Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“You won’t have nowhere to go, Bianca.” Enzo sounded irritated with me. “Do you think I’d put you out on the street with our baby? If it comes to it, I can always go stay at Beckett’s.”
I looked over at him. “Really? You’d move out of your own house for me?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling an odd catch in my chest.
A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of my building, and I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride. And for dinner.” Enzo had paid the entire bill, which had been sizable.
“You’re welcome.”
I glanced at the digital clock on the dash. It was only nine. “Do you want to come in for a drink or something?”
“I guess I could.”
“No pressure,” I said quickly. “If you’ve got other plans, it’s fine.”
“No other plans,” he said, swinging around so he could park in one of the spots marked Guest. “I’m just surprised you’d want to spend any more time with me than necessary.”
“I’m trying to get used to you,” I joked. “It’s like exposure therapy. And pretty soon, all our Saturday nights are going to be spent together.”
“Can’t wait,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. Then he turned off the engine, and stared out the windshield at the harbor, ghostly in the dark. “You got any whiskey?”
“I do, in fact. And I make a mean Manhattan if you’re interested.”
He gave me the side-eye. “I’m interested.”
My heartbeat quickened whenever he looked at me that way, with that I’m game if you’re game expression. I made sure to keep my tone neutral. “Then come on in.”
Five
Enzo
“What should we drink to?” Bianca asked, taking a seat at the opposite end of the couch and raising her Manhattan toward mine.
“To a long and happy life—apart,” I suggested, leaning over and tapping my glass against hers.
She took a sip and tucked her feet beneath her. All the drapes were closed, only one floor lamp was on, and she’d turned on the gas fireplace, so the room was warm and intimate. In another life, with another woman, I’d have been moving a little closer to her on the couch, sliding a palm up her thigh, working my mouth from her throat to her lips. She had such perfect lips, and when she’d kissed me at the table, I’d nearly lost my mind. My dick had responded as if she’d put her hand in my pants.
The entire rest of the meal I’d been annoyed with her—and with my body’s reaction to her. But how was I supposed to control that?
She wasn’t supposed to fucking kiss me! That had been her rule, and she’d broken it. And now kissing was fair play in the game—what the hell was I going to do about that? How was I supposed to not get hard when she leaned into me, put those lips on mine, and looked at me like she wanted me? Was it all for show?
It had to be, because the minute we were alone, she was always angry about something. But God, it turned me on how mad she got. Pissing her off was like my new favorite sport.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Flip any houses lately?” she asked.
“Not really. You?”
“Not in a while. I was working with a friend in Chicago who was sort of the money behind the deals—I did all the legwork, supervised the renovations, and then I turned it over to a real estate agent friend to make the sale—but the friend in Chicago lost big on a few risky stock investments and pulled back.” She shrugged. “And I knew I needed to save up for fertility treatments. They’re not cheap.”
“Got it.” I took another sip of my drink. “Did you like living in Chicago?”
“I did, believe it or not. I never really thought of myself as a city girl, and I hated the traffic, but I did like the convenience of having lots of shopping and dining options right there in my neighborhood.”
“Where in Chicago did you live?”
She leaned back against one end of the couch, stretching her legs out, her feet nearly touching my thigh. She wore black socks with gray polka dots on them, and when she wiggled her toes, they cracked. “When I first moved down there, I lived on campus. Then I had an apartment with a girlfriend in Bucktown.” Her eyes dropped to her drink. “But for the last four years, I lived with my boyfriend downtown. He had a condo on Lake Shore Drive.”
“Fancy,” I remarked, wondering why I hated this boyfriend without even knowing his name.
She nodded without smiling. “It was.”
“Four years, huh? That’s a long time.”
“We were actually together for five.”
I drank again. “What was his name?”
“Tate DuCharme.”
Figured he’d even have an asshole name. “So what happened?”
She exhaled and stared into her glass, and for a second I thought she was going to tell me it was none of my business and then I’d have to argue that her relationship history would be something I’d know about if we were really in love, disguising the fact that I was just really fucking curious. But she surprised me again.