1)Don’t Know What To Do
Gio
I stare out the window, watching clouds drift past like I'm in some fucking indie film I'd normally make fun of.
One week.
That's all it took. Seven days in Spain. And somehow, it feels like everything before was grayscale. I didn't expect it. None of it. I thought it would be work stuff, maybe some drinks, a little heat. I thought I would keep my distance. Keep control.
But…oh well. Guess that didn't age well. I think about the first night. Holy shit. The teasing. The tension. Fuck.
I had sex with Rava Weston.
The one person I was almost convinced I would never touch. The one person I thought I couldn't have. The one I almost fucking gave up on.
It was the best week of my life.
And I didn't even see it coming.
I close my eyes for a second. And I see his smile again. The way he looked at that little girl. The way he fell apart for me,withme. I mean, I liked the guy, sure. Always did.
But now?? Now fuck me sideways.
Ilovethe guy.
Good job, Gio.
And now we're flying back to reality. Back to being business friends. Back to fucking pretending. Back to danger. Because in Italy, it's different.
Because if anyone sees it, if anyone even suspects, it's over.
His dad's gonna fucking blow. I can handle a lot of shit. But I don't think I can handle watching him suffer because of me.
In Italy, there are eyes everywhere, expectations, rules. Now it's not just wrong, it's fucking risky. And fuck me if that doesn't make it worse.
Worse, as in...better.
Hotter.
Now that it's dangerous just tolookat him too long, I want to look longer. Now that I'm not supposed to want him, I want him even more. My body remembers everything. I want more than a moment.
He's a problem. My favorite one. And I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to walk off this plane and pretend I'm fine.
…
The automatic doors are ahead of us, and now we're back in hell.
Back in Italy.
Back in performance. Rava is walking next to me, pulling his suitcase with one hand and rubbing his eye with the other, still half asleep.
Lorenzo is a step ahead, yawning, checking his phone. We're all pretending we're not crashing after the best goddamn week of our lives. I reach for Rava's wrist.
He stops. Looks at me. I lean in. Kiss him once quickly.
A whisper of what we were in Spain. Because as soon as we cross that line, out those doors...we're nothing again. Nothingout loud. I adjust my jacket. Grab the handle of my bag. Take a breath. And step outside.
Ugh.
