“I’m paying you back right now,” I tell Marco stubbornly, already pulling up Venmo on my phone. Because I absolutely cannot be in debt to this man.
Or that’s what I tell myself in the moment.
Yes, did I mention I was stubborn?
I get his personal phone number, add him as a contact. Then launch VenMo and find his contact.
Type in the amount.
$69.00.
I hit send before I see it.
The notification pops up. “You paid Marco Fiore $69.00.”
Oh my God.
Again?
Why, universe, why?
Sixty-nine. I Venmo’d him sixty-nine dollars.
Marco’s phone buzzes. He looks at it. Looks at me.
His eyebrows go up.
Then he sends money back. Twenty dollars.
The memo reads: “Service charge waived.”
And he winks.
He actually winks at me.
Afterthat.
Spontaneous human combustion is about to become scientific fact because I’m literally burning alive from embarrassment.
Ethan, bless him, jumps in with some story about a call he took last week, redirecting the conversation away from my spectacular implosion. Marco looks away from me and engages, asking questions about protocols and equipment, and I sit there nursing my Moscow Mule and trying to remember how to be a normal person.
Thirty minutes pass. They talk shop. Paramedic stuff, restaurant stuff, some Jiu-Jitsu tournament coming up. I try to follow along. Ethan tries to loop me in here and there, but I’m too self-conscious to contribute much beyond nods and the occasional “that’s wild.”
I’m actually thankful to be a third wheel for once.
Still, I can’t help but enjoy Marco’s presence. He’s close enough that I can smell him. Thesame cologne I remember from Vegas. Bitter orange and espresso and something else I can’t quite place. Cedar maybe. It’s the kind of scent that makes you want to lean in closer, which is extremely inconvenient given the situation.
Also, he has really nice hands. Long fingers, calluses on the fingertips from years of chef work. They’re expressive when he talks, cutting through the air to make a point, then settling back on the bar with easy confidence.
Hook: “When your brother’s hot friend has hands that make you think of what they can do with your pussy.”
Immediate platform ban.
Worth it.
I take a long drink of my Moscow Mule and try to focus on literally anything else.
There’s a lull in the conversation. Marco turns to me, and those dark eyes settle on my face, and I feel it like a physical touch.
