Page 21

Once I park in the underground garage, I pull out my gun from the glove compartment. Sliding it in the back of my pants, I walk toward the hotel across from my building.

As soon as I walk inside, the receptionist rushes to greet me. I request the keycard for the top-level suite. She doesn’t even blink as she hands me the spare one, telling me the guest’s still here, which is surprising considering she “killed” me. Luciana keeps me on my toes, and fuck if I hate it while liking it at the same time.

I take the elevator. With each story, impatience tightens my skin around my bones, as if I am a tiger trapped in a cage, prowling around with no way out.

My heart hammers, thundering in my ears. It’s a mix of excitement and adrenaline that pulls me in two different directions. And when it stops on the last floor, I still haven’t decided what to do.

Swiping the keycard, I let myself in, making no noise as I tiptoe inside.

Just then a bullet whizzes past me before sticking into the wall next to my side.

“That’s how you welcome me, amore?” I ask, pulling my gun out, fully attuned to my surroundings and ready to teach her a lesson.

“Wanted to make sure if you’re real or a ghost to haunt me.”

I chuckle, but then I remember I should be mad at her. “Guess what? You failed. Again.”

I see her reflection in the glass in the living room. She rolls her eyes, and I pull the trigger.

She gasps. “Oh, no you didn’t.”

“I am all for fairness, and just so you know, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be bleeding out on the floor.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel special.” She pats her chest before she quickly ducks, disappearing into another room.

Like in a game of hide and seek, we hunt each other with no intent to kill. After a while and ten bullets wasted, I want to play a different game.

I tire of this chase leading nowhere, eager to get to the part where I put my hands on her and have my way with her. I halt in the living room, and she finds me.

Approaching me from the bedroom, her gun points straight at my chest.

“I’m not wearing a bulletproof jacket.”

She gulps, and I catch the slight tremor of her hand on the trigger. “Good to know.”

Like we’re pushed by forces beyond our understanding, we cut the distance between us—pulled together by sheer gravity, our muzzles kissing.

Cracking my neck, my jaw constricts. “You ruined my favorite car.”

She glares at me. “I don’t like you having favorites.”

“But you?”

“Maybe.” She shakes her head as if to clear her mind.

I want to say that’s impossible. I’ve tried to get rid of thoughts of her in vain. The only way for us is to give in. Everything else is a mere wish. We were made to clash.

“You’re crazy, but fuck if it doesn’t make me mad about you.”

“I will shoot you,” she warns.

I witness the battle going on in her eyes—the steel liquefying and solidifying.

“Put the gun down, Luciana. You don’t want to kill me at all, even if you do your best to prove the opposite.”

She lowers her gaze and when she looks up again, they glower, so many emotions burning inside of them.

“Which flowers?” she asks, and I lower my gun.