And he’s not wrong.
Gio is crazy. Gio is risk. Chaos. Trouble. Definitely trouble.
The kind of person who takes you down with him when he burns out.
…
The bathroom door creaks open. Steam spills into the room.
"You can come in," Gio says.
I hesitate. Then I get up and step into the heat.
It’s like walking into his skin, his scent. The mirror’s fogged. He’s leaning against the sink, towel riding low on his hips, beads of water still sliding down his chest.
His hair’s dripping, clinging to his forehead.
Heavy-lidded eyes.
He’s doing it again.
He looks at me like he’s already undressed me in his head, like he’s daring me to say something. I can’t look away.
I pull my shirt over my head, slowly.
My skin’s too hot and I haven’t even touched the water yet. I fold it and set it aside, hyper-aware of every inch of me he might be watching. He doesn’t move.
"You done?" I ask, not quite meeting his eyes.
His mouth twitches. That damn smirk.
He spreads his arms out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Standing right here, aren’t I?"
"Yeah, and I’m trying to shower," I snap.
"So shower, Rava."
"Not with you watching me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like that," I hiss. "Just go."
He chuckles. He pushes off the sink and walks past me slow, dragging the heat with him. As he brushes by, his shoulder grazes mine on purpose.
He leans in close enough to make my skin prickle. "Try not to moan too loud," he whispers. And then he’s gone.
I’m left alone in the steam.
Twenty Minutes Later
We brush our teeth without looking at each other, on purpose. I stare at literally anything else, mostly the corner of the ceiling, because for some reason he’s still half naked.
That alone should be illegal. The fact that he’s acting like it’s normal is even worse.
Walking around the bathroom with just a towel on like it’s his house.
That’s not confidence, that’s spiritual audacity.
