"Gross," I mutter, forcing a frown. "Trashy."
Daisy side-eyes me. This bitch. Mom tilts her head. "Did you get along with him this time?"
I came for him. With him. All over him.
"Yeah," I say flatly. "We were… professional." Dad watches me for a beat too long. I can feel it. That stare that cuts straight through me.
Jin squints. "What’s that on your neck?" I freeze. My fork clinks against the plate. "What?"
"That—" he points. "Right there. Looks like a bruise." I don’t believe this. He left one where I can’t even SEE it unless I tilt my head like a flamingo.
A place I don’t remember him touching. A place I definitely didn’t cover. Daisy leans in. "Oh my god, is that a hickey?"
That’s it. It’s over.
They’re gonna lock me in my room until I’m forty.
"It’s nothing."
"Looks like someonedidhave fun in Spain," she sings.
Well. Yes. And then again. And again. And again until my legs shook.
Dad clears his throat. "Well?"
Fuck. I can’t say a guy. They don’t know. I didn’t even know. So I lie.
"I… it was a random girl," I say quietly. "We went out one night. It was stupid."
The silence at the table is filled with amusement.
It hurts. To say it. To take Gio and shove him into the dark. Mom raises her eyebrows, but she’s smiling. "Didn’t expect that from you." Neither would he.
Jin starts clapping. "My boy! Finally got some."
Daisy groans. "That poor girl."
I nod, laugh like I’m in on the joke. But my chest is burning. Dad finally speaks again. "Just be careful who you’re seen with. You’re still a Weston. Don’t get involved with the wrong people."
Too late. He’s everything you hate.
I don’t say anything. I just keep chewing. Swallowing lies. While every part of me screams:
Gio. Gio. Gio.
Dad stands up from the table, smooths down his shirt. "We have that meeting tomorrow morning. Be ready."
I nod. Not that I could say anything else without starting another lecture, or risking getting slapped again. I take my plate to the sink, rinse it under cold water, then head upstairs, grateful to escape. As I reach my room, I automatically head toward the window, hoping to see Fontana.
He’s outside. Soaked to the fucking bone. He and Lorenzo wash their bikes. Soap and water are erotic tools now.
And obviously, they do it shirtless.
Because apparently, shirts are optional when you’ve got abs and zero shame. I am staring like a loser. Like a fucking fangirl at her little window seat moment. His whole body’s wet. Lorenzo’s laughing, aiming the hose right at him on purpose, so Gio flinches and swears and wipes at his face.
Why is this so hot? Why issoapthis hot?
Those dumb butterflies do laps in my chest.
