Her eyes widen as air escapes her lips. “I, um, didn’t think you recognized me.”
“And I’d imagined you sweeter. You ran off.”
“Too bad you missed me saying goodbye. Get over it.”
I wave that off. “I didn’t know it was you at first.” The alley was dark outside Café Lazzo, but I knew I liked her fire. And when she got under my umbrella, I couldn’t stop staring at her blue-green irises, that unmistakable mouth. “It didn’t hit me until you were leaving. I came here to confirm ...”
I’ve looked for her in other places. Petite girls with a widow’s peak and rosebud lips.
No one fit. Until now.
But I don’t really knowwhoshe is.
She opens the door completely, steps out in the hall, and does a twirl with her arms out as she clutches a box of Triscuits in one hand. “Happy?”
“Hmm.” I drink her in like a thirsty man. Extravagant black lashes frame steely ocean irises. Her nose is perfectly dainty, and one might assume she is, too, but my gut says she’s anything but. Her skin is flawless, even without makeup. Her cropped T-shirt reveals a silver belly button ring that I don’t recall.
“Show me your tattoo,” I ask.
“As proof?” Her nose wrinkles. “No. You saw my wings already.”
I laugh—out of relief or fear, I don’t know.
It’s reallyher.
“What? Disappointed?”
“No, it’s just, after you bumped into me, Jasper bet me I couldn’t ...”
Her brow arches. “Fuck me?”
“No—I mean, yeah, we did fuck, but it’s just getting a girl, you know, interested ...” I halt as her arms cross. “I’m tanking this. It’s not how it sounds.”
“What did you win?”
I run my gaze over her again. She may not be my type, but she’s drop-dead gorgeous with her heart-shaped face and snarky attitude. And her scent. It coils around me, thick and rich.
“A buck.”
“You just pick out a girl you aren’t attracted to and get her interested just to win a dollar? Douche move. Whatever. You wanted me pretty bad—four times.”
“When did you know it was me?”Or did you always know?
“It was the cuff that gave it away—while you were kissing your girlfriend.”
I wince, not about Courtney but about the scars. She saw them that night. She kissed them. She probably has ideas about them. That I tried to hurt myself—but she’d be wrong.
“Courtney isn’t my girlfriend, but we go back.”
“I don’t really care.”
“Not sweet at all. See, I recall a girl who sat in my lap and fed me birthday cake. She said I slayed the pantyhose dragon. She was perfect.”
“I was drunk, and perfect girls don’t exist.”
My eyes linger on her belly ring. There are two stones in the ring, green and yellow. “New?”
She blows out a breath. “I got it the week after we, um, met. Momentary lapse of reason. Pretend it doesn’t exist.”