Page 36 of Less

He just bends down—and picks me up.

I squeak in surprise as the floor disappears beneath my feet.

“Hey!”

His arms are solid around me, lifting me effortlessly.

“Y-you can’t just pick me up, Alessio!”

“Why not?”

“Because? Fine, you need me to say it? Because I’m too heavy. I’m fat, dammit!”

He stops walking.

Slowly looks down at me.

“Come again?”

Heat rushes to my face.

“I mean—I’m not exactly⁠—”

“Rusty,” he interrupts, voice firm. “I don’t ever want to hear you talk like that about yourself again. Besides, you’re positively petite compared to me.”

Petite.

Right.

I open my mouth to argue, but he just continues walking like I weigh nothing.

“I thought we settled that,” he adds casually.

“When?”

“In your apartment. St. Patrick’s Day.”

Oh. Right.

That’s when.

I groan softly and hide my face in his shoulder.

“I cannot believe you remember that.”

“How could I forget?”

His voice carries that low amused warmth I remember so well.

“We went out for green beer and corned beef sandwiches.”

I laugh despite myself.

“Wearing matching T-shirts you made us on that cutting machine thingy,” he continues.

I groan again.

“Please don’t remind me.”