“I hate when you call me that,” she mutters.
“I know.”
“Then why do you keep doing it?”
“Because one of these days, you’re not going to hate it.”
CHAPTER9
Peppermint
“Look at me.”
I shake my head against the onslaught of emotions that have been battering me since the moment I stepped inside his house. Ignoring Nico’s command, I distance myself from him and flop down on the sectional. I can’t look at him because I have no clue what version of him will be looking back.
Will it be the brutal version, the one where all I see is Nicholi? Or will it be the best version, the one who is all Nico, the man who, although I won’t admit it out loud, puts a smile on my face without even trying?
“I’m not him.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Nico counters. He crouches in front of me and grips my chin to force me to look at him. “I can’t help the fact that I’m a replica of your nightmares, but I promise you that what is on the inside…” He taps his chest. “What’s in here is the exact opposite of that.”
When I remain quiet, he drops his hand and falls back to sit on the floor. “What do you want from me, Pep? Why did you come here this morning?”
I came to face my fear.
“I don’t—”
My cell rings and I’m grateful for the distraction. I pull it out of my cut and, seeing that it’s Harlow, I press the phone icon.
“Hey, Prez, what’s up?”
“You need to get to Umbria’s Universe,” she says, referring to the casino that Malachi runs.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Nico’s cell pings and he takes it from his pocket, frowning when he looks at the screen. He’s up on his feet and disappearing down the hall in seconds.
“Just get here, P,” Harlow snaps.
I make my way toward the door. “I’m on my way.”
I disconnect the call and shove the device back into my cut. I turn to yell out that I’m leaving and collide with Nico’s hard chest. Lowering my eyes, I see that he’s fully dressed.
“I gotta go,” we blurt out simultaneously.
“Umbria’s?” he asks.
“Yep.”
Nico locks the door behind us, and I want to ask him if he set the alarm but decide to keep my mouth shut. He’s a big boy and if he forgets again, that’s on him.
“Uh, what’re you doing?” I ask when he straddles my Harley behind me.
“I’m riding with you,” he says as if him being on the back of my motorcycle is a completely normal thing.
“You’re lucky I don’t have time to argue,” I grumble and fire up the bike. “If you fall off, I’m not stopping,” I shout.