“Are you cold?” I ask, taking a step toward her. My gaze drops to her hands to signal that’s why I’m asking, but Chiara shoves them into the pockets of my blue sweatpants to hide them from me.
“No.”
She doesn’t give me more information, but she doesn’t have to. I understand why. She’s anxious. Tired. Drained. Everything I am, and fuck, it feels awful to see her breaking apart slowly.Not your problem, I try to remind myself, but it doesn’t work.
“You’ll be okay,” I say, Chiara’s gaze fixating on the marble countertops.
“Yeah, as soon as I get to take a bite of that chicken piccata,” she replies to ease the tension, but it feels wrong. I know she senses it too.
“Graham will be back in six, quick months,” I assure her, and she flashes me a glare I wasn’t prepared for. What did I expect? We’ve been at each other’s throats since we met two decades ago. I’ve never tried to comfort her before, so she doesn’t trust me or want me to do that either.
“How about we don’t talk about my feelings or assume them, Champ?” she asks, and it makes a frustration like no other settle inside of me. I can’t even fucking comfort that woman properly.
“Fine,” I say and walk toward my pan to stir the food.
“Fine,” she imitates me, and I turn around to grimace at her.
“How old are you? Five?” I ask, but what does she do in response? She rolls her bloody eyes and moves toward where Benz is on the floor at the entrance of the kitchen.
“You know, you didn’t have to bring me here. You insisted, for some inexplicable reason, so don’t let your frustration out on me. You knew we don’t get along before you dragged me here,” she says, and her point is so valid, it shuts me up for a very long moment.
I did know how horribly this would probably go, but when I watched her umbrella getting destroyed by the wind and then her body slumping as she stared at the sky and got soaked, I couldn’t do nothing. Chiara is a pain, yes, but she also means something to—Yikes. Don’t finish that thought.
“I told you. I’m a good person and for once, you get to see it too,” I say, and she lets out an unamused snort.
“Yes, you’re such a good person and so incredibly humble,” she replies, laying on the sarcasm extra thickly just in case I was too stupid to hear it.
“Let’s make a bet. I bet I can be nice to you longer than you can be nice to me,” I offer because if there is one thing we both love, it’s a good challenge. Chiara’s face immediately shows how intrigued she is.
“What does the winner get?” she asks, and I place my hands on the countertop, thinking about her question. Her eyes immediately drift to my forearms and biceps, so I flex them a little harder. Starling swallows hard, her cheeks flushing. Not good. I was trying to tease her, but my cock hardens at the sight of her arousal on her face. Karma. It has to be.
“If I win, you have to tell me which club you’re working at and let me come once,” I say, causing confusion to dance onto her pouty lips. They’re irritatingly beautiful, just like her eyes.
“Why would you want to do that? To make fun of me?”No, to make sure every scenario my head has come up with about you working there is born out of paranoia and not possibility.
“Obviously,” I lie, earning myself a head shake from her. Benz whines on the floor next to Chiara because she stopped petting her.
“Fine, but if I win, I get to take care of Benz when you’re gone for your next race weekend,” she says, and I don’t hesitate before responding.
“Under one condition.” Chiara narrows her green eyes at me in response. I was thinking about leaving Benz with her next weekend anyway, but I do have that one condition. “You have to take the week off from your other jobs to give her your full attention. I will pay you, of course,” I add the last sentence because Starling already started to look at me like I was insane.
“Okay,” is her only reply, making me take several steps back.
“Really?” I was expecting her to fight me a little, not agree this quickly.
“Yes. I have vacation days for all of my jobs anyway, and if you pay me well, I can use them,” she explains, scratching Benz’s belly.
There is only pure love in Chiara’s gaze as she stares at my Pit Bull, causing my insides to twist. Fuck, seeing those two in my apartment while I finish dinner feels uncomfortably… right. God, no. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with my head? Maybe I need to have it checked.
“Alright then, the bet’s on.” I walk over to her, holding my hand out. Chiara looks up at me with exasperation.
“Do I have to?” she asks, and I harden my features, feeling my jaw tick in response.
“Yes.”
I wiggle my fingers, and she lets out an exaggerated sigh as she slips her fingers over my palm and shakes my hand. As soon as her skin presses against mine, electricity shoots through me. A warmth like no other sets up camp in my stomach, unsettling me. We barely ever touch. That day in her room four weeks ago when I grabbed her chin was one of those rare times, and I don’t plan on doing it more now, especially because it makes me react in ways I will never admit to another human being. Maybe I will tell Benz, but she’s a big fan of Chiara’s touch, so she sure as hell won’t judge me.
“Should I lay the table?” Starling asks after a few minutes of me working in the kitchen.
