CHAPTER 155: CHAPTER 155 CHILDHOOD FRIEND

*LORENZO*

But I did.

I had gone out last night to look for a woman and get laid.

But for the first time in my life, since I started fucking, no other woman caught my eye. They all looked the same.

Unattractive and it felt like a total waste of time to take them home.

I had ran into Carla at the club. We’ve been friends since we were little.

We caught up with things and drank. I was more intoxicated than her and she said she had to bring me home.

But I vividly remember her trying to seduce me but it didn’t work.

I do not fuck my friends!

Carla twists her mouth in an ironic smile.

“But you don’t want it,” she says, her voice suddenly quiet. “Is this because you’ve met someone?”

“Carla. Please. Let’s not go over that again. We can’t. You’re my friend.”

“Why should that matter?” she scoffs.

It did because I wasn’t interested in fucking her.

Her face loses all semblance of humor as her sorrow resurfaces. She stares unseeing out the windows, and her voice is soft and raw and anguished.

“I told you last night about how abandoned and lonely I felt. Matteo just left me because he said he didn’t like my body. And you won’t even sleep with me to console me. I guess I’m so unattractive. I feel worthless.” Her tears begin to slip down her cheeks. “Nobody ever wants me.” She puts her head in her hands and begins to weep.

Fuck. I’m an idiot. Sitting up, I pull her into my arms and let her cry. I grab a tissue from the box on the bedside table.

“Here.” I hand it to her. She clutches it as if it holds the meaning of life, and I continue, my voice low and tender.

“You’re not worthless. You’re going to find a man who will love everything about you. But for now, you have to love yourself first.”

Carla sniffs and wipes her nose. She leans back and gazes at me with heartbreaking, watery blue eyes.

“Why can’t you love me?”

Not this again. “Love can’t be forced.”

“Is it because you’ve found someone else? Who is she?”

I do not want to have this conversation.

“Let’s go out for breakfast.”

I shower and dress in record time, and I’m relieved to find that Carla is still in the spare room en suite when I take my empty coffee cup into the kitchen.

My heartbeat rockets at the thought of seeing Danica.

Why am I nervous? Or am I excited?

Much to my disappointment, she isn’t in the kitchen, so I venture to the scullery, where she’s ironing one of my shirts.

Unobserved, I watch her. She irons with the same sensuous grace I noticed the other day, in long, easy strokes, her brow furrowed in concentration. She finishes the shirt and suddenly looks up. Her eyes widen when she sees me, her cheeks flushing with a rosy glow.

Man, she is lovely.

“Good morning,” I say. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She places the iron on the rest and stares at it, rather than at me, her brow more furrowed than before.

What? Why won’t she look at me?

“I’m just taking my childhood friend out for breakfast.”

Why am I telling her this?

Why am I emphasizing the ‘childhood friend?’

But her eyelashes flutter as she blinks, and I know she’s processing this information. In a rush I continue, “If you could change the sheets in the spare room, that would be great.”

She stills, then nods, avoiding my gaze, while her teeth worry her upper lip.

Oh...I want to feel those teeth on me.

“I’ll leave the money as usual...”

Her face tilts up, and she gives me a dark glance with her expressive beautiful eyes, and my words dry in my throat.

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispers.

“My name’s Lorenzo.” I want to hear her say my name in her seductive accent, but she stands mute in her awful housecoat and gives me a tight smile.

“Lorenzo!” Carla calls, then walks into the now-cramped scullery. “Hello again,” she says to Danica.

“Danica, this is my friend, she’s like a sister to me...um...Carla. Carla, Danica.”

This is awkward. I’m surprised how self-conscious I feel making the introductions.

Carla gives me a puzzled look, which I ignore, but she directs a kind smile at Danica.

“Danica, lovely name.” Carla complimented. “Where are you from?” She asked.

Danica takes a step back and begins to fiddle with a stray thread on her housecoat.

She doesn’t want to talk about this, but I’m so curious that I press on. “Do your family live around here?”

She shakes her head and starts to pull at the thread, more evasive than ever. It’s clear she isn’t going to elaborate.

“Enzo. Let’s go,” Carla says, tugging at my arm while maintaining her quizzical look. “Lovely to meet you, Danica,” she adds.

I hesitate. “Bye,” I say, reluctant to leave her.

“Bye,” Danica whispers, and she watches him follow Carla out of the kitchen.

*******************

Like a sister?

Danica hears the front door close.

Childhood friend?

As she returns to the ironing, she says the words out loud, and the sound and meaning make her smile. But it’s odd that his friend should be here, wearing his clothes.

Danica shrugged. She’s seen enough shows to know that relationships between men and women were complex.

Later she strips the bed in the spare room. It’s modern and chic and white like the rest of the apartment, but the most pleasing aspect of it is that it’s been used. With a relieved grin, she collects more white bedding from the linen closet and remakes the bed.

Since meeting Carla, one thought has plagued Danica. In the Boss’ bedroom, she has the chance to satisfy her curiosity. She wraps her arms around herself and approaches the wastebasket with caution. Taking a deep breath, she peeks in.

She grins.

No condoms.

Danica goes about cleaning and tidying his bedroom with a little of the joy she’d felt earlier that morning.