Page 60 of Can't Always Get What You Want

“I don’t pay it,” I confess, unable to look him in the eyes when I say it.

It’s not like I’m proud.

“Oh?”

“Gio,” I say, already rooting through a bag, “used to live in the penthouse upstairs. Bought it and this apartment then decided the suburbs were more his speed after Austin got pregnant and now…” I clear my throat. “It’s just me in the building.”

Luca leans against the counter, clearly impressed. “Remind me to ask him to adopt me. My house sucks.”

“Well. Play your cards right and I’ll let you hang out here every now and again.” I pull the lemons from the supplies andadd them to a bowl in the middle of my island, then the rosemary. Out comes the chicken, parm, and olive oil…

I dust the invisible dirt off my hands and rest them on my hips. “Tour?” I ignore the flutter in my heart. “There’s not much to it, actually—the apartment is mainly living room.”

It feels like it’s a massive space, thanks to the high ceilings.

“Back in the day, this building used to be a factory.” I begin walking toward the hallway as Luca trails along after me, head on a swivel. “It’s this room, plus a bedroom, office, and bathrooms.”

One full, one half.

Plenty for one person.

He peeks into my office, whistling again as he takes in the cozy atmosphere. The large reclaimed wood desk that I found at an estate sale, a tall bookshelf filled with novels, and the overstuffed couch. TV on the far wall. Fake olive tree I bought at Costco after seeing it on social media.

“I’m so into this.”

I don’t let him linger.

I keep walking, pointing out doors as I pass. “Guest bath,” I say, pointing to the next door. “Feel free to use it if you need to go. Bedroom is down here, but we’re not going there.”

“We’re not?” He raises a brow.

“Nope.” I spin on my heel, already halfway back to the kitchen. “Danger zone. Not taking chances.”

“Not taking chances onwhat?” he calls after my retreating figure, amusement dripping from his voice.

“On me,” I mutter under my breath, beelining it toward the island like it’s home base in a game of tag.

Horny.

Tag.

He laughs behind me.

“What I’m hearing is, you don’t think you can keep your hands to yourself and think we should hang out in the kitchen where it’s safe.”

“Exactly.” I reach for a sauté pan. “This is a sacred, safe space. Like church.”

“When is the last time you were in a church? Be honest.”

“Uh. Six months ago smart-ass, when my friend Bethany almost got married.”

Luca plucks an almond out of the bowl kept on the counter and pops it in his mouth, chewing. “How does onealmostget married?”

“She changed her mind.”

Real talk: we all knew the engagement was doomed from the get-go. Emmit, her fiancé, was a finance bro with zero emotional range and an obsession with crypto currency. Total douche.

Never made time for her.

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