The way Luca said that makes something ache in my chest.
Like the words slipped out before he had time to stop them. And I hoped he hadn't regretted saying them.
"Why would you screw it up?" I ask quietly.
He runs a hand through his dark hair.
"That's kind of my specialty."
"I doubt that."
"You don't know me that well."
"That's true," I admit.
"But I'm trying." And honestly I really was.
Something shifts in his expression.
For a moment he just watches me. Almost like he is trying to figure out if I am telling the truth or not.
"You're different," he says.
"How?"
"You're not scared of me."
Scared? Why would I be scared?
"I'm not."
"Most people are."
"Maybe they don't know you."
"Maybe they do."
The tension between us grows heavier. The air thickens around us.
Not uncomfortable.
Just intense.
His hand is still holding mine.
My thumb brushes lightly against his without thinking. His skin feels rough and soft at the same time.
His reaction is immediate.
His grip tightens.
"You should stop doing that," he murmurs.
"What?"
"That."
I blink.
"Why?"
His voice lowers.
"Because it's distracting."
My stomach flips.
"Oh."
We're looking at each other again.
And suddenly the space between us feels very small.