Page 54

“Don’t do this.” I set the glass down, my chipper mood tumbling.

If she bails, Gio and I will be alone. All day. That is a dangerous prospect since I spent the better part of yesterday trying to fight off a very specific throb between my legs. It’s a fight that I lost spectacularly, right before I crashed and burned.

“Surprise, I’m working today.” Amelia throws jazz hands in the air like this is an excellent development.

My face falls, and I flash her a disappointed look. She knows what this means. She knows the fight I fought yesterday.

While we perched at a bar chair sipping piña coladas, we watched every single one of Gio’s posts. Sure, I learned how to make a delicious strawberry-cream croissant, but I also learned how sexy it is to watch Gio two-finger the filling before he seductively taste-tested it.

It didn’t matter how many health-code violations were committed, Amelia and I gripped our phones for hours and mooned over his thirst-trap ass.

Maybe that’s why I drank so much. I was thirsty.

I thought the alcohol would help wrangle my lusty feels. It did not. It only made me more emboldened to find a store and buy a motorized support aid to quiet my very needy and very loud V team.

“The children’s event coordinator for the hotel next door called out sick. Management wants me to fill in. I have a friend who works there. You know I can’t pass it up. I’m saving money for MerCon.”

“MerCon? Is that a real thing?” Gio stands and rubs his face. The harsh morning sunlight accentuates the perfect line of his, um, morning salami beneath his sleep pants.

Turns out, sleep pants are worse than sweatpants. They are thinner and show so much more.

So much salami! Like, the size might rip you in half, salami.

I summon the willpower of the Virgin Mary and turn away. I grip the fridge door and pause for a few deep breaths before tugging it open to inspect the contents.

Pretend to be doing something. Anything. Oh, look, mayonnaise! I lift the jar and read the ingredients like this is normal. Egg, vinegar, salt, sugar, lemon juice. Calcium disodium?

My brain is too Gio-fried to do anything else, even though there are tons of leftovers to investigate.

“It’s the largest mermaid convention on the planet. One day, it’ll be as big as San Diego’s Comic-con,” Amelia says, sounding a little defensive.

Gio’s not buying it.

I close the fridge and face him. “Why is that so hard to imagine? She’s a mermaid, and you’re a . . .” I wave my arms, trying to conjure the words for whatever he is. Even after my extensive investigative deep dive, I’m unsure how to classify his job.

“A food-porn chef,” Gio says with a yawn and walks down the hall. He scratches his perfect bulb of a butt cheek before he steps into the powder room, flips on the light, and shuts the door.

Amelia’s eyes widen. “Now you know what to call it when you smack a ball of pizza dough into submission while half-naked.” She jogs in place, claps her hands, and giggles.

“Shh.” I wave her off. “He’ll hear you.”

I refuse, refuse to acknowledge that we contributed a million more views to his posts. Maybe it was two million.

“Now you get to watch him all day. In real life!” Amelia pops her brows. “Ask him for a demonstration. Tell him your pizza dough needs a good smack.” She slaps my butt.

I yelp and hop away.

“Gotta run,” Amelia says after checking the time.

“Amelia!” I grip the counter.

She tosses her mermaid suit over her shoulder. A massive sparkly tail with fins bounces as she struts for the front door.

“Text me when you find Adam.” The front door slams shut.

I groan, grab a muffin, and take a bite so large that I can barely chew. There’s banana mousse inside. Of course it’s delicious. Cursing Gio, I take another bite, and then another, like I haven’t eaten in ten years.

When the powder room door opens and the light flips off, I toss the rest of the muffin in the trash and chew as fast as I can. Hide the evidence. I lick my fingers and brush away the crumbs to appear normal, whatever normal is around Gio.