Page 11 of Hooked on Trouble

He studies a crumpled paper towel on the floor, then looks up. “I told you stuff about my family in Aspen, but admitting how bad things really were was hard for me back then. I was embarrassed, so I shut down. Once I realized I was being stupid, too much time had passed. I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me. Figured I’d fucked everything up and that was that. Then I heard you were moving here, and I thought about you more. Knew I needed to explain.”

I body-check him with my eyes. “You got the fucked-everything-up part right. You broke a promise to me and didn’t even apologize. Only a dick would do that.”

He winces and rubs his shaved head, his hurt and disappointment clear as day, and God, I feel bad. I know what his family means to him, how much of a burden he carries. In a few simple words, he shared that with me in Aspen. And embarrassment over family is something I’m intimately acquainted with.

I just wish my heart hadn’t gotten caught in the crossfire.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and his face brightens. “About the dick part,” I clarify, “not about the rest. Yes, you fucked everything up. I won’t trust you again on a personal level. But…” But your chest should be bronzed and your forearms rival the Rock’s. “But I need to move past this. We’re going to see each other a fair bit, and I’m tired of being angry.”

He stands taller, moves closer. “Friends, then?”

I shrug as if his proximity isn’t sending goose bumps up my arms, as if I don’t want him to pin me against the wall with his powerful thighs. But what I want isn’t what’s good for me. “Looks that way.”

He leans down to my ear, his hot breath ghosting over my skin. “Go out with me.”

Maybe he’s imagining my legs around his waist, too. My nails digging into his neck. Too bad he burned that bridge. And torched the surrounding villages.

I try to shove him back, but I’d have more luck moving a tank. “What part of ‘I won’t trust you again on a personal level’ did you not understand?”

That big and dumb thing really does go hand in hand.

He takes my not-so-subtle hint and steps away. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He lingers a moment, then pulls a piece of paper from his back pocket. “I really am sorry. I’ve thought about you a lot since that night. Haven’t been with another woman since.” He unfolds the paper in his hand, blinks at it, then passes it to me. “I’ve read this more times than I should admit. See you at the table.”

He leaves, taking the air in the room with him, and my mind whirls. Nico hasn’t been with another woman since Aspen—since me—for sixteen months? I look at his note. Scratch that, my note. My handwriting loops across the page, the familiar words taking me back to the morning after.

I woke up early and wanted to get changed at my condo. Thanks for the tequila. And the bed. But especially the hot tub. I’m still freaked out, but I trust you. I don’t want this to end when we leave. Can’t even believe I’m writing this down, but I’ve never felt this way. Text me when you get up and we’ll meet later. Can’t wait to see you again.

x Raven

Reading my words revives the sting of his betrayal as I checked my phone for days and weeks afterward. Normally I’d have no issue calling a guy. But he forced me to open up, promised he wouldn’t hurt me, then he vanished without a word. My pride was on the wrathful side of unimpressed.

I glance at the painful note again, and warmth worms its way under the hurt. He kept it. Reread it. The wrinkled page tells as much, and he hasn’t been with another woman since Aspen. I should rip the paper up and finally put the incident behind me, move on as I told Nico I would. And I will. The aftermath I endured wasn’t worth that fleeting moment of wholeness. Still, I fold the note into four so I can slip it inside my purse at the table.

Four

Nico

I roll my shoulder, the joint stiff after yesterday’s workout. And Wednesday’s. And Tuesday’s. Every day’s since Raven walked into the station. I’ve lifted enough weights the past week to win one of those World’s Strongest Man competitions. All that’s left is pulling a transport truck.

Alessi slams his fist into my arm. “You’re not listening, bro.”

“You still talking?” After three years together, the guy’s voice has become white noise.

“I need some advice.”

“Definitely get that rash checked out.”

He snorts. “Fucker.”

He turns the patrol car down Hastings Street for a final pass, easing his foot off the gas. We scan the homeless people crammed against walls, legs sticking out from under blankets and cardboard. Fidgety men and women huddle together by barred-up stores while an old man pushes his life in a grocery cart. East Hastings is as seedy as Vancouver gets.

It also used to be the place my brother called home.

Alessi drums his thumbs on the wheel. “My cousin, Lucia, is getting hitched next month, and since their having, like, ten thousand people stand up for them, she’s asked me to be in the wedding party. Normally I’d be all over that. The suit, the bridesmaids—sign me up. Turns out her maid of honor is a chick I banged last month. Had no idea I’d have to see her again, and now she’s texting me. Lucia gave her my number and expects me to take her to the wedding. The whole thing’s one big clusterfuck.”

I crack my neck and massage my temples to stall the headache building at the edges of my vision. “So take her. What’s the big deal?”

He brakes at a stoplight and flings his hands in the air—his Italian sign language. “I’ve told you a million times how crazy Lucia and her sisters are. If I take this Mara chick, they’ll have us before the priest by the end of the night saying ‘I do.’ If I don’t take her, they’ll rip into me in front of my folks about banging random chicks. I’ll get lectured for the next millennium.”