SOFIA {SAMPLE}

8

Our night was coming to an end, the unease already stirring. I didn't want to say goodbye; I also didn't want to get caught by Luca or feel any more guilt.

Eric started to slow in front of his building. "I guess it's time to call it a night. I've got to head back upstairs, get writing."

"And I've got to reply to the twenty texts I have about missing dinner." Apparently, my won't be able to make it text wasn't a sufficient enough excuse.

"Sounds like we both have exciting nights planned. You're welcome to come upstairs and hang, as friends. I'll be writing, but you can watch TV. I won't try anything."

I'm sure he wouldn't. Me, on the other hand. I stared ahead, scanning the street for any signs of Luca. It didn't feel right to stay, nor did it feel right to go. Morals were a bitch. I saw why Luca chose to ignore them.

"Hey, don't over-think it. It was just a friendly gesture. I hate the idea of you being all alone at your place. I'll see you later."

Later was too long. "No! I'll come up. For a bit."

"Okay, but no funny business," he warned with a giant smile. "No showers, keep your clothes on!" He mockingly adjusted his coat. "I'll try to keep my sexiness at bay so you won't be tempted."

Unbelievable. My abhorrent behavior was such a joke to him. "Thank you for reminding me what I did."

He arched his brow with a wry smile. "The first night, it was what I did." He couldn't stop joking about my moral failures.

"I'll hail a cab instead." I swerved for the curb; his hand captured my waist, wringing an unexpected gasp from my lips.

"I promise no more jokes," he whispered against my hair before spinning me to face him.

Here we were again, body to body, both of us fighting every natural urge. He sighed, releasing his hold, the loss of his touch palpable.

"I'll follow in behind you," I directed.

He started for the building, glancing over his shoulder. "Wouldn't want the neighbors getting the wrong idea."

No. Definitely not. I trailed behind, stepping into the elevator at his side, cautiously following him down the hall to his door.

We walked in, hung our coats, and he continued past his couch to the desk, gesturing for me to follow.

"I want to show you something," he said as he rifled through the drawer under him. "These are my parents." He handed me a tattered photo. "They died when I was younger, too. One right after the other."

He had lost his parents too. "What happened?"

"My mom died of lung cancer, but my pop was the one who smoked. He never forgave himself. I'm pretty sure he died of a broken heart." His fingers grazed mine as he tugged the photo away, looking it over before sliding it back into the drawer. "They say it's supposed to get easier as time goes by. But each year gets harder without them. They passed before I wrote my first book. All this success and no one to be proud of me. I still dedicate each one to them, though."

"And your siblings?"

"Only child. I lost everyone I had."

"I'm so sorry." I reached for his hand, intertwining my fingers with his.

"But you know what the worst part is?" His voice was strained, causing my hand to tighten over his.

"What?"

"That no one hit on me at their funeral."

Why would he joke like that? I ripped my hand away. "Stronzo!" I scolded.