He swings his whole body inside, lands on the floor, dusts off his shirt, and before I can say anything, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to my mouth. He pulls back, eyes flicking over my face, and then he does it again.
Another quick kiss, a little slower this time.
"I was gonna handle some business," he says, stepping closer, "but then I remembered I hadn't had my daily dose of my favorite nerd's mouth yet."
"Gio—"
"No." He presses a finger to my lips, then drags it down, slow, across my chest, which kind of gives me goosebumps. "You don't get to look likethatand act likeI'mthe problem."
"Youarethe problem."
He smirks. "Then solve me, little genius." I grab his wrist, pulse in my throat. I tug him closer. The room shrinks around us. "You've got two minutes."
He leans in, lips ghosting mine. "I only need one."
He smirks. "But I'm greedy." He pins me to the wall and starts absolutely wrecking my mouth. I'm smiling into the kiss, and he clearly doesn't like that, because his hand comes up to grab my jaw, fingers pressing into my cheeks to hold me still, like sayingfocus, Weston, I'm busy here.
My hands fly up to his hair, digging into the dark strands, messing them up while I drag him even closer. I swear I can't get enough. It's ridiculous. Maybe he's secretly putting drugs on his tongue or something, because there is no other logical explanation for how addicting this is.
His hands slide down my sides and then lower, squeezing my ass, and my breath stutters against his lips.
"Rava? Are you home?"
Fuck. Footsteps. Getting closer.
My mother.
My blood runs cold. I rip myself away from Gio.
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—" We lock eyes. Both of us wide-eyed, frozen. Then I move. Fast. I grab Gio's arm, don't care how hard I pull, and drag him toward the closet.
He stumbles, almost trips over my backpack. I don't stop. "Get in. Get in, now—"
"What—"
"Shut up and get in!" I shove him inside. I don't care if he hits the wall or knocks something over. I don't care if he hates me in this moment. "Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't make a fucking sound."
I slam the door shut.
I turn just as the handle to my room clicks. She is already coming in. My heart tries to escape my chest. The door opens.
"Oh, there you are." My mother walks in.
"Yeah. Yes." My voice cracks. She gives me a look.
I smile. Too much? Too little? Do I look guilty? Shit.
Don't touch your face. Guilty people touch their faces. I drop my hand from my mouth and pretend to look through my drawer. Not the closet.Neverthe closet. That's a no-go zone now.
Closet equals Gio. Gio equals chaos. Chaos equals grounded until I'm thirty. She's still watching me.
Please don't smell the cologne.
Please don't notice how flushed I am.
Please don't open the closet and find a six-foot-tall Italian man crouched next to my shirts. I can feel Gio's presence like a fucking spotlight behind that closet door.
She walks over to my desk, glances at my laptop.
