Chapter 1 #16
Gio is fully dressed, chilling inside the bathtub, legs stretched out, head back. I am brushing my teeth, feeling his eyes on me, burning into my face. "You look so gone right now," I mutter around the toothbrush, foam in the corner of my mouth.
He chuckles low. "Oh I am so gone…" he says, grinning.
"…for you."
I roll my eyes, trying so hard not to smile. My face is already hot. Could be the alcohol. Could be him. I look in the mirror and see him moving slowly.
The tub creaks as he steps out. He comes to stand behind me, and for some reason, suddenly he looks taller. Or I became shorter. Whatever.
I bend over the sink to spit the toothpaste out.
My ass is brushing right up against his dick.
"Woah, woah, woah," he says, slurring just a little. "It's too late, Ravioli. Stop turning me on."
I freeze. Then burst out laughing. He's practically draped over me while I'm rinsing my mouth. His whole body presses into my back, and then his hands slide up under my shirt.
He grabs my chest. His cheek smushes against my back, right between my shoulder blades.
He squeezes. "It's so…" he mumbles, almost to himself. I pause, still hunched over the sink. "So…what?" I ask, raising an eyebrow even though he can't see it.
He just giggles. Against my spine. "I don't know," he says. Still laughing. And I start laughing too.
He's so stupid.
And so fucking adorable.
"You're such an idiot," I say, wiping my mouth, shoving his face away. He laughs too, stumbling back a little. He tilts his head like a confused puppy.
"Can I wash your face?"
I blink. "You? You can barely walk."
"I know," he says, and his voice drops a little. "But I want to."
I should laugh again. Brush it off. But I don’t. Because deep down, I already know.
This? Him? It isn't going to last.
A month from now, I'll be wishing I could come back to this exact second. So I nod. "Okay, drunk idiot," I say. "Come on." He steps in behind me, carefully. He reaches up, gently pulls my hair out of my face, holding it back.
He dips his hand in the sink, scoops up water, and presses it to my skin. The water is freezing. His hand is hot.
I laugh as the cold slides down my neck. "Try not to drown me, please. Drowning is not an option."
He grins against my cheek. "No promises, angel.
" He grabs the soap, uses way too much, and smears it across my face.
So messy and uneven. I can't stop laughing.
"Gio, seriously, this is awful." He just hums like he's proud of his masterpiece.
Then, out of nowhere, he turns me around and sits me down on the toilet lid.
Gently. Takes a small towel, and wipes my face with slow, focused movements. I stare at him. His face is all concentration. He looks like he is doing something so serious.
"I didn't know you get so soft when you're drunk," I say, teasing. He doesn’t answer. He just keeps wiping, gently.
And that silence says everything.
If this is "nothing," then why does it feel like everything?
My head is a mess of questions I'll never ask him.
Do you want me or do you just want access to me?
Am I temporary, or are you just too scared to admit I'm not?
Is this just comfort for you, or is it something deeper you're too stubborn to name?
I keep hoping he'll slip. That one day he'll say something he can't take back. That he'll get tired of standing in the doorway and either step in or walk out.
That he'll finally pick a side.
Yes, you're mine or no, you never were.
He makes it so hard to believe we're nothing. But he still refuses to give me a reason to call us something. Only signs. Never solutions. And it's draining. He looks around, kind of lost, until his eyes land on my face cream. He picks it up real slow. Opens the lid. Smells it.
"I remember this," he mumbles. "You used this every night in Spain." He dips his finger in. And my breath catches.
He turns toward me. Right there. And starts applying it to my face. I can feel every breath between us.
I can see every little detail. His lashes, the scar at the corner of his mouth from that fight he got into at Sophia's party, his lip ring glinting in the bathroom light.
My heart goes insane. It doesn't make any sense, how can this feel brand new, when we've already touched? When we've already gone there? We're not even doing anything dirty. He's literally just putting cream on my face. That's it. No hands down my pants, no making out against a wall, nothing.
And somehow I feel more exposed than when I'm naked in front of him. I use the moment to stare. His brows are pulled together in concentration. I wish I could make this face mine. Like officially.
I wish I at least had the option to claim him like a normal person.
To stand next to him in public without feeling like I'm doing something illegal.
Not this. Not pretending this doesn't mean anything. There’s a tiny leaf stuck in his hair, probably from earlier.
I reach up and pluck it out while he's still rubbing the cream into my skin.
He blinks at me. I just shrug. He really doesn't look as terrifying as everyone makes him sound.
They talk about Gio Fontana like he's some nightmare on a motorbike. I look at him up close and all I see is…soft.
A little grumpy.
Very pretty.
And yeah, obviously sexy. I'm not blind. But not scary.
He catches me staring and instead of saying anything he just flicks me in the middle of the forehead.
I flinch. "Ow—"
Okay. I take it all back.
Everything nice I just thought about him?
Cancelled.
I smack him lightly on the side of the head in revenge.
He laughs and leans in, giving me a quick kiss.
He pulls back like nothing happened, going back to spreading cream on my face.
He smirks, out of nowhere, and talks in a fake version of my voice.
"You have to massage it upwards. It activates the skin barrier. "
I blink. "Dude. I don't sound like that."
"Yes, you do," he says, grinning. "And I love it."
My whole body freezes. He doesn't even notice what he said. He just keeps rubbing the cream in like it’s nothing. But it isn't nothing. Not to me. My brain kind of shuts down. Because right then, everything clicks…
I love him.
I'm sure now. I actually love Gio Fontana. It's chaos. It's all-consuming. It's already living inside me. And with him right there on his knees, lips inches from mine…
I want to fall into him.
I want to scream it so badly. But I don’t. I just stare. Silently. Dear God, I love this man so much.
And someday, when it finally slips out of my mouth, I just hope I'm not too late.
12) What Happened Last Night
Gio
Fuck. My entire body feels like it has been dragged through sand, then microwaved for five minutes. My skull is splitting in three distinct directions, and my mouth tastes like I've made out with an ashtray and then chased it with tequila.
I don't just feel like shit, I feel like someone else's shit. I need to stop testing my limits like I'm some sexy invincible party god.
I'm not. I'm twenty-three and I feel seventy-three right now.
What the fuck.
And to top it off, I can't move. Because there is a whole-ass human blanket on top of me. Rava. Pressed chest to chest.
Leg thrown over mine. Arm across my stomach. Head buried in the crook of my neck like I'm his goddamn pillow.
And Jesus Christ, the guy is overheating. A few strands of his hair have stuck to my collarbone, a bit damp from the heat. I’m melting. But instead of pushing him off, I let out a quiet groan and tilt my head just enough to breathe. He looks too peaceful.
Too comfortable. His whole body molded into mine.
So…yeah. I don't move. I turn my head slightly, careful not to disturb the furnace clinging to me, and spot Lorenzo. Half off the bed, one leg dangling in the void, one sock gone, a trail of god-knows-what down his shirt.
He looks like a medieval painting of "Μan vs Τequila." Then, further across, I catch sight of Noah, barely alive, hunched over the table, eyes half-closed, sipping coffee.
I raise my arm and point to the air conditioner on the wall. "Turn it on. I'm dying over here."
Noah looks up, blinks, and snorts quietly.
"Aww. Is the buffalo on top of you overheating?"
I glare at him. "Yes. And I'm not the one waking him up."
Noah grins. "That's sweet. Protecting the big boy snuggle monster." I can't feel my goddamn arm anymore, but Rava is still breathing softly against my throat. And maybe it’s the hangover, but lying here, with Rava tangled around me, I kind of never want to move again. Ever.
The low hum of the air conditioner kicks on with a click and a blessed gust of cold air washes over the room.
"FINALLY," Lorenzo moans from across the room. "Some fucking breeze, man, I thought I was gonna combust."
I shoot up a finger to my lips. "Shut. The fuck. Up." But it is too late. Rava groans softly against me, then shifts.
His body turns, and he rolls away, giving me his back. His hair is a mess, and his shoulder blades poke out just enough to make me want to touch him again.
Instead, I stare at Lorenzo like I'm about to end his bloodline. "Oops," he whispers, completely unbothered.
I swear to God, sometimes I don't care that he's family. Shit like this makes me want to drown him. Lorenzo is fully awake now, sitting up slowly with one leg still dangling off the bed.
"Oh my God," he groans, holding his face. "What happened last night? Why do I feel like I made out with a blender and then got hit by a bus?"
"I feel like I'm inside out," Noah mumbles from the table, slouched and sipping coffee.
I blink, trying to remember anything past the third round of shots. "What the fuck did happen?" I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. Noah holds up his phone. "Oh, we're about to find out. This," he says, shaking it slightly, "has over five hundred photos and videos from last night."
Lorenzo lets out a long groan. "Oh no. Oh no no no."
"This," Noah continues, "will be our downfall."