Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
The conversation came in small bursts after that with us mostly just being comfortable in each other’s company as we rolled coins and counted bills until we had a tally.
“That’s depressing as fuck,” he decided, echoing the thoughts that had been in my mind.
“A couple more toys!” I said, forcing more enthusiasm into my voice than I felt as I brought everything into the safe hidden in the back. It was too late to go to the bank now, and I really didn’t feel like carrying heavy coins all the way back to my apartment.
“How do you do that?” Venezio asked when I made my way back out.
“Do what?” I asked, taking the last swig of my beer.
“Stay positive when shit is looking bleak?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess it’s from my mom. She somehow managed to do it even when we were living in shelters on and off for years. I mean, I know it was for my sake. But I think it helped her cope with the whole situation too. It seems healthier to focus on the good than wallow in the bad.”
“Yeah, probably,” Venezio agreed, cleaning up our dinner mess. “You heading out?”
“I have to get some work done before bed.” And maybe get more serious about finding a good gown, now that I knew I had a date.
“I got forty minutes still. I’ll walk you to the subway.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Still gonna do it,” he said, stopping to grab his coat and still somehow beating me to the door so he could pull it open.
“Are you going to bully someone into letting me sit down again?”
“If I need to.”
I turned and locked the door, knowing he had his own key, then fell into step with him as we walked through the city, trying to avoid the patches of black ice hiding in the shadows of the streetlights.
We’d done spectacularly well until, as I’d been admiring an intricate Santa’s Workshop window display, my foot caught a slippery spot, and I was sliding.
I swear my belly flew out ahead of me as my arms and legs flailed for purchase.
There was one dizzying moment when I was sure I was going to crash down onto the filthy sidewalk.
Then strong arms slid around me, yanking me forward, pulling me up against a solid chest.
“You’re alright,” Venezio said, his voice making his chest vibrate, which in turn, rumbled into my own. I sucked in a steadying breath, only managing to catch that coffee scent that seemed to cling to him.
My hands had grabbed the sides of his leather jacket when I’d landed on him, and the warmth of him chased the chill out of my bones.
I was suddenly hyper-aware of Venezio’s arms wrapped tightly around me, holding me firmly against his chest. And, God, it felt even better than it had in my fantasies.
For a guy with a swimmer’s type build, he was surprisingly strong.
“You okay?”
His voice was a caress over my skin, melting in, making a shiver course through me.
My gaze lifted, our eyes locking.
One beat.
Two.
His eyes dipped to my lips, and when they returned to mine, they were heavy-lidded.
My heart stammered.
Warmth flooded my chest.
Interest pooled in my core.
My lips parted, a silent invitation.
Venezio’s head dipped slightly.
Then a cop car blazed past, sirens screaming, blue and red lights flashing.
We broke apart.
“Uh, well, thanks for saving me,” I said, waving back toward the subway steps, “and for walking me.”
“I’m walking you down.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets. I wanted so badly to think he did so to keep from reaching out for me, and not just because it was freezing out.
Either way, though, he stayed one step behind me as we made it down to the subway platform where a busker’s voice bled through the tunnel—the saddest version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” I’d ever heard, each note echoing like regret in an empty home.
I was thankful when the train screamed into the station with a frigid gust of air because I was pretty sure if I had to stand and listen to the singer for another moment, I would start crying.
“Thanks again,” I said to Venezio before rushing into the train and sitting down.
My gaze couldn’t help but track Venezio, though, as he moved closer to the busker, casually dropping cash into the open guitar case as he passed.
He was gone before the train shot away from the platform.
But he was still with me.
In the flickering pulse in my chest and throat.
In the deep ache in my core.
Maybe asking him to be my date hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
Oh well.
It was too late now.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Venezio
Getting asked on a date by Stephanie was something I never saw coming. Least of all some stuffy, lawyer-filled, fancy-ass holiday party.
It wasn’t my kind of thing.