But the fear doesn’t listen. He knows something. He knows and he’s disappointed. He knows and I messed up. I have no idea what’s happening, and that makes it ten times worse.
I adjust my glasses again and try to focus on the notes in front of me, but the words blur.
The door opens, and every single thought in my head falls away.
Gio walks in.
He strolls in like this is his living room, like he hasn’t been in a fight less than twenty-four hours ago. My eyes lock on him before I even realize it, and something loosens.
I hate it, but I also don’t. He looks like he hasn’t slept, but he’s here, and for some stupid reason I feel relieved, like the pressure in my chest cracks open just enough for me to breathe.
He scans the room, gives a lazy nod to someone, and then his eyes find me.
We stare. No smile. No words.
And suddenly I don’t care what my dad thinks. I don’t care why he’s angry. I don’t care about the stupid meeting or the people talking around me.
Gio takes the seat directly in front of me. His eyes flick lazily from speaker to speaker, but every few seconds they land back on me. He looks so casual, like none of this matters, like he didn’t almost kiss me yesterday, for real this time.
I hate him for that, except I don’t, I can’t, because when he looks at me like that, I forget my own name.
I glance down at my notes, try to concentrate.
My phone buzzes under the table. I jump slightly. No one notices. I reach for it slowly, tilt it up.
The message preview is already there.
GIO:
-You look like you’re about to faint. Is it the tie? Or me?
I clench my jaw. I don’t answer. I look up. He’s already watching me. My phone buzzes again.
GIO:
-Want me to stop?
-Or go harder?
Jesus. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s enjoying this.
ME:
-Grow up, Gio.
GIO:
-You first. You’re the one blushing.
I’m not. I hope. I shoot him a glare across the table. He raises one eyebrow, innocent, almost. Another message comes through.
GIO:
-What are you thinking about
ME:
-Your bruises. You look like shit.
