tell me anyway.”

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