Lorenzo: Chapter 7

The library is filled with the scent of jasmine and lemon and it stops me in my tracks. She sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by piles of books. I forgot she was in here sorting through our mom’s stuff. Before I can sneak out, she looks up and catches my eye, giving me a huge smile like seeing me is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“Hey! I hope you don’t mind me getting an early start, but I couldn’t sleep knowing all this stuff needed sorting.”

Clearing my throat, I close the door behind me. So she heard me playing piano last night; it isn’t like I shared anything meaningful with her. Just because she’s in here doesn’t mean I can’t work in here too. She’ll stay on her side of the room, and I’ll stay on mine.

“Morning,” I say, taking a seat behind my desk.

“Your mom has some incredible first editions in here. Did you know that?”

I switch on my laptop and avoid her gaze. “Yes.”

“I mean, some of these are super rare. Did you know she has—”

“I’m well aware of what books my mother owned, Mia.” My tone might be overly harsh, but I have shit to do.

“Of course you are.” She laughs softly, seemingly unaffected by me snapping at her. “She was your mom.” She goes back to sorting through the books, and I open a file on my screen.

Less than a minute passes before she speaks again. “How long has it been since your mom died?”

Twenty-one years and five months. “Too long.”

“My mom died when I was twenty-two. Eleven years later, and I still miss her every single day,” she says with a sigh.

“Hmm,” I murmur, keeping my eyes focused on the screen.

“But your dad only died a couple years back, right? That’s why you sold your family home?”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Mia!” I immediately regret looking up when I see that beautiful smile of hers falter. Just for a second. But it’s enough to make me feel like a total dick.

“I’m sorry. You’re busy. Talking’s my thing. It’s always getting me into trouble.” Looking down at the books in her lap, she sighs. “I’ll leave you to your work now. Promise.” She glances back at me with an apologetic smile, one that I don’t deserve.

Feeling guilty, I return my attention to my screen and open the police report I received a few minutes ago that details the search of one of our warehouses last night. According to the report, the cops got an anonymous tip that we move weapons through there. Like we’d be stupid enough to use our legitimate businesses to move guns. That would defeat the entire purpose of having legitimate businesses.

Why did they act on this particular tip-off? We have an unwritten understanding that as long as we don’t cause mayhem on the streets of Chicago or go around hurting “innocent” civilians, the police department won’t bother us. I stare at the screen, looking for a clue. New cops trying to beef up their reputations? But no, I recognize the names of the officers listed.

The constant noise from the other side of the room makes it hard to focus, and I glance at Mia. She’s happily sorting books and mumbling a tune to herself—the same song over and over.

“What the hell are you singing?”

She gives me a puzzled look. “‘Bright Side of the Road.’”

I roll my head back and forth on my shoulders, trying to stave off the looming tension migraine. “Don’t you know any others? You’ve been singing that one for the past ten minutes, and it’s annoying.”

She presses her lips together as though she’s trying to suppress a smile. “You have any special requests?”

I twist my head from side to side. “How about silence?”

“How about I take a look at your neck for you?” Before I can refuse, she’s already on her feet, brushing the dust from her jeans.

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

Ignoring me, she draws closer. “It looks like you’re kinda stiff and sore.”

“I said it’s fine. I have work to do,” I bark, hoping my tone will scare her away. It’s usually enough to make grown men shit their pants. But not her. No, she keeps coming at me, the smile on her face as bright as her yellow tank top. What the fuck?

“I’m a fully qualified massage therapist. It’ll take me five minutes and you can go on working. I promise not to look at anything I’m not supposed to.”

Her scent of jasmine and lemon scrambles my senses. “What?” What the fuck is she not going to look at? A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead. She doesn’t expect me to remove my clothes for this massage, does she?

Laughing, she nods her head at my desk. “I won’t look at anything on your computer.”

Of course that’s what she fucking meant. For fuck’s sake, Lorenzo. Hold it together!

She walks up behind me and my entire body goes rigid. “Seems to be worse on your left side from what I’ve noticed?” Her warm, soft fingers brush the back of my neck.

I flinch at her touch.

“Is it sensitive?” Her voice is laced with concern.

“No,” I snap, annoyed with myself for reacting the way I am. She’s just a woman—no, a professional massage therapist giving me a neck massage. Nothing to get freaked out about.

“I see,” she says softly. What does she see? That she’s the first woman who’s not related to me that I’ve allowed to touch my skin in over two years?

“It’s just a stiff neck.”

“I know. Just give me five minutes, and even if it doesn’t feel better, all you’ve lost is a little time. And you’ll have made me feel useful.”

“Fine,” I grunt, leaning forward.

Nimble fingers knead the back of my neck, surprisingly strong for someone with such small hands. Fuck, in fact, she’s way stronger than she looks. I snarl when she finds the sensitive spot that’s been plaguing me for weeks.

She chuckles. “Don’t be a baby.” Her warm breath dusts over my skin and a shiver runs the length of my spine.

I try to focus on the screen in front of me, but Mia’s touch is too distracting. She presses deep into my muscles, causing waves of pain and relief to roll through my body. It hurts so fucking good … I close my eyes and clamp my mouth shut so I don’t groan her fucking name, because fuck me, her hands are magical.

“So, you’re not a Van Morrison fan then?”

My eyes snap open. “Huh?”

“The song? ‘Bright Side of the Road?’ You don’t like it?”

“Not a fan, no.”

“It’s my favorite,” she says with a soft sigh.

Closing my eyes again, I refocus on the sweet relief her hands offer. My neck has been stiff for so long that I’ve forgotten what it felt like before.

Mia ignores my silence, needing no invitation to keep talking. “I just love the words. So full of hope, you know?” I try to tune her out and focus on her hands instead. That’s so much less complicated than conversation. “It’s my sunshine song.”

Oh, fuck it. “Your what now?”

“My sunshine song,” she replies matter-of-factly, as though I should know what the fuck that means.

“What the hell is a sunshine song?”

“Well, I have lots of sunshine things. A sunshine movie. TV show. Food. You know, the kind of thing that always makes you smile no matter how bad your day is? Like sunshine? ‘Bright Side of the Road’ is my sunshine song.”

I frown. This woman clearly lives in a world that is so far removed from mine.

She laughs again. “I guess you don’t have a sunshine song then?”

“No.”

Her fingers knead deeper into my muscles, and the endorphins that flood my body make me grunt. She dips her head and some of her hair falls onto my shoulder. “I’ll let you borrow mine if you like.” Her warm breath dances over my cheek and, without warning, all the blood in my body rushes south.

What the motherfucking fuck!

I wrench out of her grip, ignoring the protests of my aching neck and my cock at the loss of her hands. “I need to get back to work,” I bark, leaning away from her.

“Okay,” she replies breezily, seemingly unbothered by my harsh tone. “Did it help at all though?”

I roll my neck and shoulders. It actually feels a fuckload better than it did a few minutes ago. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Well, give me a few minutes a day and I’ll sort it out for you. And it’s probably a good idea to stop sleeping on the sofa—”

“What?”

Her cheeks turn pink. “Kat and Dante mentioned you often sleep on the sofa. Isn’t that why you have a stiff neck?”

Who the fuck do they think they are, discussing that with her? They know why I sleep on the sofa. They know … My hands clench into fists. “Where I sleep is nobody’s fucking business but mine.”

Mia flinches away. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I, uh, I’ll leave you alone now.”

I tell myself I’m relieved that she’s finally leaving me alone, but if that’s true, why the fuck do I keep stealing glances at her every few minutes? Bathed in sunlight, she sits beneath the window with her head bent low, humming that damn song to herself while she carefully sorts through my mother’s most prized possessions. Her honey-blond hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders. She looks just like …

Just like what, asshole?

Just like a ray of fucking sunshine.