I paced around the living room of my apartment that overlooked the city, nervously chewing on my inner cheek. Constantino’s men had brought over all my belongings from my old place earlier, but I hadn’t been able to dive into unboxing anything after Laila sent me that text.
She had wanted a picture of me, but maybe I had … sent her something wrong.
Maybe she hadn’t wanted a nude or a semi-nude.
After walking toward the window, I rested my forehead against the glass and looked down at the tiny figures hurrying down the sidewalks. It had been three hours, and she hadn’t even responded to my messages. She had Read receipts turned on, and still, nothing.
Did I do something wrong? I didn’t know how to act around pretty girls like her.
Did I do something wrong? Do women require a different
