There are two cars up my driveway that definitely hadn’t been here when I’d arrived. Matteo’s walking down the steps of my front porch, his head bent over his phone. I know if I call out to him he’ll ignore me, so I don’t bother.
Instead, I grab his arm. His bicep is too thick for my hand to wrap more than halfway around it, which is a bummer because it doesn’t deliver quite as much of an effect as—
He comes to a halt so abruptly that I smash into his back, nearly losing my balance. He reaches out on instinct to steady me, using the hand of the arm I’m not holding.
And it’s impossible not to feel it.
The spark that erupts from every place we’re touching, as hot and bright as the flames of those Zippo lighters he used to be so fond of.
Matteo’s head turns, slowly.
Our e……
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