"You don't need to be stressed because of me. I know I'm splitting your focus too much. I can take care of myself, or I guess Matteo could put someone else on me who's under less pressure," I argued. His face darkened with the latter suggestion, his eyes turning molten as his grip tightened on my thighs.
"My stress has nothing to do with my job. I'm stressed because someone broke into your house in the middle of the night and tried to do God knows what with you. I'm stressed because if I slip up in protecting you, my woman could end up dead."
"I'm not your woman," I said automatically.
He chuckled, shaking his head. The smile faded from his face, those hands holding me tight to steady me. "When were you diagnosed with OCD?" he asked.
"I wasn't," I answered, reaching over to grab my tumbler and down the drink. I was not drunk enough for this conversation. He’d been right about that.
His brow furrowed as he watched me, waiting for an elaboration that wouldn't come. "Sadie," he groaned. "You've never seen someone?"
"Why? So they can put me on meds? They diagnosed me with ADHD. They medicated me for that as a kid, and it was fucking horrible. Can you imagine what it will be like when they try to medicate me for a comorbidity between ADHD and OCD? I'll be a zombie."
I'd thought Enzo would argue. That he'd be one of the first people to tell me that medicine could help. But I coped with my life just fine. I functioned, and I was mostly happy. No, my life wasn't perfect, but whose was? I didn't dislike the person I'd grown to be, idiosyncrasies and all. "Okay," he murmured. "No meds. Does anyone else know?" he said, surprising me into a moment of silence.
"Ivory and Duke, vaguely. We don't really talk about it in depth because they know I'm uncomfortable with it, but she knows I'm not medicated. She understands better than most since she hates medication of any kind," I answered when I finally pulled out of my moment of shock. Ivory's issues were vastly different, stemming from an attempted date-rape and the half aware feeling she'd had while under the influence of Roofies. Anything that messed with her awareness of the world or made her sleepy wasn't tolerable for her.
Enzo nodded. "Why the number five? Is there a reason?" he asked. I stared at him, the back of my throat burning with the sudden urge to cry. Nobody had ever asked me that. Nobody had ever noticed my obsession with increments of five.
Even though there wasn't a suitable answer to the why, I couldn't help but feel a moment of affection because he paid close enough attention to notice it when nobody else did. The panic followed though, the wondering of when it would all fall apart. He already knew more than most.
Would he run the next day?
Would I?
"I don't know. It's been that way for as long as I can remember," I sighed, wishing I could understand the oddities of my brain. But some things just made little sense. Some things weren't about logic.
"And your family doesn't know?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I do everything I can to keep it from them. My father has doubts about my ability to run the gym as it is because I'm a woman. If I gave him any sign that I might not be up to the task, he could take it all away. I don't want to disappoint him like that."
"Okay, Baby Girl," Enzo sighed, leaning forward to press his forehead to mine. "I won't tell anyone. But if you have any particularly strong needs, you have to tell me. I don't want to get in a fight because I put the milk in the fridge wrong when I couldn't care less where it goes." I allowed the contact, trying to take comfort that, for now at least, he knew the truth and accepted it.
And he was still mine.
"It doesn't matter where you put it, just make sure it's straight," I laughed, but my chest tightened. Wondering how long it would last.
Not long if I knew myself.
Enzo knew me well. Too well for such a short time frame. He sensed the need for space and my desire to gather my thoughts. So, with a sigh, he'd introduced me to Dom downstairs. The man glowered at me from the doorway, looking as pleased as punch that he had to babysit me while I tried to eat my way through the food the bartender, Ash, plied me with. I'd never been one to turn down free food, but something just felt wrong about being downstairs, even with Rebel lying next to my stool.
Being in Indulgence without Enzo at my side somehow seemed awkward now that I had my whatever this was connection to him. The conversation upstairs was
