đź’ś NicoleÂ
"Kissing on behalf of Grace?" The question was teasing, like he was holding himself in from laughing at me or at least that's what my heart was thinking. His eyes were still boring holes into me, utterly unreadable, yet brimming with a mockery that felt like a threat. My stomach did a weird flip, the cigarette smoke still tingling on my lips.
I held his gaze and nodded, trying to project a confidence I absolutely did not feel. I am Nicole Ferraro. I do not back down from challenges, especially not from hot, wounded Italians who are currently my sister's fiancé.
We stared at each other. It was a vicious game of chicken, both of us waiting for the other to flinch. His eyes, the stupid, spectacular gray color, kept drifting down to my mouth. He was going to say something cruel, or maybe worse, something possessive. The anticipation was agonizing. I couldn't take it.
