Page 51 of Tricky Puck

“Odd.” I wonder if he committed suicide, but I don’t dare say it. If his Grandma didn’t tell him then I’m not going to open that Pandora’s box of exposing a potential family secret.

“What’s the matter?” he says.

“Nothing.” I laugh. Since when do I do the nervous giggle around men?

“You’re hiding something.”

“You’re imagining things, Milano. I have nothing on my mind but sex.” I revert to my bold banter, and it has the desired effect of short-circuiting that discussion about what’s on my over-active mind.

And opens up another troubling line of discussion. Just as we pull into his building’s garage.

“I like the way you think, hot pants.” He aims his wary pirate stare at me, making me think he’s a big liar and maybe he doesn’t even know it. Like he’s defaulting to the conditioned response to an invitation to hot sex, but he’s getting some warning signals from deep down.

“You sure you can handle it?” I keep my voice neutral, which is easy since, if I’m honest with myself, I’m not sure which way I want this to go.

I add, “It might complicate things if we⁠—”

“Things are already fucking complicated.” He pushes a hand through his thick hair and we get out of the car. We both remain silent as we go up to his Penthouse, carrying most of my things. He drops my luggage in the entry and I follow him down the hallway.

But I take a left into the small study before we reach his bedroom and I put the things I’m carrying down there.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking over your so-called office that looks like you haven’t occupied it since you moved in.”

He chuckles. “You can keep your things here, but it’s not set up for sleeping.”

“An air mattress and some bedding will fix that problem.”

He frowns.

I heave a big sigh and say, “You know we have this thing, Milano, and whatever it is could blow up and ruin things if we let it.”

“Blow up?”

I don’t like the look on his face, like he’s interested in doing a science experiment with explosives.

“You’re a sick man, you now that?” He stares at my mouth and I stare back at his for a few thumps of my heart, barely keeping my butterflies caged, before I raise my eyes to meet his.

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.” His voice is low and gravelly and he moves into the room, making it feel like a closet, a very small, warm closet. But he stops a foot away from me, watching and waiting, like the man of few words he is—sometimes.

With my heart beating loud but steady, I jump in, doing the one thing I never wanted to do, making myself vulnerable. But I guess I can’t kid myself because it’s too late to worry about that, isn’t it?

“If we keep giving into our insane chemistry, all the hot sex could turn into intimacy, which could lead to feelings which could⁠—”

He takes a step backs like he’s avoiding a punch, putting his hand up to block it.

“Say no more. I don’t want that to happen to you. No feelings. We agreed we’re not here to get serious.”

I nod. “Right. Then we have a truce on the sex wars.”

“Sex wars?”

One side of his mouth crinkles in a lopsided grin, showing his dimple and that springs the lock on all the butterflies inside me as they float around and create a warm fluttery feeling in my chest. The kind I’m trying to avoid. Shit.

I back up a step too. “For tonight, I’ll sleep on the couch.”