He'd tease me for the rest of my life. Every time I'd look at him for one second too long, he'd be like, "Careful, Gio, your heart's starting a fight again," and I'd have to throw myself into oncoming traffic.
I don't want that. I don't want him seeing through me like that.
I'd rather he just thinks I'm still the same annoying Gio.
"Relax," he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear. "It's not contagious."
I turn to him slowly.
"Maybe not," I say, "but your desperation is."
His whole soul drops. It's not even subtle.
Part of me actually wants him to snap at me, to push back, to get mad.
Call me an asshole, Rava.
Tell me to fuck off.
Tell me I'm being weird.
Please.
Instead, he just takes it, and that makes me feel ten times worse, because I want the fight.
I want him angry enough to finally start fucking hating me.
But he doesn't. He exhales sharply through his nose and turns back to the counter.
We drop our suitcases a few minutes later. Lorenzo's with us physically, but mentally he's on a different fucking planet.
I'm convinced this man has nothing in his brain except cotton candy, dicks, and pussies.
That's it. Just three tabs open.
He looks at both of us, all bright and happy, then throws an arm around each of our necks and drags us in closer.
"This trip's gonna be a fucking BLAST," he says, all excited.
Rava gives him this tiny smile, not because he's actually happy, just because Lorenzo's looking at him and he feels like he has to give something back.
I don't smile. My face stays blank.
This trip is going to break me. I know it.
I just don't know how yet.
We go sit in the waiting area. Rava drops into the seat right across from me and then just zones out on me, staring. He looks like some pissed-off teddy bear with his arms crossed.
I'd bet my bike he doesn't even realize he's doing it.
His brain has clearly left the chat.
I wonder what's going on in there, what he's replaying, what he's mad at.
He looks hot when he's annoyed, though.
I'll give him that.
