Chapter Thirty Two

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The journey back to my house is silent. My fingers latch onto the steering wheel so tightly that I'm convinced I might rip the entire thing off. I know why I'm feeling like this and I never took myself as the jealous type–but apparently I am.

I've met Aris before but today, the vibe felt different.

I know I haven't really clarified labels with Luca. I'm a bit more old school and when you're dating, spending time with one another and getting intimate, it's a no-brainer that you're officially together. Even without asking.

Luca's blue eyes keep peeking up at me but I keep my gaze firmly on the road.

I don't like how Aris touched Luca's shoulder, smiling towards him like he's a breath of fresh air. I do know that he's a breath of fresh air but he's my breath of fresh air. No one else's.

"Declan," Luca whispers from beside me. "Is everything okay?"

My jaw tenses and all I can do is nod.

I've never felt like this before, my fingers twitch. It's not like I was going to punch Aris for touching Luca but the thought of them being alone together all day sinks in my stomach like the world's heaviest anchor. I fucking hate it.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asks slowly.

"No," I say under a breath. "You didn't."

The way my body craved his lips on mine as I pinned him to the wall. I had to claim him there and then to remind myself that it's me that he wants, that I'm the one who puts smiles on his face and makes him blush like his first crush all over again.

Fuck. I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I need to get my shit together.

"Bad day?"

Having your father blow up your phone with a thousand texts and calls because he's a nosy fucker doesn't exactly start your day off well, then finding Luca's new assistant practically giving him googly eyes tops it all off.

"I don't want to talk about it," I admit.

Luca chews on his lip and nods. "Okay."

When we pull up outside my house, I undo my seatbelt and sit for a moment. "Are you hungry?" I ask.

He nods slowly. "Sure."

As we walk towards my front door together, side by side, I pull my keys from my pocket and let him in first. He offers me a small smile but it doesn't meet his eyes and I realise that I'm worrying him.

My skin feels different, all the feelings inside my body feel off. What the fuck is wrong with me and why am I acting like a sore loser? I hate my emotions sometimes–they're all or nothing.

"I made bolognese last night," I say as I shrug off my jacket and drape it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Are you okay with having leftovers?"

"Yeah, of course," he nods. "We always have leftovers at home, that's all I practically know."

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