I find her by the fountain, still reading. She's changed position, now sitting on the edge with her feet tucked under her, completely absorbed in whatever book she's holding. I should walk away—should leave before she notices me, before I do something stupid.
She looks up, and our eyes meet. For a second, neither of us moves. Then she closes her book and stands.
"Luca." Her voice is soft and uncertain. "I heard shouting earlier. Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine." The lie comes automatically.
She takes a step closer, and I can smell her perfume. She smells like fresh lemons, and it makes my mouth water. She smells like fucking summertime. "Your hand is bleeding."
I look down. She's right—my knuckles are split, blood seeping through. I hadn't even noticed. "It's nothing."
"Let me—" She reaches for my hand, and I jerk back like she's burned me. The hurt that flashes across her face is like a knife to the gut.
"I'm fine," I say, harsher than I intended. "You should go inside."
"Luca, what's wrong?" She's closer now, and I take a step back automatically. God, I can’t let her touch me. If she were to so much as brush up against me, I couldn’t be responsible for what I’d do next. The image of me pulling her down into my lapas I sit on the edge of the fountain, watching the water’s mist dampen her cheeks and hair as I bounce her on my cock, fills my mind. I grit my teeth against the onslaught of lust that follows. My cock swells, hardening painfully. "You've been avoiding me for weeks. Every time I try to talk to you, you shut me down. Did I do something wrong?"
Yes. You came home. You grew up. You became impossible to ignore.
"No," I say sharply. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why?—"
"Giulia." I practically snarl her name. "You need to go inside."
"Why won't you talk to me?" There's frustration in her voice now, mixing with the hurt. "We used to be able to talk. Before I left for school, you used to?—"
"That was different."
"How? How was it different?"
"It just was." I take a step back, putting distance between us. I'm hurting her. I can see it in her eyes, in the way her shoulders curve inward. And I hate myself for it. But it's better this way. Better that she thinks I don't care than that she knows the truth.
Better that she hates me than that she sees how completely I've fallen apart.
"Giulia—"
"No, you're right." She picks up her book, holding it against her chest like armor. "I should go. Wouldn't want to keep you from your work."
She walks past me, and I catch another hint of her perfume. My hands clench into fists, my whole body going rigid with the effort of not reaching for her. My cock throbs, my head swimming with dizzying need. I’ve never felt this before. There’s never been a woman I wanted that I couldn’t have, never been a moment where I was horny and couldn’t find some way to takecare of it. I’ve never felt unsatisfied desire before, and it’s driving me insane.
I watch her go, disappearing into the house, and something inside me cracks a little more.
I go home and clean up, and then I text a friend, Rico Santoro, and ask him if he wants to grab a beer. He’s down for it, and by eight I’m at the bar with a craft beer that I’m steadily working my way through as he sits across from me, making small talk that I’m not really hearing.
I can’t stop thinking about what happened today, and then seeing Giulia after. The worry in her eyes. The smell of her perfume. The hurt on her face when I…
"You listening to me?" Rico asks, pulling me back to the present.
"Yeah. Sorry. Long week."
He studies me for a moment. "You look like shit, man," he says finally. "When's the last time you slept?"
“Last night,” I deadpan, and he eyes me.
"Bullshit." He signals the bartender for another round. "You look like you're about to snap. Like you're one bad day away from doing something you can't take back."
He's not wrong. I am one bad day away. Maybe less.
