“What a beautiful story.”
I laughed and stopped walking. I sat down on an old wood and iron bench at the edge of the busiest part of downtown and stretched my legs out. She hesitated then sat with me.
“Fact is, being a thief isn’t the worst thing I could’ve become.”
“What’s that then?”
“Dealers are worse. The fucking mob’s worse.” I made a face, thinking back to all those guys I knew from back in the day, half of them dead now, none of them rich. “Back when we were young, you know, a lot of us thought we’d make it by now.”
“You know a lot of guys that joined the family?”
“Shit, half the guys I grew up with. They all thought they’d be rich, fat capos, running big crews and owning the world. That didn’t happen.”
“What’d you think?”
I tilted my head and sat closer to her. “I never thought I’d end up babysitting a pretty girl like you, that’s for sure.”
She rolled her eyes. “I think you’re full of shit, you know that?”
“Sounds about right, but I’ll bite. Why do you think so?”
“You talk like you had no choice but to end up the way you did. I think that’s garbage.”
“Says the girl with a rich father.”
She glared at me and pushed me away. “My dad was rich, but he’s a piece-of-shit gangster that almost got me killed.”
I sat there, looking at her with surprise. “Killed?”
She pulled away instantly. I saw it happen, almost as if in slow motion: her face shut down, her body language closed up, and she moved as far from me as she could.
“Figure of speech,” she said.
“Bullshit. What happened to you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Amber,” I said softly. “You can tell me. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but I understand.”
She stood up abruptly. “No, you don’t.” She stared at me. “I want to go back now.”
I nodded and stood. “All right, we can go back.”
We walked in silence and she stared at the pavement like she wanted to kick it into submission. I knew something bad happened to her, and I could guess at the details, but I wanted to hear it from her. I couldn’t push her though—that was a surefire way to piss her off even more.
I slowed before we reached the house. She hesitated then turned back to me, an annoyed look on her face.
“What?” she asked. “Can we just go back in?”
I held up my hands. “You don’t have to be in attack mode all the time.”
“I’m not attacking anything.” She stepped forward, and I knew she was angry.
“I’m just saying, if you don’t want to talk about what happened, that’s okay. I won’t push you.”
“Great. Can we go inside?”
I walked closer to her. “I’m not your enemy.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop pretending like you hate me. I’m not the one that landed you here. In fact, I’m trying my best to keep you safe.”
“And you’re doing a great job.”
I stopped right in front of her. She glared up at me, but I saw some of the anger starting to fade. She must’ve realized that she’d gone too far, or at least that her anger was misplaced. I truly wasn’t her enemy, and she didn’t need to act like I was some kind of monster for being curious about her.
She hated guys like me, that was obvious. But I wasn’t the piece-of-shit mafia dick she pretended I was.
I reached out, fingers brushing her shoulder, then up to her cheek. She blinked, surprised, and I moved closer. Goddamn, she was beautiful—those full lips begged to get bitten, those wide eyes were easy to fall deep into.
“What are you doing?” she asked, but didn’t pull away.
“I notice the way you look at me,” I said, voice low. “You hate me, but I think you want me, too. And I think your hate’s a little misplaced.”
She softened a touch. “Maybe it’s a little misplaced.”
“I know you’ve seen the way I look at you, too.”
“You’re not subtle about it.”
“No,” I said, tilting my head. “I’m really not. I want you to notice.”
I held her gaze like that, inches apart, my hand on her cheek, and she didn’t move. I leaned forward and brushed my lips against hers, testing her, tasting her, for the briefest of moments—
Before kissing her deep and slow.
She didn’t return it immediately. She felt stiff in my arms, before relaxing, like all that tension she’d been carrying inside melted away from her, and her tongue slid against mine, her lips hungrily kissing me back, her fingers digging into my shoulder blades. She tasted like coffee and the attic and paint and fresh grass, and I couldn’t get enough of it as we lingered there, bodies pressed together. It was a rush, a relief, but it only sparked something stronger inside of me as I pulled away and met her gaze.