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“And why Maximo looks like he’s considering killing Enzo,” Daria takes on.
At her words I look over at Maximo. He’s no longer in the pool but by the barbeque pit. His eyes are on Enzo who’s relaxing against the wall of the poolhouse.
And yeah, if looks could kill, Enzo would be a goner.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ENZO
I’ve become a master in ignoring Maximo’s gaze but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel the pressure of his gaze on me. I lean against the poolhouse, soaking in the shade that the shed has to offer. We were allowed to dress down today for the party, so I stuck to simple gray sweats and a white t-shirt.
I know the sweats are a large reason why Maximo can’t keep his eyes off of me, they’re his favorite.
He’d bought them for me for my birthday last year. And I’ve kept up with the fact that almost every time I’ve worn them it resulted in us having sex. They do good things for my ass, Maximo likes to say. And if I hadn’t worn more compressing boxers today, just to deny him, I know there’d be a prominent outline of my bulge for him to ogle.
I don’t dare to look at him for even a moment.
“This is interesting,” the low masculine voice has me turning my head to find Polo walking up next to me. He leans against the poolhouse as well. He’s wearing a pair of swim trunks that have flaming cheetos on them of all things and somehow he doesn’t even look ridiculous in them. His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, his bright eyes shimmering with amusement. He tilts his head to the side to look at me. “You and Maximo are still on bad terms?” he asks.
“You’ve spoken with him then,” is the only response he gets from me.
Outside of the family, Polo is the closest person to Maximo. They grew up being best friends and getting into all types of shit together. The only thing that ever comes between them is their loyalties to their individual families.
I’ve seen them wheeling and dealing on the behalf of the families before and neither hesitates to throw their friendship to the wayside when it’s time to talk business.
But when business is of no concern, they still get up to a lot of shit together.
“Of course,” Polo says with a nod. “We’ve been drinking a few times lately and he’s making me miserable with all his pining over you,” Polo rolls his eyes.
A snort leaves my lips. “Ironic.”
Polo’s gaze pauses on me. “Come again?” When I look at him, one of his eyebrows has risen.
My lips twitch and I let my gaze move over to where Winter is laughing at something that Daria Accardi has said to her. I glance back at Polo. “I said ironic.” I only had one shot of vodka today because I need to stay aware at all times, but I know it's the reason my lips are looser than usual today. “You’re usually the one doing the pining.”
The amusement leaves Polo’s face like a bad joke. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, Enzo.”
I shrug my shoulders, “From what I understand you’re in love with Daria Accardi.” At this point, I don’t know who doesn’t know maybe other than Lorenzo, Daria’s fiance and Polo’s best friend. Polo doesn’t do a good job of hiding his feelings, the longing in his eyes clear anytime Daria is within 100 yards of him.
The feeling isn’t unrequited.
Daria is always watching him, a certain sadness to her expression. I imagine it's the same way Juliet looked at Romeo.
Before the tragedy, of course.
I like Polo despite the fact that he’s a pest and Daria is a sweet girl, definitely too good for this world, so I can only hope their story ends better than Romeo and Juliet’s.
“The stick up your ass has apparently disappeared,” Polo says dryly. “I don’t think I like it.”
A chuckle leaves my lips despite myself and I shrug my shoulders. “You came at me first.”
“I just made a simple observation.” He retrieves a lighter and a joint from the pockets of his swim trunks which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.
“Plan on getting those wet?” I ask him.
He chuckles, relaxing. “No, because I’m going to finish this blunt now.” He lights the stem, his eyes falling closed as he takes a long drag on it before blowing out smoke. He offers it to me. “Want a hit now?”
I don’t smoke weed, it does too much to my brain. For example it sometimes does the exact opposite of relaxing me, making my anxiety rear its head instead of hiding. Visions of my past and the war often assault me when I try smoking.
I shake my head, “I’m going to have to pass.”
