I raise an eyebrow. "Of course I was fucking looking at your lips." I step closer. "Back then I had to pretend I wasn't. Now I can finally kiss you without holding it in."
He tilts his head. "Only if I want it too. Takes two for a k—" I grab his face with both hands and kiss him hard. He doesn't resist. He melts into it like he's been waiting just as long.
When I pull back, I grin against his mouth. "See? Not so hard." He's still catching his breath.
I take his hand. "Now come on," I say. "Let's go inside."
41) Guess Who, Bitch
Rava
We step through the gates.
The lights are everywhere. Spinning and pulsing, neon pinks and golds, purples mixed with blues. Laughter comes from every direction. Screams too, the good kind. Probably.
A ride whips people into the air somewhere behind me, and they're yelling like crazy. Honestly, I get it. To our left, a group dances on plastic white tables, stomping to old Italian songs with arms around each other.
On the far side, kids race to games and throw little plastic balls. Vendors are shouting prices in a dozen accents. The scent of fried sugar and roasted chestnuts floats through the air and I'm loving it. It's a fucking dream. One of those scenes people paint.
Too loud, too bright, and basically too perfect. And still, the best thing here is standing next to me. I glance sideways.
My Gio.
"I can't believe how different this place feels now," I murmur. "The first time we came here, I was so tense I could've shattered."
He doesn't even look away from the chaos in front of us. Just grins. "I know. It's fucking great." Then he turns to me, smiling.
"Who would've guessed that day, you were slowly driving yourself into the best sex of your life? And also, incidentally, the bestrelationshipof your life."
I raise a brow. Consider punching him.
Instead I nod. "I can't even deny it. Facts. Actually, no. I can. I just remembered the bullying. We're done. I'm breaking up with you."
He puts a hand on his chest, mock-offended. "Wow. No dick for you tonight, I guess."
I snort. "Please. Not evenyoubelieve that."
He squints at me. Then shrugs. "True. Now come on. I see a food stall over there that's calling us." He grabs my hand and starts walking.
Okay. First of all, this food shouldn't legally be called food. It's…fluorescent. I stare at it, confused. It's hot pink, oozing in six different directions, and soaked in something that smells like… synthetic strawberries mixed with nacho cheese.
Help. It looks like someone deep fried a children's toy and added whipped cream for drama. I'm holding it in one hand.
"Ravioli," Gio says behind me, mouth already full. "You're missing the full experience, man. Eat the thing."
I glance over. He's holding a paper tray so overstuffed with curly fries it's bending, about to give up on life. Ketchup dripping down his wrist.
I scoff. "This isn't food. This is calories in a napkin." He shrugs and takes another demonic bite, eyes rolling back like he just had a religious experience.
"I think I'm gonna cum if I take another bite."
"Come on, you horny piece of meat, let's find a place to sit."
I grab his hand and start walking. We push through the crowd, dodging bubble guns, and at least three parents arguing about strollers.
I'm still trying to find a place to sit when I see something and my heart melts. A tiny kid, maybe four. Alone. Balloon string looped around his little wrist. Mouth wobbling like he's about to cry. Shit. Nope.
Not letting this kid end up in a sad Netflix documentary. I grab Gio's sleeve. "Stay here. I think that kid's lost." He's in the middle of chewing his fries. "Babe. Please don't get in tr—"
