Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(30)

Luca.

He’s not touching me, hell he isn’t even looking at me as we walk down his hallway toward the elevators, but with his scent enveloping me like a cloud, I feel him everywhere, on every part of my body, like a low-frequency vibration humming through me. Even as I curse myself for being so affected by him, I breathe him in a little more with each inhale.

I know in a few minutes, we’ll part ways… but I’m filled with the irrational fear that nothing I do will ever rid my senses of his memory. Not completely. That he’ll linger on inside me forever, like some inextinguishable neurotoxin my vital organs can’t filter out, long after he’s left my presence.

The elevator descends at an achingly slow pace down the five floors to the street. I stare pointedly at the button panel instead of the man by my side. I don’t need to look at him to hear his words still ringing in my ears, haunting me despite my best attempts to shake them off.

You push away any guy who attempts to figure you out, because you’re afraid of what might happen if he really got to know you. The real you, not the carefree girl you pretend to be.

I can’t act like those words didn’t hit a little too close to their intended target, just as I can’t pretend I don’t care that he sees straight through my cool-girl act, in a way no one else in my life has ever really managed to. I tell myself I shouldn’t give a crap what Luca thinks about me, that his opinion shouldn’t matter, that I barely even know the guy…

But you want to, an annoying internal voice whispers to me. Maybe that’s the problem.

He’s right, of course. After Mimi… I don’t let anyone get too close. Especially someone like him, who’d enjoy nothing more than to take a sledgehammer to the walls around my heart, given half the chance. Men like Luca live for a good challenge, love nothing better than the thrill of conquering something most men would consider out of reach.

He’d wreck me just to prove a point.

I do realize, if I’d only sought him out when we first met, his interest probably would’ve vanished faster than a plate of double chocolate cupcakes placed in front of pregnant Gemma. Even I can see the irony: my determination to stay away from him is the sole reason he’s so fascinated by me.

They call it a catch-22. A circumstance with conflicting or mutually dependent conditions. I can’t get close to Luca without jeopardizing the dynamic of our entire friend group… and yet, my current strategy of pretending he doesn’t exist only seems to be making him more inclined to seek me out.

Basically, I’m caught between a rock and Luca’s rock hard abs, with absolutely no way to extract myself gracefully. Which would be fine, if it was the only problem on my docket, but I’m dealing with so much other drama right now, boy troubles are the last thing I need to contend with.

Following him outside, I yank the hem of the sweatshirt down to cover my upper thighs, sticking close in Luca’s shadow as we pass a group of early-morning joggers out for a run along the harbor.

Who the hell runs this early? Voluntarily?

I catch a few strange looks cast my direction as we walk toward his bike. Understandable — the garters and heels are a bit much, for this time of day. (Or any time of day.)

I’m steeling myself for another windswept ride on the back of the Ducati when Luca’s hand lands on the small of my back, bringing me to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk.

“We’ll take my truck.” He clicks a button on his keys — the taillights of the giant black pickup truck parked directly beside the bike flash in response.

I narrow my eyes at him. “And you decided against driving the truck to pick me up from jail, thereby sparing me humiliation and saving the citizens of Boston from an unsought viewing of my butt cheeks, because..?”

He shrugs. “Was more concerned with getting to you as fast as possible than anything else. Didn’t cross my mind you might not be dressed appropriately for a motorcycle ride. Next time, I’ll ask what you’re wearing before I pick a mode of transportation.”

“There won’t be a next time,” I grumble, heading for the passenger side.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

Ugh!

I admit — I slam my door a little harder than necessary as I scramble up into the cab. (So, I’m not perfect. Sue me.) I manage to keep my eyes fixed stubbornly out the window the entire twenty-minute ride to my place. Half sulking, half seething.

Luca seems equally content to stew in silence.

In truth, we’re both a little wary, after the past few hours together. Perhaps we said some things we didn’t intend to, crossed lines we weren’t supposed to, traded out our careful distance for startling intimacy too fast to course-correct. I’m not sure, exactly, but things certainly seemed a hell of a lot simpler when I didn’t know what his eyes look like from a millimeter away, when he couldn’t describe those near-translucent freckles that dust my nose in indisputable detail.

We are Icarus, flying foolishly toward a low-hanging sun.

Too close.

Too quick.

I fear a lethal fall is imminent.

When we pull up outside my building, Luca doesn’t even have a chance to shut the engine off before my fingers find their way to the door handle. I need to get out of this truck, away from this man, before I do something stupid like smack him across the face. Or kiss him silly.

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “For coming to my rescue. I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.”