Ten Minutes Later
I slide into the driver’s seat.
Rava sits next to me and immediately turns his face to the window like I don’t exist.
Cool. Real mature.
The rental car smells like Dior now because of him. I look mad. I look pissed off at him.
But the truth is I’m not mad. I’m fucking sad.
Because my dumb, stubborn, piece-of-shit heart picked him.
Him.
The one person I’m not allowed to want.
The one person I couldmaybehave in some upside-down, secret reality, but only in the dark.
Only in rooms with locked doors and a bunch of lies.
No one could know. It would have to be a secret. And I’m really bad at secrets.
Especially the ones that matter. The big ones.
The ones that feel good.
I wanted a life where I could show him off.
Call him mine, maybe.
Let people see.
But that’s not what we get. So now I lie to myself.
Pretend I don’t want him. Tell myself he doesn’t need me.
That I’m the wrong guy for him anyway. That I’d fuck him up eventually and it’s better this way.
Lorenzo throws himself into the back seat.
"What’s up, sluts?"
I don’t answer. The silence is loud. Awkward as hell.
Usually I’d fill it with some bullshit. Talk about anything.
Music, his stupid hair, flirt without thinking.
But now? Now I don’t get to do any of that.
We drive a few blocks. I feel Rava’s eyes on me, dragging down my arms, across my chest, my legs.
Fuck. Not now. Stop. Not like this.
I pretend I don’t feel him watching. I hate when he does that. It messes with my head.
Makes me feel like he sees too much.
