Confused, but still floating on idyllic clouds, I peeked through the little hole. I could almost hear the bubble of my good mood pop when I saw who was on the other side. I kept the chain in place and cracked the door open.

“Yes?”

“Let me in,” Luis demanded. “You’re in danger!”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. With as much muscle as I had in my house right now, danger was the farthest thing from my mind.

“Stop that! I saw them come in here.” Luis pushed on the door, but the chain held. “Those thugs! They’re hiding in here somewhere; let me in!”

“Thugs?” I asked, my brows raised. “What did they look like, Luis?”

“Big! Tattoos all over!”

I laughed again.

“First of all, those ‘thugs’ are my friends. Second, how exactly were you planning to protect me?”

He jutted his pudgy chin out defiantly, forming fists at his sides.

“You shouldn’t be associating with their kind. You’re better than that. You need a real man.”

I granted him a slow, dubious, head-to-toe glance. “You know where I can find one?”

Luis turned red and began to sputter. I closed the door before he could get any recognizable words out, chuckling to myself as I did so.

I returned to my moment of Zen, curling up in the spot of sunlight on my crescent-shaped loveseat with coffee in one hand and an apple Danish in the other. I could get used to feeling this way.

I watched birds flutter through the azure sky, black lace against the puffy white cotton clouds of autumn. I allowed my mind to wander through fantasies, mundane and magical alike, and found myself replaying one over and over again.

Waking up in the morning nestled in Dante’s big, strong arms. Light banter over coffee. Looking out over the city from his cozy, comfortable apartment. Never having to pass Luis in the hallway ever again.

Joel hovered on the edge of my awareness, skirting my fantasies. What about him? I couldn’t imagine myself living with him. He was still so enraptured with his newfound wealth and freedom that any kind of relationship would be like living in a frat house. He was still young and immature, though not in a negative way. He simply wasn’t done growing yet.

I shuddered at the thought of bringing up ‘boyfriend material’. I had made that mistake before.

“No,” I murmured into my coffee. “I want a grown man. With skin the color of a caramel latte and eyes like a fairy-tale forest.”

I sighed happily, trying to ignore the nagging little worry in the back of my head. Dante had showed me two sides of himself, and I still couldn’t be certain which was closest to reality. He could be an ice-cold manipulator, or the warm, attentive three-dimensional adult I liked so much.

Both were probably true, somehow, but in what concentrations?

“Way to kill your own mood,” I admonished myself.

My coffee had gone cold as I’d pondered, and my pastry seemed to have lost its flavor. Nothing could be perfect—I knew that—but just how much imperfection was I willing to live with?

If he was only “Bedroom Dante” a fraction of the time, was it worth bearing the ice and the storm in between?

“You shouldn’t think so hard.”

Dante’s smooth, rich voice rolled over me like thunder. I looked up at him with a smile.

“Good nap?” I asked, scooting over to give him room to sit.

He was dressed in his jeans now, though his top half was still bare. I found my gaze stuck wandering over his masculine contours and ridges, basking in the aesthetic beauty of him. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head, sending a pleasing warmth over me.

“I’ve never slept better,” he said lightly.

I snuggled into him, breathing in his scent. My worries rattled around in my brain, bouncing off of the bubbles of happiness which swirled there, building pressure up in my body. I released it in a sigh.

“What’s on your mind, darlin’?” he asked, stroking my shoulder.

“You,” I said vaguely, tipping my head up to kiss him.

“An excellent subject,” he said with a cocky grin.

I scoffed at that, amused. My amusement quickly flipped, making me question just how much of his cocky attitude was a joke, and how much of it was indicative of deep-seated insecurity. His behavior with Joel certainly indicated a level of insecurity, which…

“Or, maybe not,” he interrupted my thought, and I realized I was frowning.

“You…confuse me,” I explained slowly.

“Me? I’m a simple man, sweetheart. Simple wants, simple needs, simple pleasures.”

“Opera?” I asked with a dubious brow.

“I said simple, not cheap.” He grinned. “Ask me anything; I’m an open book.”

“Open, and incomprehensible,” I murmured. “All Greek to me.”

“That’s a little far north,” he quipped, squeezing me. “Give me a chance, darlin’. Let me illuminate the situation for you.”

The words caught in my throat. We weren’t really at that level in our relationship, were we? We didn’t even have a relationship—not really. But then, we never would unless I could figure out just who I was getting into a relationship with.

I cleared my throat with a sip of cool coffee, then set the cup and Danish down on the little table beside me. I arranged my words while examining my nails, wanting to be as clear as I possibly could.

“The morning after our night together. What made you behave that way?”

Too fast, I thought with a wince. I should have built up to that.

But he didn’t move away or tense up the way I’d expected him to. Instead, he lay a hand on my thigh and rested his cheek on my head, curling around me as if to cushion me from a blow.

“I woke up that night,” he told me softly. “Found you curled up in my arms, all innocent-looking and happy. I had the urge to keep you there, forever. I wanted to know your mind. Wanted to see you dance. You were the spot of color my home needed to feel complete.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, trying to follow the logic. “Did I do something after that?”

“Not a thing,” he said soothingly, kissing my head again. “I’m a flawed man, Livia.”

“Every man is,” I told him, my lips quirking.

“Yes,” he said seriously. “Every man, every human. No one’s perfect. But the thing about me, Livia, is that I’m very competitive.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” I asked. “That competitive spirit kept you in the game for way longer than anyone expected.”

“That’s exactly it,” he said, squeezing me gently.

“The game. I couldn’t let Joel win, and I’d let him talk me into adding this stupid side-bet to the equation. I had two choices. I could follow my feelings and let our dinner date turn into lunch, then breakfast, then…you get the idea. Or, I could shut that down right then and there, pick a fight, and sour the whole thing.”

He sighed heavily, rubbing a circle on my thigh.

“I didn’t expect it to be so hard. I know it doesn’t make it better, but I beat myself up for days over that.”

“So, you went full asshole just to keep yourself free to beat Joel in your woman-bedding competition?” I asked, my eyes rolling.

A headache was growing between my eyes, and he kissed it. I could have sworn he was psychic.

“It was a dumb thing to do,” he said regretfully. “I had a great time talking to you that night. I had a hundred places I wanted to take you after that, a hundred experiences I wanted to share with you.”

He sounded wistful, as if those possibilities had blown away on the chilly autumn breeze.

“You still can,” I told him. “Once you beat the pants off of Joel, of course.”

The allowance sent a shock of pain through my heart, surprising me. Dante wasn’t mine to claim; I couldn’t demand that he call it off and focus on me. It was just till the end of the season, right? I could always pretend I didn’t know what he was doing. I was good at pretending.

“Who’s beating my pants off?” Joel entered the room, groggy voice first.

“Nobody,” Dante said pensively. “Sit down, kid; we need to talk.”