"Shit, fuck, you asshole!" I yell, blinking salt out of my eyes.
I’m half-blind from the first baptism, and before I can even breathe, he dunks me again.
The wave hits us hard and throws him right into me. I swear to God, I almost make out with his dick underwater.
The water settles. We break the surface, both of us coughing and laughing. "You didn’t have to drag me in, you idiot!"
He swims a little closer, lazy strokes through the crystal. "You don’t have to act like you hate me, Ravioli. Your dad’s not here. No one is. We’re in another fucking country."
The words hit harder than the wave that crashes over me. Jesus.
I’m not used to agreeing with Gio.
That’s never been our thing. Our thing is always snapping at each other, rolling our eyes, competing over who can be more annoying.
And now he says shit like that and I actually agree. I hate that he’s right. I hate that Ilikethat he’s right.
I glare. "You’ve got a pretty big opinion of yourself."
He tilts his head, that dangerous smile returning. "If I didn’t," he leans in, "you wouldn’t have moaned so fucking hard last night in the shower."
My jaw drops. "You—" I start to say, but he’s too close. So I shove him. Hard. He stumbles back into the water, laughing, and I dive after him, tackling him under the surface, and when we both come up, I grab his face and kiss him.
His hands go straight to my hips, gripping tight as he kisses me back with everything he has. He bites my lower lip. I gasp into his mouth.
I kiss him the way I want to in Italy and can’t. Our tongues are literally fighting. My hand goes to the back of his head and I accidentally yank his hair a little too hard.
I didn’t mean to. Okay, I did. A little.
What do you want from me? I’m repressed.
His fingers dig into my waist under the water, pulling me even closer.
We laugh. We wrestle. We kiss again.
For once, I don’t care who I’m supposed to be. I’m not the "good son," not the "innocent one", not the future teacher with the decent life plan.
I’m just Rava. Rava with Gio. But Gio suddenly stiffens.
He blinks past me, up toward the rocks.
"What?" I whisper. He doesn’t answer right away. He lowers me back into the water.
"Rava, don’t look," he mutters, his lips still brushing mine. "But we’ve got company. From the meeting."
"What?" I glance up without thinking.
Oh, fuck. Standing right above us, at the edge of the cliff, is someone we know. One of the old men from the table today. The one with the beige polo shirt and the bald spot.
Fucking hell. Instinctively, I turn to look again.
"Don’t, don’t move like that," he hisses. "Slow. We’re going under that rock. Now."
Adrenaline kicks in. That’s it. They’re going to kill us.
This man is gonna go back, sit his overpriced espresso down and be like, "Hey guys, funny story, just saw Fontana’s son and Weston’s son making out in the ocean!"
My dad will just faint and Gio’s family will start planning a funeral while we’re still alive. This is my last good moment. Of course the universe sends some random business guy as a witness.
