Page 59 of Can't Always Get What You Want

This is your own damn fault!

Poppy would die right now if she knew I’d invited him back to my place after insisting I wouldn’t. She will be so fucking proud when I tell her.

I resist the urge to message her, knowing it would trigger an onslaught of rapid-fire texts, and her foaming at the mouth if I don’t respond immediately.

Luca is beside my car, unloading the two grocery bags and we fall into step, heading toward the elevator in the parking garage. Our arms brush occasionally, quiet stretching between us.

But it’s not awkward.

It’sthick, if that makes sense.

Like every word we’renotsaying is hanging in the air with us.

I press the elevator button; when the doors slide open, we step in.

Luca stands close. I can feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace…

The doors slide shut.

The silence hums.

Luca shifts, the bags rustling in his arms. We touch, our hips bumping, but this time neither of us move away. Not that there’s all that much space in this small space…

“You always this quiet after luring a man into your lair?” he asks, voice low and teasing.

“My lady lair.” I nod. “Yes, I don’t want to make any sudden movements and scare you off.”

He snorts. “Not likely.”

The elevator dings as it passes the tenth floor. Nine more to go…

His voice drops. “You nervous?”

“Not at all,” I liewaytoo fast.

He just grins. “That’s cute.”

The doors slide open and I flee the cramped elevator car,leading the way to my door with way too much energy. Luca chuckles under his breath behind me, enjoying my nervous verve.

“Do I get a tour?” he asks as I fish around my messenger bag for my keys.

“Of course. Once we take the groceries out of the bags.”

I shove the heavy door open and step inside first, the cool blast of AC and the lingering scent of my Amalfi Lemon candle wrapping around us.

Luca follows me through the threshold, bags in hand, and barely takes two steps in before pausing mid-stride.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“This your place?” he asks, turning in a slow circle, taking in the exposed brick walls, high ceilings with raw beams, and the afternoon sunlight spilling through oversized industrial windows, warming the wide-plank hardwood floors.

A smile tugs at my lips.

It’s impressive, I know.

I take the grocery bags from his hands and plop them on the kitchen island.

He wanders over, fingers brushing the edge of the cold stone. “This is insane. Like,insane-insane. Rent must be?—”

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