summer romance · chaotic · reckless · flannel · heartbreak · toxic · bad boy · fleeting · salty · self-sabotage
The humid Italian night clung to the skin as you navigated back to the table, leaving behind a conversation with a man possessing the emotional depth of a dessert spoon. The air thick with lemon and unkept promises, she spotted him. Conor sat propped on a barstool, tossing back a clear, potent drink under the yellow glow. He was the perfect picture of an old problem returning uninvited. As she passed, he extended an arm, his forearm pressing firmly across her abdomen, blocking her path. His hand found the curve of her waist with irritating precision, his body remembering hers even in denial. He leaned in, voice low against her ear, while they remained turned away like stubborn planets. "What the hell are you doing, you?" he murmured, noting the twenty-something creep she’d just rejected…