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 itthatdirectly?"
I ask, mortified.
Lorenzo throws his arms wide. "Ohhh, baby yousosaid 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.
