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Chapter One
Nico
Elisa: Need to speak to you ASAP. Emergency!!!!
Nico: Way too many exclamations. Give me a few I’m about to meet Tomas.
Elisa: Serious! Call Me! Huge Prob!!
Nico Amato shook his head. What was it about getting married that turned his normally rock-solid sister into a bundle of jittery nerves?
Would he be like that when he got married? One day. Maybe.
Hopefully?
He palmed his phone into his pocket and thanked the guy who let him into the Pi Zeta Eta house.
A string of hollers met Nico’s ears when he rounded into the lounge. He was immediately hit with the scent of Doritos, sweaty feet, and toxic masculinity. On the TV, some uniformed Hercules chased a ball.
Nico didn’t recognize the team; didn’t much care, either. He wasn’t here for sport. He was here for Tomas.
His boyfriend.
His boyfriend of three months.
A record for Nico.
His lips curved at the sight of him, sprawled like a hot Italian god over an armchair. Nico had lucked out. Not only was Tomas hot, he was Italian-American and from New York. His nonna had approved when he’d told her he’d met someone.
She’d tried so hard to get a name out of him, but they were still so fresh, and he couldn’t have Nonna noseying her way into Tomas’s family when Nico hadn’t even met them yet.
Maybe that was what Tomas wanted to chat about?
Summer break was practically upon them; maybe he wanted to know if Nico was up for meeting the ’rents.
His stomach hopped with nerves and hope.
Before Nico could speak up, Tomas’s buddy nudged him and pointed toward Nico.
Tomas sprang to his feet so fast, Nico hid a grin.
“My God, Tomasso Merighi, you make my heart flutter just walking.” He put his right hand on his chest.
When their eyes met, Tomas’s body sagged.
So did Nico’s good mood.
Tomas cuffed his elbow and curtly steered him out of the lounge. “I thought I said to text when you got here?”
“Your brother recognized me and let me in.” Nico frowned. What the actual fuck was this about? “What’s wrong?”
Fresh air hit them, and Tomas started pacing the porch before him.
Nico’s stomach ached as he waited. He knew this awkward silence. He’d experienced it, oh, a hundred times before.
“We’re . . . this isn’t working.” Tomas rubbed his nape, never meeting Nico’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I think we should . . . you know. See other people.”
“What happened?” Nico said, throat pinched. “I mean, we were good Thursday night.”
“No, we weren’t.”
“So that was someone else I fucked after your frat party?” Tomas had been a bit drunk and insisted they leave early. The sex had been totally hot.
“That’s not what I mean.”
Nico’s hands flew to his hips, and he cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
Tomas glanced up, brows furrowing. “That is what I mean.” He gestured toward Nico’s stance. “Everything is so dramatic with you.”
“Dramatic?” Nico raised his hands and pointed toward his hips. “You think this is dramatic? You’re breaking up with me. What do you expect? Roses and a sonnet about how wonderful you are?”
“No. It’s just . . . You wore a shiny purple coat, eyeliner, and tight leather pants to a fraternity party. It was a kegger.”
The picture came into focus, and its reality stung. “I embarrassed you in front of your bigoted frat brothers.”
“They’re not bigots, Nico.” Anger flashed in Tomas’s eyes. “They never cared when I told them I’m gay. This is about us. You like big!” Tomas thrust his arms out, wildly. “You like being the center of attention—everyone’s attention—really in their face. I’m not like that.”
“In their face.” Nico blinked back the burn in his eyes.
He should be used to this by now.
It was always the same. Nico was too much. Too touchy-feely. Too colorful.
Too fucking loud.
He formed a plastic smile. Never mind that behind it he felt achingly empty and inadequate. He wouldn’t let Tomas know how shattering his words were. How much he’d hoped this time would be different.
When would Nico learn it was pointless to hope?
“I’m truly sorry you feel this way,” Nico said. “You don’t need to say anything else. I won’t make a scene. My big boy pants are on.”
