We start brushing. Paint covers signatures, words, numbers, dates. All of it disappears under the strokes. Gone. When it dries, Rava grabs the scissors and starts cutting the papers into tiny squares. Confetti. He dumps it all into the now-empty box.
I stare at him. "You’re not real. You’re an alien." He smirks. "First piece done." I raise an eyebrow. "Piece?" He nods toward the box. "That paper was supposed to put you in handcuffs. Now it’s just confetti." I laugh loudly. God, I fucking love this guy.
The USB. Rava hands me his laptop gently. "Here. Delete whatever’s in it yourself. Then give it back to me."
I hesitate. "You’re…not even gonna ask what’s on it?"
He shakes his head. "No."
Fucking hell. That does something weird to me because I know what’s on it. And it’s not pretty. Footage of people breaking. Footage of people being broken. Files that are leverage. Insurance. Ugly places. I don’t even open anything. I plug the USB in, drag everything to the trash, and hit delete.
That’s it. Gone. I let out a breath and hand the laptop back to him. He doesn’t waste a second. Starts typing immediately, fingers moving fast over the keys. He pushes his glasses up his nose without even realizing they slipped. Determined little thing.
I gently wipe the sweat off his forehead. He pauses, looks up at me, and blushes. Of course. His usual.
"So helpful," he murmurs.
"Since day one." I smirk. "Not my fault you’re constantly melting, angel." He smiles wider and hands the USB back to me.
"It has all the pictures and videos we took at that party with Lorenzo and Noah."
I look at him. He grins.
"The dangerous files became dangerously sexy content. See? Our bathroom selfie’s in there. And the one where our tongues are touching. Ten out of ten experience. I’d absolutely do it again."
I snort. "Oh, I know you would."
So would I.
Now he picks up the old fake ID.
The one I had when I was seventeen. Disaster photo. Hair too long. Jawline still figuring itself out. Name fake as hell. He squints at it.
"Would you mind if I cut this up a bit?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Yes, I’d mind. I was planning on using it next week."
"For what? Getting arrested on purpose? Give me the damn ID."
He’s already slicing off the picture.
The rest of the ID goes straight into the trash. But the photo, he glues it onto a piece of blue paper the size of an actual ID. "What are you doing?"
"Making it better," he mumbles, tongue peeking out while he concentrates.
Then he starts writing.
NAME:
-Gio "Too Hot To Be Arrested" Fontana
HOBBIES:
-Threatening people who flirt with his man
-Riding dangerously (both ways)
-Eating every single one of my mom’s pies
