Page 152 of Bitter When He Begs

I stand there, frozen, my heart hammering, and my brain still trying to catch the fuck up as Luca moves around my room completely at ease.

He doesn’t even give me time to process before he’s pulling on his boxer briefs, stepping into his those black ‘fuck me’ jeans I love, and pulling on a black button-down shirt, all while I still stand there in complete disbelief.

I have seen Luca do a lot of things. But deciding, out of nowhere, that he’s taking me on a fucking date?

This is new.

I’m still not moving fast enough for him, apparently, because Luca makes an exaggerated show of checking his nonexistent watch. “Any day now, Sunshine.”

“You can’t just hijack my day,” I manage, watching as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, and looking sexy as fuck while doing it.

“Just did,” he counters, that annoying smirk firmly in place while lacing up his boots. “And you love it.”

My face heats. “I do not.”

“Liar.”

“Asshole.”

“Hurry up,” he says again, grabbing his keys and twirling them around his finger, already heading for the door. “You’re gonna love it, promise.”

I scowl, but my heart is hammering. “Where are you even taking me?”

Luca grins. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I groan, running a hand down my face, but even as I grumble, even as I pretend to be annoyed, I’m already moving.

My boyfriend just declared we’re going on a date, and apparently, that’s not something I get a say in.

Luca

Idrummyfingersagainst the steering wheel, my knee bouncing as I stare at Sage’s front door, waiting for him to come out. I never get nervous. Not for games, not for exams, not for shit that should probably make me nervous.

But right now? Sitting here in my truck, waiting to take this little brat on a real date? My hands feel clammy, and my stomach’s doing this weird thing I don’t know how to name.

I don’t do dates. I don’t do romantic gestures, but for some goddamn reason, this twink has me whipped.

I tap the wheel again, scowling at my own reflection in the mirror before dragging a hand through my hair. It’s just Sage.

It’s just Sage.

The front door swings open, and there he is, grumbling under his breath, and shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose like I personally offended him by making him leave the house.

My lips twitch. “Finally.”

“You’re so fucking impatient,” he huffs, throwing himself into the passenger seat. “You could’ve at least told me where we’re going so I knew how to dress.”

I give him a slow once-over—black jeans hugging his legs, my hoodie drowning his frame, blond hair slightly tousled, glasses perched on his nose.

“You look perfect,” I say, completely serious.

He freezes for a second, then shoves at my arm. “Shut up.”

I chuckle, putting the truck in gear and pulling off, ignoring his barrage of very annoyed questions as I head toward the spot I set up earlier.

“Luca, if you don’t tell me where we’re going, I swear to—”

“Nope.”