Chapter 9 (GreenLee)

What the actual fuck was that?

Did I really just kiss him—on the cheek?

OMG. I actually agreed to think about the agreement.

Fuck me. Did I just fall for Luca Ricci? The biggest fuckboy of them all?

What the hell is wrong with me?

I flop back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling like it holds answers. It doesn’t. All it does is remind me I’ve got two math tests and a zoology lab tomorrow, and I haven’t studied a damn thing. My brain is too busy replaying every second of that conversation. His voice. His eyes. The way he called me Spitfire like it was a compliment and a challenge all at once.

I need backup.

So I grab my phone and text the one person who always knows how to fix my messes.

ME: Sam I need help.

SAM: What’s up girly?

ME: I fucked up. Uncle Sal is trying to get me to date someone I can’t see myself with.

SAM: Y?

ME: He’s a total fuckboy. Man-whore.

SAM: Gotcha. What happened?

ME: I blew up at dinner. Told him I didn’t want to. He was a complete asshole in front of everyone. Then he came to talk to me alone. He was… different. And I agreed to try. He’s coming out with me tomorrow.

SAM: To the clubs?

ME: YES!!! WTF am I going to do? He’s staying with us for a while. I’ll see him at breakfast. I can’t make it easy for him.

SAM: No, u can’t. Oh I know. Play hard to get.

ME: How?

SAM: Ignore him at breakfast. Then I come home with you after school and go with you guys to the clubs.

ME: Ok that’s a start I guess. Talk more at school. GN

I toss my phone on the nightstand and stare at the ceiling again. This could work. Or blow up in my face. Either way, I’m not going down without a fight.

I wake up before my alarm, adrenaline already buzzing through me. I dress carefully—casual but sharp. A little mascara, a little gloss. Just enough to look effortless. I want him to notice me, but I want him to work for it.

Downstairs, Uncle Sal is already sipping his espresso and flipping through paperwork.

“Good morning, Zio,” I say, kissing his cheek.

“Good morning. Someone woke up in a good mood,” he says, eyeing me over the rim of his cup.

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s Friday.” I flash him a smile. “Oh, and I’m sorry for my behavior last night. It was rude of me.”

He nods, accepting the apology. “It’s alright. I understand where you were coming from. Just try to be nice to Luca.”

I nod, pulling out my phone just as Luca walks in. His eyes light up when he sees me. Gotcha. Let the games begin.

“Good morning, Sal. GreenLee sleep well?”

“Sí,” Uncle answers, while I keep my eyes glued to my screen.

“GreenLee?” he warns gently.

“Morning,” I say, still not looking up. “Sorry, Uncle. I need to go to the library before class and return a book. I’ll see you this afternoon. Oh, and Sam will be here after school. We’re going to check on the clubs tonight.” I stand from the table, grabbing my bag.

“Sam? Who’s that?” Luca asks, his tone clipped.

“Just a friend.”

“I thought you and I were going. Just the two of us?”

Awe, he’s cute when he’s annoyed.

Stop that, GreenLee. Play the game.

“Sí, but Sam always comes with me to the clubs. I enjoy Sam’s companionship.” I toss the words over my shoulder as I walk out. I hear him mumble something under his breath—something about a boyfriend. Yes. He thinks Sam is a guy. One point to me.

At school, Sam’s waiting by my locker, already grinning.

“So? How’d it go?”

I lean against the metal door, smirking. “I ignored him at breakfast. Barely looked up from my phone.”

Sam laughs. “You’re savage. Did he pout?”

“Almost. He asked who you were. I said ‘just a friend.’ He got all territorial. Mumbled something about a boyfriend.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “He thinks I’m a guy?”

“Yup.”

“Oh my God, this is gonna be so fun.”

She checks her phone and hesitates. “Mike just texted. He wants to meet up tonight. Should I bail on the club run?”

I stop walking and turn to her, serious now. “No. Don’t change your plans for him. Or for Luca. Tell Mike you will meet him at the club like always.”

She raises a brow. “You sure? I mean, I don’t want to mess up your game.”

“You’re part of the game,” I say, smirking. “I want Luca to sweat. Not avoid him. He needs to see me in control, surrounded by people who know me—who respect me. You being there? That’s part of the message.”

Sam grins. “Damn, you’re good at this.”

“I’m not just good. I’m the boss,” I say, tossing her a wink.

We head to class, laughter trailing behind us.

Tomorrow night, Luca Ricci is going to see exactly what he’s dealing with.

And he won’t know what hit him.