I’m not an asshole. I know how to acknowledge someone’s good traits. It’s just that his good traits… yeah, they get stuck somewhere in my throat on the way out.
He walks straight past me like it’s his house, drops his helmet on the hallway cabinet, and makes a beeline for my room. By the time I catch up, he’s lying on my bed, hands behind his head.
"You’re disgusting," I mutter.
He stretches out even more, clearly enjoying himself. "Comfortable bed. You should be honored."
"It’s not a hotel."
He smirks without even opening his eyes. "Could’ve fooled me.Excellentservice so far."
I shoot him a sharp look. The weirdness hits me like a brick when I realize it.
Him. Spread out. On my bed.
The same bed I literally disgraced myself over last night by sending him that… photo.
I wonder if he’s thinking about it too… or if I’m the only freak in the room replaying it on a loop like an idiot.
I turn toward my desk. "We’re here to work."
"Speak for yourself," he says. "I came for the view."
I ignore him completely and flip open my laptop, praying the assignment will drown out at least half of last night’s humiliation. Let’s just finish this stupid thing so he can leave.
"Did I ever tell you about the time I saw you talking to yourself before a test in middle school?" he asks suddenly.
I don’t look back. "No. And I don’t care."
"You were psyching yourself up. Like, full-on pep talk mode. ‘Come on, Rava. You’ve got this. Be the king of the essay.’ It was adorable."
"I didnotsay that."
"You kinda did. I thought you were unwell."
I roll my eyes, trying to stay focused.
Slide one: introduction. Topic overview. Simple. Clean. No Gio in sight.
"But now that I think about it…" His voice drops, teasing. "Maybe you had a thing for me back then."
My hands freeze on the keyboard.
He’s joking. Obviously. Probably. But my stomach still drops.
I turn. "I didn’t have a ‘thing’ for anyone," I snap a little too fast. "Back then, I only had three categories. People I liked, people I didn’t like, and people I tolerated. If you were anywhere, you were firmly in the third category."
He doesn’t push. Just laughs quietly to himself.
"Okay." He starts wandering around my room.
"Do you ever sit still?" I mutter, not looking up.
"Do you ever have fun?" he shoots back. And then silence.
"Oh my God," Gio says, half-choking on his laughter. I don’t look up. I don’t want to look up.
"Is this… is this yours?" he says, barely holding it in. I turn. He’s holding the stupid plush dinosaur my aunt gave me when I was, like, nine. Green, fluffy, and unfortunately still sitting on the bottom shelf of my bookcase.
