Page 36 of Die for You
I type out my reply and switch the language so it’ll translate into Italian. “I’m the one who is sorry. I’m not much company.”
Nico frowns, shaking his head, and gestures for the phone back. He frantically types and presses a button. The robotic voice sounds. “Please don’t say sorry. You’re the best company I’ve had in a very long while. You can talk to the farm animals for only so long.”
I burst into laughter.
Nico is funny. I never thought so. I guess this allows me to understand his personality better, and so far, I like it.
I ask for the phone. “Why are you so kind to me?”
Nico mulls over my question.
His brows knit together as it seems he’s weighing up what to say. He sighs before typing out something that is the beginning of the end.
“Because I like you,” says the robotic voice.
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He doesn’t need the translator to understand me as he frantically replies. “Because you are good…even if you don’t believe it.”
I don’t know what to say.
His kind eyes are too much, as are his words, and I stand abruptly as I need air, but in my haste, I accidentally spill the half bottle of wine all over Nico’s white shirt.
He jumps up, but the damage is done.
“I’m so sorry!” Grabbing a napkin, I dab at his shirt, but this will stain if we don’t soak it. “Take off your shirt.”
He hesitates, but with fumbling fingers, I unbutton his shirt. Each button reveals a sliver of hardened, olive skin. Once the final button is undone, I have to remember to swallow because his pecs are perfectly shaped, and the sprinkle of hair running from his chest down to his belly button just adds to his masculinity.
He has a tattoo of a tree down the side of his ribs, which seems to emphasize his ripped abs.
I want to bury my face in that soft chest hair and take a big whiff because he smells so damn good.
Nico offers me the shirt, and I snap back to reality, taking it sheepishly.
I race to the laundry and take three calming breaths. Gripping the trough, I will my heart to calm down and stop acting like a lunatic.
My hands shake as I place his shirt into a bucket of hot water and a stain remover powder.
“Chill the fuck out,” I whisper to myself. “If he knew what you did, he wouldn’t be saying the things he does. Remember who you are.”
Hardly the pep talk one would usually want to hear, but it works.
As I reenter the kitchen, Nico stands topless, collecting the plates. A man who cleans up after himself.
Honestly, how is he single?
I wonder what his backstory is. He seems too good to be true.
My eyes drift to the front of his pants, and I see his jeans are also stained.
“I can soak them too?”
He looks at me, and I point at his pants.
He seems to wrestle with his decision, but eventually, he unfastens the top button. As soon as his zipper is halfway down, I hear a voice that is heaven and hell in one breath.
“Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”
