Lauren Henderson

“Hey!” Paige waves flirtatiously at Luca, one of those girl-waves where you open and flutter your fingers while flashing a brilliant smile. I hate to admit it, but Paige totally pulls it off. “I’m Paige. And you’re hot!”
Oh my God. Paige is brave enough to tell him to his face that he’s handsome, while I can’t even say hello. I am completely pathetic.
There’s a pause. I hold my breath. And then Luca turns his head to me and says:
“E tu? Come ti chiami?”
This means “What’s your name”; I know that much. But he’s looking straight at me. His cheekbones could cut glass, and his dark eyebrows, elegantly raised in a query, are two perfect ink-black arches.
“Violet,” I manage to say. I’m so nervous that it comes out casual, dismissive, as if I don’t give a damn about him. Which, actually, is no bad thing. He nods, taking a last drag on his cigarette and stubbing it out in the ashtray on the table, before he pushes off the table to stand once again.”

Lauren Henderson, Flirting in Italian
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Flirting in Italian (Flirting in Italian #1) Flirting in Italian by Lauren Henderson
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