Excuse me? Let me? Who says Iwantto boss him around? And if I ever do, it sure as hell won’t be becauseheallows it.
It’ll be because I feel like it. End of story.
We walk out of the conference hall together. His shoulder brushes mine once. I don’t step away. And I don’t know what that means.
The elevator doors close.
Please don’t say anything.
Please don’t say anything.
Please don’t—
"So…" His voice. That fucking voice. "You always send half-nudes to your coworkers at 3AM? Or am I just special?"
I don’t even look at him. I just stare at the floor. I knew he was going to bring it up.
"I’m not having this conversation," I mutter, through my teeth.
God. Fuck.
"It was sudden, man," he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. "That V-line though? Jesus Christ. Warn a guy before sending art."
"It was an accident, Gio. Cut it out."
He chuckles. I hate him.
"Imagine if I accidentally sent you something back," he says. "Like, oops. There goes my towel."
This can’t be real. "I’m gonna cry," I whisper, staring up at the ceiling, willing the doors to open.
"Do it shirtless," he says.
"Fuck you, Gio." He shrugs. "Well. I thought it was too soon. But if you insist…"
I sprint the second the elevator dings. No eye contact. No turning back.
I hate this building. I hate this day.
"See you at your place, Ravioli!" he yells.
7:00 PM.
He knocks six times.
Six.
I could’ve opened on the first one, obviously, but making him wait is one of the few joys I have left in this cursed dynamic.
What is he gonna do about it? Nothing. Exactly.
Stand there and take it.
When I finally open the door, he’s leaning on the frame, smiling. Black sleeveless shirt. Arms out. Veins out. Hair a whole wavy black disaster.
"Hey, Ravioli," he says, voice all heat and mischief. "Ready to get educational?"
I don’t answer. I just step aside so he can walk in. At least he always smells good. I’ll give him that.
