"Gio—"
"Don’t ‘Gio’ me. I’m not letting you rot out here with your book and your sad little sighs like some rejected opera character." He crosses his arms. "I’m fine."
"You’re not, love. You mademe, feel sorry. Imagine how bad you look."
He tries to glare again, but it doesn’t land as hard this time.
I grin. "Come on," I say, my tone softening just a notch. "Youclearlyneed saving. And I’m bored enough to do it."
He doesn’t move. "Don’t you have like a bank to rob? Or flirt with a cop?"
"It can wait." I lean farther out the window. "We’re going somewhere loud. Cheap. Probably smells like fried dough and beer. It’ll be fun."
"No."
"Yes."
"Gio—"
"Ten minutes," I interrupt, disappearing back inside. "If you’re not at the front door, I’m breaking in and dragging you out in whatever sad pajama pants you’re wearing."
I slam the window shut.
I wait. I count. Five minutes pass. No sign.
I open the window again.
He’s gone from the balcony. My smile curls.
Knew it.
11) Screw You
Gio
He finally comes down.
It took him twelve minutes, but I let it slide. I lean on the bike, flipping my keys between my fingers when I see him push open the front door.
Okay. Not bad.
Burgundy polo, black pants. Simple. His usual uptight "I tried but not too hard" look. Honey-colored strands fall loosely over his forehead.
He looks so… put together.
And yet his face? Same expression as always. Like someone forced him to go out with his least favorite person.
Which… now that I think about it, might actually be me.
Should that bother me?
Probably.
Does it? Not even a little.
I grin. "Ay, why are you already frowning?" I ask.
He doesn’t miss a beat. "I’m already annoyed by the way you talk, and by the way you act."
