Want You (Ride or Die #2)

Gio

I stare out the window, watching clouds drift past like I'm in some fucking indie film I'd normally make fun of.

One week.

That's all it took. Seven days in Spain. And somehow, it feels like everything before was grayscale. I didn't expect it. None of it. I thought it would be work stuff, maybe some drinks, a little heat. I thought I would keep my distance. Keep control.

But…oh well. Guess that didn't age well. I think about the first night. Holy shit. The teasing. The tension. Fuck.

I had sex with Rava Weston.

The one person I was almost convinced I would never touch. The one person I thought I couldn't have. The one I almost fucking gave up on.

It was the best week of my life.

And I didn't even see it coming.

I close my eyes for a second. And I see his smile again. The way he looked at that little girl. The way he fell apart for me, with me. I mean, I liked the guy, sure. Always did.

But now?? Now fuck me sideways.

I love the guy.

Good job, Gio.

And now we're flying back to reality. Back to being business friends. Back to fucking pretending. Back to danger. Because in Italy, it's different.

Because if anyone sees it, if anyone even suspects, it's over.

His dad's gonna fucking blow. I can handle a lot of shit. But I don't think I can handle watching him suffer because of me.

In Italy, there are eyes everywhere, expectations, rules. Now it's not just wrong, it's fucking risky. And fuck me if that doesn't make it worse.

Worse, as in...better.

Hotter.

Now that it's dangerous just to look at him too long, I want to look longer. Now that I'm not supposed to want him, I want him even more. My body remembers everything. I want more than a moment.

He's a problem. My favorite one. And I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to walk off this plane and pretend I'm fine.

…

The automatic doors are ahead of us, and now we're back in hell.

Back in Italy.

Back in performance. Rava is walking next to me, pulling his suitcase with one hand and rubbing his eye with the other, still half asleep.

Lorenzo is a step ahead, yawning, checking his phone. We're all pretending we're not crashing after the best goddamn week of our lives. I reach for Rava's wrist.

He stops. Looks at me. I lean in. Kiss him once quickly.

A whisper of what we were in Spain. Because as soon as we cross that line, out those doors...we're nothing again. Nothing out loud. I adjust my jacket. Grab the handle of my bag. Take a breath. And step outside.

Ugh.

Charles fucking Weston. Leaning against a sleek black car. His eyes lock on us the second we appear.

I hate him. I've always hated him.

But now I see him differently.

Not just as the bastard who tried to humiliate my family, not just as the man who looks at me like I'm filth on his shoe.

Now I see him as Rava's father.

And that fucks me up. Because I'm not just furious at him anymore. I'm terrified of him. He's the father of the boy I'm in love with. And he hates me. And I don't know if I can keep pretending I don't care. Rava slows down when he sees him. His whole body tenses.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. "This is bad."

Lorenzo glances back. "Oh yeah. He looks thrilled."

We approach. Charles doesn't say hello. His eyes flick to Lorenzo. "Boys."

Lorenzo forces a tight nod. "Mr. Weston."

Then his gaze lands on me. "Giovanni."

I clench my jaw. "Charles."

He doesn't respond. His eyes shift to Rava. "Ready?"

Rava nods. "Yeah."

"How was Spain?"

I glance at Rava. He's frozen.

Lorenzo jumps in. "Productive. Very productive."

Charles hums. "I'm sure."

I cross my arms. "You should've come. The weather was great. Real good for the nerves." He turns his head slowly to me. His mouth twitches. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

Oh, sir, I so did. Inside your pretty boy. Would absolutely do it again. Will do it again.

"What did you get up to, exactly?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Work. Meetings. Walked around a bit."

He nods slowly, pretending to believe me. "No sightseeing?"

"Some. I don't remember the names of half the places."

I remember what it feels like when your son moans into my chest, though. "Anything else you wanna know?" I ask.

Ask me. Go ahead.

Ask me what we did in Spain. I dare you.

I'll lie straight to your face while remembering exactly what your son's cum tastes like.

He clears his throat. "No. That's all for now."

I bet he knows. He just can't actually prove it. I can feel Rava start to fold beside me. And suddenly I'm angry. Angry that this is the man he has to shrink around. Angry that this man is the reason we have to pretend we were never anything more than roommates in a hotel.

"How long's the ride back?" I ask. Charles ignores me. Opens the door for Rava. And it hits me again, how the hell did he raise someone like Rava?! How did a man this cold, this arrogant, this cruel…create someone so warm, so kind, so good?

Rava hesitates. Then climbs into the car, and he doesn't look back. But I can see it in his face. He’s scared.

I know Charles. I know what he does when he doesn’t like something. He uses his hands.

And I swear to god, if he ever lays a hand on Rava, someone better be there to hold me back.

Back home

The gate creaks open, and the first thing I see, is my bike. Parked where I left it. I grin.

Then I see Lorenzo's next to it, matte black, still dusty from before Spain. We both pause, bags still in hand.

"Missed her?" I ask, nodding at his bike.

He smirks. "Like hell."

"Wanna take them out later?"

He shrugs. "You offering a race or a funeral?"

"Same thing," I say.

"Good. I'm in."

We drag ourselves inside. It feels like I've been gone a year, not a week. I toss my keys on the table. And then I glance up. Rava's room. Still closed.

I want him again. It's insane. Like, I just left him. I was buried inside him less than twelve hours ago. But my hands twitch. I want him on his back again.

I want his fingers in my hair. His voice in my ear. I want it all. Again. And again. And again. It's like an addiction.

"Dude," Lorenzo says, suddenly next to me. "You gonna stare at his door all day or are we gonna talk about it?"

I blink. "Talk about what?"

He gives me a look. "The Spain thing. Come on. Spill it. I saw the way you looked at him on the plane."

I lean against the wall. Rub my face. "I love him."

Lorenzo loses it. He throws his head back and laughs so hard he might actually choke.

"I fucking KNEW it," he wheezes. "Oh my god—oh my god. This is the best day of my life."

I glare at him. "You're enjoying this??"

"Are you kidding me? I've been waiting for this. Since day one. You were like 'I don't do feelings,' and now look at you. Look at you! You're in agony."

"I hate you."

"You love him."

I groan, dragging a hand over my face and flopping onto the couch. "This isn't funny."

"It's hilarious."

"I'm serious, Lorenzo. He's going to leave. He's going back to Canada in a few weeks. This is a disaster."

"Yeah, but it's a beautiful disaster. Like a slow-motion car crash with sexy lighting and dramatic music."

"I swear to god—"

"Dude. You should've seen your face when he was getting dressed. You looked like someone fucking unplugged your brain."

I throw a pillow at him. He dodges. "I don't know what to do," I mutter. "Like, I actually don't fucking know what to do."

"Well..." He sits on the armrest next to me, fake serious. "Option one: confess everything. Option two: suffer in silence and spiral into madness."

"I'm already spiraling!"

"Then we're ahead of schedule."

"I was supposed to keep it casual," I say, more to myself now. "I said I don't want anything serious. That I'd ruin him if we tried, and I already know that there is no future for us."

"And yet here you are, Giovanni," Lorenzo says, "all ruined and romantic. Honestly, it's kind of hot."

"Shut up."

"Admit it. You don't want it to end."

"No," I snap. "I fucking don't. I want to wake up next to him every day. I want to kiss him in public. I want to fight with him about where to eat and then ignore him for five minutes and then fuck him against the kitchen counter."

Lorenzo holds up his hands. "Okay, okay, okay, no need for visual aids."

"But he's going to leave, and I can't stop him."

"Maybe you don't have to."

I shake my head. "No. We agreed. It is temporary. Just... what it is. He said it. I said it. And now if I say more, I will ruin it."

"Or maybe," he says, "you give him a reason to stay."

I go quiet. Because deep down? That's what I fucking want. But I'm too scared to say it. Too scared that if I do, he'll run faster.

He walks over and throws a pack of gum at me. "What's this for?" I ask.

"For when you go full panic and start smoking everything in the house."

I roll my eyes. Then sigh.

Lorenzo claps his hands once, standing up. "Anyway. While you stew in your romantic misery, I'm gonna shower and pretend I don't live in a goddamn telenovela."

He walks away, still laughing.

I’m staring at nothing.

I love him.

And he's leaving. And I have no fucking idea what to do.

I'm screwed.