He raises his eyebrows. “I’m positive I have a picture of you groping the ass of an ancient statue at Hadrian’s Villa. But please, tell me more about how they’re worse now.”
I nudge him with my shoulder and try not to think about how the contact sparks against my exposed skin. I also studiously avoid looking at the frescoes when I’m this close to my friend who I should definitely not be thinking about doing those activities with.
It’s a relief in more ways than one to make it back onto the bus. I stand in front of the breeze pouring out of the AC vent until we reach the pier, determined to get one particular fresco out of my head. The man on his knees for his lover, head buried between her thighs just like Colton said he’d have done if given the chance.
No. Bad Quinn.
An hour on the ferry, and we’re pulling up to one of my favorite places in the world. Ischia looms ahead of us, the volcanic island rising out of the Bay of Naples like a gift from Neptune himself. It’s the largest of the islands, dotted with small towns of colorful buildings, pristine beaches, and locals who are excited to meet the tourists who chose their island over the more popular Capri.
Colton looks over and beams, and right before my eyes, he’s twenty-one again, nervous about taking a weekend away from his research, but capitulating to his annoying best friend. It was a weekend of complete freedom amid the stress of our upcoming finals.
Once at the hotel, Colton gathers the students while I handle check in.
“We’re giving you freedom to explore this weekend,” he says. “The San Giovanni Festival is a wonderful cultural experience. Donotoverindulge in the Nocillo liquor. Professor Riley and I aren’t here to babysit you, so keep it together.”
I bite my lip atProfessor Miller’sattitude. Domineering and sexy as fuck. I bet that’s how he is in bed, too. Pinning my hands over my head while he moves inside me. Flipping me over and yanking me up by the hips up to get the perfect angle.
Fuck.
This is going to be a long weekend.
I call the students’ rooms as the front desk manager passes the keys to me. Once I confirm everyone has a room, I turn back for our own keys.
“Bene. Here I have your room key,” the manager says as he pushes one large metal key across the counter.
“And the key for the second room?” I ask, even as my heart starts shooting around my chest like it snorted a line of cocaine.
His eyebrows pull together, and he shifts between shuffling papers and glancing at his computer screen. “No, signora. One room.”
I glance over at Colton in time to see him visibly swallow. I pull out my phone. “Excuse me one minute.”
The phone rings until it goes to voicemail. I hang up and call again. On the third call, Inez picks up. “Hi bestie!” She sounds bright, happy, and very noticeably not sick.
“One room, Inez?”
She bursts out laughing. “Oops!”
“What the hell?” I glance back to make sure no one’s paying attention.
“I must have messed up the reservation,” she says with an innocence that rings fake even through the phone. “How lucky that I got sick or someone would be sleeping on the street!”
“You’re a meddling little shit.”
She just laughs. “Have a great weekend with your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I frantically whisper, but she’s already hung up.
I drag my feet back over to the desk. “You don’t, by any chance, have another room available, do you?”
He shakes his head. “I apologize, signora. We are booked for the festival. Most of the island has been for months.”
I grind my teeth together.
Colton places a soft hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be fine. We’ve shared hotel rooms before.”
He’s right. We traveled together while we were studying and it was never a problem. It had also never been a problem when he helped me with zippers before, and we saw how that turned out.
But Italian hotel rooms typically have multiple twin beds. We’ll each have our space, get through the weekend, and head back to Rome.
