Chapter 7 #10
"Bravo, Rava. Didn't think you'd actually come with me."
I shrug, trying to keep it casual. "Better than sitting here all day."
He laughs, slapping me lightly on the shoulder as he walks past.
Then he comes back. "Wait. What?!?!"
He grabs my shoulder and spins me around.
"MADONNA MIA! What in the horny universe is that??" he yells.
His hand lands on my back, right over the tattoo.
"Is this permanent?!"
I laugh and glance at Gio.
"Yeah. Judging by how much it hurt, I'm gonna say it's pretty permanent."
Lorenzo squints at the tattoo. "Did it hurt a lot? Be honest. I wanna do mine too but I'm a little bitch."
I look at Gio again, just to make sure he's listening.
"Oh, it hurt," I say. "A lot."
He looks interested, so I keep going.
"At first… it was kinda manageable. But then it just kept going deeper. Same spot, over and over, until my whole back was on fire."
Gio's staring.
"I was shaking at one point," I add. "Had to bite down on my arm so I wouldn't make too much noise."
Lorenzo winces. "Jesus."
"Yeah," I say, still looking at Gio.
"There were moments I really thought I'd tell him to stop. But he kept asking if I could take a little more and..." I shrug. "Turns out I could."
He coughs. He's dying.
"We had to take a lot of breaks, though. He said I was too tense. Needed time to breathe before he went back in."
Lorenzo throws his hands up.
"Okay, message received. I don't even know why I asked or what I thought you were gonna say."
I laugh under my breath.
I like this. I like messing with Gio's head a little. He's not the only one allowed to play games and make me feel things I'm not ready to admit. Two can play this game, and I'm going to hit him exactly where it hurts.
"Put your swimsuit on, pretty boy," Lorenzo says, tossing his towel onto his bed. "I'll wait for you."
I nod and head into the bathroom. I strip and pull on my swim trunks, run my fingers through my hair. I can still feel Gio's stare on my back like a ghost.
I hate it. I hate how much I don't hate it.
When I come back out, Lorenzo's waiting at the door.
He grabs my shoulder again, squeezing playfully. Then he turns and throws a look over his shoulder at Gio, who's slouched on the bed, pretending not to watch.
"Don't wait up, cousin," Lorenzo says, grinning.
"I'm off to rub sunscreen on your husband's beautiful back and steal the hearts of beautiful Spanish women and men. Catch you later."
Before Gio can say a word, he pulls the door open, shoves me out into the hallway with him, and slams it shut behind us. I'm wondering if Gio's burning a hole through the door right now with the way he looked at me.
Lorenzo slings an arm around my shoulders.
"Come on, Rava," he says, laughing.
"Let's go make Spain fall in love with us."
We step outside.
Lorenzo immediately sprints ahead and yelps. Of course he goes out barefoot on tiles that feel like an oven tray.
He does this little hopping dance and then practically dives to stick his feet in the pool.
What a strange man. Genuinely.
I follow slower.
My cheeks are already hot and it's not just from the heat.
Because now I remember. I remember everything this strange guy knows about me.
God.
He knows I want his cousin to ride me.
He knows that in my free time my brain goes on loops about Gio's v-line.
He knows that while I act like Gio gets on my nerves, when I'm alone I replay us making out against a wall until it turns into rough, messy sex in my head.
I'm gonna throw up.
We go sit on the edge of the pool.
I slide my feet into the water.
"Hey," he says, bumping his shoulder against mine.
"So... was it true?"
"What was true?"
"You know..." He grins, flashing all his white teeth.
"You want Gio to fuck y—"
Nope.
I shove him into the pool before he can finish the sentence. A couple of people nearby actually jump from the splash.
I throw them an apologetic little wave.
"Sorry! He deserved it," I add under my breath.
I turn back to Lorenzo. He's fighting with the water, wiping his eyes, spitting out whatever went in his mouth, still laughing through all of it.
He finally gets his footing and climbs out of the pool, shaking his hair out like a damn golden retriever.
"So, did I really say it that directly?"
I ask, mortified.
Lorenzo throws his arms wide. "Ohhh, baby you so said that," he teases. "And more! You got graphic, my dude!"
Fucking hell. Sometimes I genuinely regret having a mouth.
Why can't I just shut up when I'm supposed to?
Why do I always have to say one extra thing and completely humiliate myself?
"And honestly, it was kinda impressive. The way you were drooling over him? Legendary. Hall of fame material."
I can't even look at him.
I'm actually embarrassed.
I have no idea how he's still talking to me after that.
I hate myself right now. I just want to slide into the pool and drown at the bottom like a brick.
"So," he says, drawing it out slow, "now that you're sober... do you still want him like that?"
My mouth opens automatically, but nothing comes out.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The longer I stay quiet, the more suspicious this looks.
I can feel it. But I can't lie. I can't suddenly go, "Haha no, all good, it was just the alcohol," when I know damn well it wasn't.
I didn't say those things because I was drunk.
Being drunk just turned the damn filter off. Now I'm sober and the feelings are still here.
Lorenzo's eyes widen. "AHHHH!"
He screams, loud enough that people turn their heads.
"HE STILL WANTS HIM!" he shouts, bouncing around like an excited kid. "OH MY GOD YOU'RE STILL DOWN BAD!"
I cover my face with both hands, embarrassed.
I want to throw myself in the pool. I want to scream back and also cry into the tiles.
I can't look at him.
If I look at him, I'll either start laughing hysterically or burst into tears.
And I'm not sure which one would be more humiliating.
44) Face To Face
Gio
Rava is pulling a shirt over his head.
He catches me staring and smirks.
"For a guy who supposedly hates me," he says, adjusting his belt, "you sure can't stop staring."
I drag my eyes up to his face. "You wish," I bite out. He just laughs under his breath, like I’m the one fooling myself.
Lorenzo bursts out of the bathroom, shirt half-open, hair still wet, a fucking bottle of Bacardi in one hand, a speaker in the other blasting some Spanish reggaeton shit that shakes the walls.
The whole room turns into a mini club in seconds.
Normally, I’d be the first one to rip shots with him.
To get wasted before we even make it out the door.
Normally, I wouldn’t give a fuck about anything except how hard we’re partying.
But tonight? Tonight there’s a problem.
And the problem is standing across from me, adjusting his bracelet, running his fingers through that messy hair, looking like he doesn’t even realize he’s the problem.
No. That’s a lie. He fucking knows.
And that pisses me off even more.
Because deep down, I don’t just want to get drunk tonight. I want to hear that problem moaning my name against the sheets. I stand up fast.
"I’m coming," I say. "No way I’m letting you two dumbasses loose in a foreign country without supervision."
Rava chuckles, amused. "Aw, look at you," he says, tossing a chain around his neck, "so responsible all of a sudden."
I turn to him slowly. "You have no idea," I say.
His smirk falters for half a second. Neither of us moves.
Ten Minutes Later
I slide into the driver’s seat.
Rava sits next to me and immediately turns his face to the window like I don’t exist.
Cool. Real mature.
The rental car smells like Dior now because of him. I look mad. I look pissed off at him.
But the truth is I’m not mad. I’m fucking sad.
Because my dumb, stubborn, piece-of-shit heart picked him.
Him.
The one person I’m not allowed to want.
The one person I could maybe have in some upside-down, secret reality, but only in the dark.
Only in rooms with locked doors and a bunch of lies.
No one could know. It would have to be a secret. And I’m really bad at secrets.
Especially the ones that matter. The big ones.
The ones that feel good.
I wanted a life where I could show him off.
Call him mine, maybe.
Let people see.
But that’s not what we get. So now I lie to myself.
Pretend I don’t want him. Tell myself he doesn’t need me.
That I’m the wrong guy for him anyway. That I’d fuck him up eventually and it’s better this way.
Lorenzo throws himself into the back seat.
"What’s up, sluts?"
I don’t answer. The silence is loud. Awkward as hell.
Usually I’d fill it with some bullshit. Talk about anything.
Music, his stupid hair, flirt without thinking.
But now? Now I don’t get to do any of that.
We drive a few blocks. I feel Rava’s eyes on me, dragging down my arms, across my chest, my legs.
Fuck. Not now. Stop. Not like this.
I pretend I don’t feel him watching. I hate when he does that. It messes with my head.
Makes me feel like he sees too much.
"What now?" I snap.
He shrugs, still staring.
"Nothing. Just… Jesus. Slow the fuck down. It’s not a street race. Stop trying so hard to prove something."
"Rava, you were literally fixing your hair for ten minutes, and I’m the one trying to prove something?"
"I didn’t do it for you."
"Never said you did. But you’re awfully defensive."
"I’m not defensive."
"Cool. Then shut your mouth."
Lorenzo fake coughs.
"Foreplay. Literal foreplay. I’m watching porn with clothes on."
"I won’t shut up just because you said so. There’s nothing between us." Rava says immediately.
"Thank God," I mutter. "Can’t imagine anything worse."
"Same," he snaps. "You’re literally the last person I’d ever look at like that."
"You looked last night."
"I was literally just zoning out."
"You were zoning into my mouth."
Lorenzo claps once. "Okay! That was hot. I’m sweating. You two are two insults away from fucking in the backseat."
Rava scoffs. "You’re delusional, Gio."
"Right," I shoot back.