Dante pours a glass of whiskey for himself, and I gesture for him to pour me one, too.
He always orders top-shelf.
“Who said this bottle was for you?” Dante laughs and pours me a drink. “She must be getting to you.”
I grab the glass from the table and glance over at him. “Who?”
Dante grabs his own drink and clanks our glasses together as if we’re toasting. “The new nanny. She is hot. I have to admit, if you hired her for her looks, I wouldn’t blame you. She’s got a fine ass when she walks. Hell, even Nikki thinks she’s hot.”
“She did not say that.” I don’t believe him.
He shrugs and sips his whiskey, not admitting whether what Nikki said was true or not.
He isn’t wrong, though. Paige is every bit of a fantasy for me, and I hate myself for how she makes me feel. It’d be easier to be numb inside, like before I met her, after my wife’s death.
“Are you going to tell me what happened between the two of you?” Dante asks, but I get the distinct feeling he isn’t really asking. He’s waiting for me to explain why all the tension and avoidance lately.
I’ve done everything that I can to not spend more than two minutes with Paige for the past week.
“Nothing.”
“And the fire?” Dante asks, tilting his head, staring at me.
That has been on my mind, putting Nova first, and making sure that she’s not getting into trouble.
“I’m sorry about the damage—”
Dante waves his hand dismissively. “We’re past that, Moreno. Luca should never have brought home a lighter from camp, let alone left it in the playroom for Nova to discover. I’m asking about Paige.”
He’s always been direct with me. We both have, but this time I don’t want to tell him about Paige.
When I take another sip of whiskey and grimace, he laughs and brings his glass to his lips.
“Wow. You’d rather drink than talk. Okay.” He downs his glass of whiskey and pours a second drink for himself.
While I’d prefer to nurse my drink, it’s either talk or shove something against my mouth so I don’t have to speak, which means drinking whiskey.
I down the drink and refill the glass quickly.
Maybe it’ll make my lips loose and sink the inevitable ship. It might as well be the fucking Titanic.
“Let me guess. You slept together, and she regrets it.” Dante takes a stab at the cloud looming above me.
He’s wrong.
Maybe I should let him believe that’s why I’m pissed, but I didn’t fuck her. Sure, we kissed. I wanted to wrestle her on the bed and show her what it’s like to be consumed completely by one person, but it’s nothing more than a fleeting fantasy.
“I haven’t seen her naked.”
Dante snorts.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t make her scream the big ‘o’ even with her clothes still on.”
I roll my eyes at his crudeness. “She stole from me.”
Fuck.
I wasn’t going to tell him.