Ranger - Bonus Epilogue (Patreon)

Here's the bonus as promised. What happened that night after the meeting with the Dai Lo. The night they both swore to pretend never happened. Unbeta'd/mostly unedited.

What Happened That Night with the Dai Lo

What the hell was he doing here?

Jericho hadn’t asked him to come. Seven had volunteered.

No, that was generous. He’d all but muscled his way into the meeting, rattling off words like law school and loyalty until Jericho had sighed and said, “Fine, you can come, but you keep your mouth shut unless I tell you otherwise.”

Seven had gladly agreed, because keeping his mouth shut sounded a hell of a lot easier than staying home and picturing Enzo sitting here in the dark with everyone except him.

He’d like to pretend it had nothing to do with Enzo attending the meeting, but they all knew why he was here.

All of them. 

Well, except maybe Enzo. He didn’t know where he stood with him. 

Okay, that wasn’t true. 

He knew exactly where he stood.

Nowhere.

They were living in this strange gray area. Not quite friends, but definitely not more. If their lives weren’t so intertwined outside of work–if Enzo wasn’t at Jericho’s garage, if Levi didn’t work at Mama’s restaurant, if Seven and his mother weren’t invited to Conti family dinners every Sunday–Seven might have been able to call him just a coworker and pretend it didn’t sting.

While they were in the office, they were civil. More than civil, even. They had no real reason to interact, but they did. They both constantly found reasons to be in each other’s way. Seven had even traded desks with another intern just so Enzo was forced to see his face every day when he looked out his office window into the fishbowl.

They worked well together. They cracked jokes, traded insults…hell, sometimes Enzo even left him little gifts. Coffee in his favorite flavor, a sticky note with some sarcastic comment, a pastry ‘someone left in the break room’ that Seven knew damn well Enzo had gone out of his way to get. It was easy to forget how they’d gotten there in the first place.

The contract part anyway.

Not the sex part.

Sadly, Seven never forgot the sex. He remembered all of it in excruciating detail. The weight of Enzo’s body, the rasp of his voice in the dark, the way he’d growled Seven’s name like the embodiment of every dark fantasy Seven had ever had. Enzo was a constant reminder of the hottest night of his life, and Seven hated him for it.

So they just lived in this limbo of civility.

He did his best not to blatantly stare across the table, but it was almost impossible. Enzo looked…unfair. The overhead lights were dimmed, most of the bulbs off, leaving the place in warm pockets of shadow and gold. The chairs were stacked on tables, the CLOSED sign flipped, the front door locked. It was just them and the lingering scent of garlic, fried basil, and red wine that clung to Mama’s place long after the last customer left. The quiet felt intimate, like the restaurant itself was eavesdropping. Even in a room this crowded. 

Enzo leaned back in his chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the ink and veins on his forearms and hands on full display. Slut. Tattoos disappeared under his cuffs and reappeared at his throat where his button-down gaped open, hinting at more ink over a chest Seven knew was solid and warm and annoyingly perfect.

Seven wished he didn’t have a visceral response to seeing the man. But he did. He was like…catnip. Seven wanted to roll around in his scent. He wanted to get high off of him, wanted to rub his skin against his, feel his mouth on him again. His body reacted first every time, like his nerve endings recognized Enzo before his brain could catch up. It didn’t help that Enzo had his shoe pressed to Seven’s beneath the table. Not doing anything, just…touching him, like he wanted to remind him he was right there. 

Every time they accidentally made eye contact across the table, it felt like a sucker punch. His lungs forgot how to work, his stomach dipped, his brain screamed off limits while his dick offered a very enthusiastic but why though. It made Seven long for more, made him second-guess his decision to not just play the role of sugar baby and take everything Enzo had offered that night.

It would have been so easy. A nice apartment. A fancy car. A hot older man to climb like a tree whenever the urge struck. He could have had all of it. All he would have had to sacrifice was his dignity and the knowledge that he was taking scraps of affection from yet another older man. Talk about D---y issues.

He’d said no, because somewhere under the feral, fucked-up parts of him, Seven had pride. He’d kept saying no, even when it hurt.

Now, watching Enzo at midnight with the lights low and the shadows softening all his edges, Seven felt like the world’s dumbest martyr. Every time he looked at him, he forgot to hate him. He forgot they weren’t alone in that room. The rest of the table blurred into background noise; it was just Enzo and the low, steady thud of Seven’s pulse in his ears.

He tore his gaze away and forced himself to look at the reason they were all here.

The Dai Lo of a triad gang.

The man was focused on Nico and Mal, paying the others barely any mind, which gave Seven plenty of time to stare like a creep. The Dai Lo seemed young for a man with an adult son. He had inky dark hair swept back from his face, sharp cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and really pretty lips. There was a dark band of ink curling up from beneath his collar to a tattoo at his throat, and another small mark along his cheekbone.

Before Enzo, Seven’s jaw would’ve been on the floor. He’d have been mentally writing wedding vows and aggressively flirting, already testing out how Dai Lo D---y sounded on his tongue.

But that was before Enzo.

Now, even sitting next to Thomas Mulvaney—the epitome of Seven’s ideal man, silver hair, ice-blue eyes, expensive suit, dangerous charm—had no effect on him. He noticed, sure. Seven’s eyes still worked. But his body didn’t care the way it once would have. The part of him that used to light up at the sight of an older, powerful man now just sort of…tilted its head and shrugged.

Not that he’d let Enzo know that.

No, he’d keep that little nugget of information to himself. Instead, he made a show of flirting with Thomas like he wasn’t friends with Thomas’s husband, like he hadn’t watched Aiden Mulvaney make torture devices for funsies.

To his credit, Thomas seemed fully aware of the tension between Seven and Enzo. Maybe Mama had told him. Maybe Enzo had confessed. Maybe one of their many nosy-ass friends had taken it upon themselves to give Thomas the dirty details. Or maybe Thomas was just really tolerant and amused and used to people like Seven orbiting him like horny satellites.

Seven was definitely not the first guy to have a crush on him.

They all sat around the big center table. Nico and Mal sat together, shoulders touching, Mal’s fingers probably laced with Nico’s under the table. Enzo, of course, had taken the chair directly across from Seven, his attention sharp, his posture deceptively relaxed.

Seven deliberately angled his chair toward Thomas.

The meeting started. Seven checked out approximately two minutes later.

He listened just enough to be able to follow if Jericho quizzed him later. Triad alliances, counterfeit goods, a missing woman, a fuck-up son. It all blurred into white noise under the steady, hot weight of Enzo’s attention.

By the time they toasted with tiny glasses of expensive baijiu, Seven felt like there were holes burned into the side of his face from Enzo’s stare. Every time he laughed at something Thomas said, he could feel Enzo darken like a storm cloud across the table. Every time he reached out and laid a hand on Thomas’s forearm in that flirty, overly familiar way, the air between them crackled.

By the end of the meeting, Seven could feel Enzo’s stare like a permanent brand.

He told himself he should stop. He told himself he was being childish. He told himself he didn’t actually want Enzo to snap.

He ignored himself.

He’d hoped to make a clean escape, slipping out after Mama hugged him and Jericho told him to get some sleep. He grabbed his messenger bag, ducked his head, and headed for the back, already dreaming about the leftovers in his fridge and the cold shower that might get his head straight. Food, scalding water, and absolutely no thoughts about Enzo…that was the plan.

He almost made it.

Enzo caught him in the alley, right between the back door and the edge of the building. One second Seven was striding toward the apartment, cool night air touching his flushed cheeks, and the next a large, warm hand snagged his upper arm, halting his momentum.

“What’s your hurry?” Enzo asked.

His voice slid down Seven’s spine like good whiskey, warm and smooth and way too easy to swallow.

Seven didn’t look at him right away. The alley was narrow, brick walls on either side, the restaurant door at his back, the parking lot a short walk away. The overhead security light hummed, bathing the space in a bluish glow. It smelled like asphalt cooling after a long day, oil pooling in puddles, and fried garlic from the kitchen vent. Not exactly a rose garden. It somehow seemed fitting.

Seven finally turned his head, finding Enzo closer than he’d thought. He could see the faint dark shadow where his beard would come in if he didn’t shave, the tiny line between his brows that appeared when he was annoyed, the golden flecks in his brown eyes.

“Hot date,” Seven quipped, trying half-heartedly to extricate himself from his grip.

Enzo’s fingers tightened, his voice borderline menacing. “You just love making me crazy, don’t you?”

Seven shrugged, trying to ignore the way his pulse jumped. “Everyone’s gotta have a hobby, right?”

Enzo stepped in, backing him up until Seven’s shoulders met the rough brick. He didn’t slam him, didn’t grab him hard, just…crowded him. Boxed him in. The heat of him rolled off his body, carrying that familiar scent—spicy cologne, clean laundry, something warm and sweet underneath like vanilla and wood smoke.

The scent hit Seven’s nose and he wanted to lick him. Or climb him. Or both. He had never truly understood what it meant to long for someone until Enzo. It was like their DNA recognized each other and desperately wanted to bond, to fuse them together. Seven hated how much he wanted that too. Wanting him felt like a habit he couldn’t shake. 

“Why are you always pushing my buttons?” Enzo asked.

“Why are your buttons so easily pushed?” Seven countered in a sing-song voice, before adding, “I don’t answer to you.”

“You spent the last two hours flirting with a happily married man right in front of me. Do you know what that did to me?”

Seven wanted to know, wanted to beg him for every detail of how he’d suffered the same way Seven had. It made him crazy. Enzo swore he didn’t do relationships, that he couldn’t be with Seven because of some dark tragic mistake, yet he acted like he had a claim. He acted like Seven belonged to him. He hated it. Because Seven wanted to belong to him too. God, Enzo was such an asshole, always twisting him in knots.

“It was an hour at most.” Seven wrinkled his nose. “No need to exaggerate.”

“Seven,” he growled, voice low and rough, a clear warning.

Seven rolled his eyes. “Enzo.”

“I thought we were friends,” Enzo said, and somehow he managed to sound both pissed off and sulky. “Friends don’t do that.”

“Friends don’t shove you against a wall in an alley either,” Seven said lightly. His heart was pounding like a trapped bird, but he’d die before he admitted it. “Yet here we are.”

“Why are you being so mean?” Enzo demanded.

“Am I?” Seven asked, tipping his head like he was genuinely considering it. “Am I being mean?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Enzo scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck in frustration, then planted it on the brick beside Seven’s head, caging him in. “You’re just driving me crazy. I haven’t touched you in forever. It feels like torture.”

Seven’s body reacted against his will. Heat raced through him, flushing his skin, making his fingertips tingle. His thighs pressed together, as if that would do anything to hide the way his cock was suddenly paying very close attention.

“What do you want from me?” Seven asked. The words came out more breath than sound.

“Right now?” Enzo’s gaze dropped to his mouth. “Right now I just want to kiss you.”

Seven hated him so much for saying that. Hated him. Wanted him.

He was so weak when it came to Enzo. “Who’s stopping you?” he mumbled, disgusted with himself for how raw and small his voice sounded.

“Don’t tease me,” Enzo rumbled.

Disappointment curdled in his stomach.

“Or don’t,” Seven shot back, pushing at his chest. “Your call. But if you’re not gonna do anything, get off me.”

For a second, he thought Enzo would step back. Thought he’d pull away and they’d both walk away and pretend this never happened.

Instead, Enzo shoved him back against the wall with just enough force to make Seven’s knees go loose. His hand slid from Seven’s arm to his jaw, big fingers wrapping around it, thumb pressing under his chin as he tilted his head back.

“Enzo–” Seven started, but then Enzo’s mouth was on his, and the rest of the world fell away.

Their lips collided, clumsy at first, teeth clicking. Then Enzo angled his head, softened his mouth, and Seven melted. A small, helpless sound escaped his throat as his lips parted. Enzo took immediate advantage, slipping his tongue past Seven’s and licking into his mouth like he’d been starving for the taste.

Seven sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, the brick cool at his back, Enzo hot everywhere else. His hands–traitors that they were–flew up to fist in Enzo’s hair, fingers sliding into the dark strands and curling tight just to have something to hold on to. He’d missed this so much. The pull of it, the way his whole body leaned into Enzo like it remembered where it belonged.

Enzo kissed the way he did everything, passionately, intensely, like he was trying to prove a point. His tongue teased and retreated, coaxing rather than demanding, but there was a sharp edge to it, a frustration, a suppressed anger that made every drag of his mouth feel like punishment.

Seven responded in kind, kissing him back with matching hunger and spite. If Enzo wanted to pour all his pent-up shit into this, fine. Seven had plenty of his own to throw on the fire. He had suffered far more than Enzo had. This was all his fault. Every sleepless night, every fantasy he’d tried to choke down, he shoved all of it into the kiss, biting at Enzo’s lip like he could make him feel even a fraction of it.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Seven said against his lips when they finally came up for air, both of them breathing hard. His voice shook, but he powered through. “Tomorrow, I’m going to pretend this never happened.”

“Fine,” Enzo said, biting at his bottom lip before chasing it with his tongue, silencing any further argument.

Seven could feel how hard Enzo was against his hip, but he couldn’t say anything. He was just as bad off, maybe worse. His dick throbbed against the front of his pants, every shift sending sparks through him.

Enzo’s hands slid down his sides, fingers digging briefly into the curve of his waist, then under the backs of his thighs. In one smooth move, he lifted Seven off his feet.

Seven gasped, arms flying around Enzo’s neck on instinct as his legs wrapped around his hips. Enzo stepped in, bracketed him with his body, and their cocks lined up perfectly, separated by nothing but fabric. Their bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces, both of them groaning at the friction.

Enzo rocked his hips forward once, testing. The drag of his cock against Seven’s made his breath stutter. His fingers tightened in Enzo’s hair, the other hand sliding down to the back of his neck, needing more, wanting to somehow drag him even closer. When Enzo ground himself against Seven a second time, he whimpered. Enzo swallowed the desperate sound, chasing it with his tongue.

“Fuck,” Seven whispered against his mouth. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Enzo muttered, kissing him again, the words hot and rough between them. “I hate you, too.”

He didn’t sound like he hated him. He sounded wrecked.

The alley light hummed above them. Somewhere at the far end of the block, a car drove by, bass thudding faintly. Inside the restaurant, things rattled and clanked, an air vent hummed, occasionally making a clunky sound like it was seconds away from giving up altogether. Out here, though, it felt like they were in a tiny bubble of heat and brick and breath.

Enzo’s hands were everywhere, gripping his thighs, sliding under to squeeze his ass through his slacks, fingers digging in like he’d been thinking about this for months. Seven tilted his head to deepen the kiss, teeth grazing Enzo’s lower lip. Enzo growled and answered by grinding up harder, the seam of his pants catching just right.

Seven broke the kiss on a gasp, head thunking back against the wall. Cool brick scraped his scalp. He panted, looking down at Enzo through heavy lids.

“This is a bad idea,” he managed.

“The worst,” Enzo agreed hoarsely, and then ran his mouth along Seven’s jaw, scraping his teeth gently over the sharp edge of it before pressing a kiss just below his ear.

Seven shivered hard enough Enzo felt it. His fingers dug into Seven’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh, holding him steady.

“Stop,” Seven said weakly. 

The word didn’t match the way his hips rolled, the way his fingers stayed tangled in Enzo’s hair like he had no intention of letting go.

Enzo did. He went still, breathing ragged against Seven’s neck, hands tightening but not moving. For a second, Seven thought he might actually set him down and step back.

Then Seven’s body betrayed him.

He rolled his hips.

The friction punched a sound out of both of them. Enzo’s head dropped to Seven’s shoulder, his breath coming out in a curse.

“Seven,” he rasped. “Don’t–”

“Don’t what?” Seven snapped, voice wobbly. “Don’t use you like you tried to use me? Don’t act like I want you when we both already know I do? Be specific, counselor, I’m having a hard time keeping up.”

Enzo’s bark of laughter was rough and involuntary. He lifted his head, eyes dark, jaw flexing.

“You think I used you?” he asked. “You texted me that night. Not the other way around.” 

Seven regretted the words immediately. He hadn’t meant to say that part out loud. Still, now that it was out, his pride wouldn’t let him take it back.

“What would you call it?” Seven asked. “You fucked me, you offered to buy me, then got weird when I said no.”

Enzo flinched. Actually flinched. “I didn’t get weird because you said no. I got weird because my mother got you a job and dangled you under my nose as some kind of punishment.”

Seven gasped. “Punishment? Wow.”

“What would you call it?” Enzo asked, like the words hurt his throat. “I have to look at you every day, have to know that you’re visiting my brother’s sex club, have to smile and act like I don’t give a fuck that other guys could be–”

“Could be what?” Seven asked. “Fucking me? You think I’m out there whoring it up with any guy who lets me call him D---y?”

Enzo sighed. “What are we doing?” 

“Fuck if I know.” 

“You said you needed time to trust me. I’m sure you haven’t sworn off men entirely in the meantime,” Enzo said. “I know it's none of my business.” 

“You’re right. It’s not. Just like your sex life isn’t any of mine.” 

Seven hadn’t said he needed time. He’d simply said he didn’t trust Enzo. Enzo had said he’d prove he was someone Seven could trust. Seven hadn’t really given him any opportunity to do so, desperate to protect himself from the impending heartbreak that would inevitably follow for one reason or another.

But that was the thing. The thing he wouldn’t ever tell Enzo. He did trust him. He did. He shouldn’t. He’d given him no real reason to. As for these supposed other Daddies, there weren’t any.

Enzo was pissy at the thought of Seven’s–nonexistent–sex life, but what about him? Seven had no reason to think Enzo had sworn off other submissives. For all Seven knew, Enzo was buying a new sub every week. And if he was, Seven couldn’t even be mad about it. They weren’t a couple. He had no claim. He kept reminding himself of that, like repetition might make it hurt less. It didn’t.

Enzo stared at him for a long beat, his expression caught between anger and something painfully close to regret. His hands shifted on Seven’s thighs, thumbs stroking once, almost unconsciously.

“I’m not good at this,” Enzo finally said. “You know that, right? I’m good at getting criminals out of prison. I’m good at making the guilty look innocent. I’m not good at…this.”

Seven swallowed. “At what?”

“At wanting you this way,” Enzo said simply. “You make me stupid.”

Seven hated how much that pleased him.

He tried to cling to his irritation, to the sting of old wounds. Tried to remember the way his stomach had dropped when Enzo had handed him that contract like it was an insult instead of exactly what Seven had jokingly said he wanted for years.

Instead, all he could feel was Enzo’s body pressed along his, the solid breadth of his chest, the heat of his breath, the way his hands fit on Seven like they’d always been meant to be there. When Enzo brushed his nose against Seven’s, when he ghosted his lips over his cheek, Seven didn’t care about anything else.

“This is still a bad idea,” Seven said again, softer.

“Absolutely,” Enzo agreed. “So we’ll make it simple.”

“Simple,” Seven echoed skeptically.

Enzo tilted his head, brushed their mouths together in the barest hint of a kiss. “We fool around a little,” he said. “We get this out of our system. Then tomorrow, we go back to pretending we’re just coworkers who don’t think about each other naked.”

Seven snorted, even as his heart tried to crawl up his throat. “That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard.”

“Do you have a better one?” Enzo asked.

Seven opened his mouth, then closed it. “No.”

For a long moment neither of them moved or spoke. The only sound was their breathing, harsh and uneven, like they’d just run a race instead of arguing about kissing.

“The ball’s in your court,” Enzo said.

Seven wanted to tell him to fuck off. Wanted to knee him in the balls. Wanted to hop down and walk away and prove to both of them that he wasn’t still tethered to that one night like some lovesick idiot.

Instead, he fisted both hands in Enzo’s hair and dragged him back in.

Their mouths crashed together. Seven kissed him like he was punishing him, teeth and tongue and heat. Enzo took it, groaning into his mouth, meeting him bite for bite. His tongue slid against Seven’s, hot and slick, tasting like espresso and the sharp burn of baijiu.

Seven whimpered into it, hips jerking, grinding down against Enzo’s cock. Enzo’s hands shifted to his ass, squeezing, hauling him even closer, like he really was trying to fuse them together.

The world narrowed to hot breath, the scrape of stubble against Seven’s chin, the faint sting of brick against his shoulders as he rocked against the wall. His fingers tightened in Enzo’s hair, nails scraping his scalp. Enzo shuddered, a shocked sound escaping him.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” Enzo murmured against his mouth.

“Good,” Seven said, then kissed him again, swallowing whatever Enzo had been about to say.

They stayed like that, lost in each other, for what felt like forever and no time at all. Just mouths and hands and the slick grind of fabric over desperate, aching erections, the wet sound of kisses echoing faintly in the narrow alley. If anyone had walked out the back door right then, Seven wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stop.

When Enzo slid a hand between them, Seven didn’t stop him, too far gone to care that this was something they couldn’t walk back from. Seven could feel the edge of it humming under his skin, an electric line ready to snap. Enzo freed the both of them, wrapping his palm around them both. Seven’s eyes rolled in pleasure, the last shred of his self-preservation melting like snow. 

Enzo wasn’t gentle, working them both in his tight grip until it was borderline painful. Seven didn’t care. The pleasure pain had him drunk off it, eyes rolling behind closed lids as he moaned, begging for more. It didn’t take long before he was teetering on the edge. 

“I’m close,” he breathed into Enzo’s mouth. “I’m so close.” 

“Me too,” Enzo said. “You can come whenever you want.” 

Something about Enzo giving him permission hurdled him past the point of no return. Three rough pulls later and Seven was spilling over Enzo’s fist, molten heat rocketing through him like jet fuel. He watched from beneath half-hooded lids as Enzo used Seven’s release to jerk himself off, making a half-bitten sound at the sight. That seemed to be what sent him over the edge. He dropped his head to Seven’s shoulder as he came, his groan loud against his ear. It was hot. It was perfect. 

Enzo kissed him then, raw and deep, both of them panting into each other’s mouths as they came down from their high. Seven’s sanity returned a bit at a time, reality creeping back in around the edges. Eventually, their kisses softened, the frantic edge easing into something slower, deeper, more intimate. That scared Seven far more than their desperation had.

He forced himself to turn his face away. “Put me down.” 

Enzo didn’t move right away. Seven could feel his heartbeat hammering against his chest, feel the rise and fall of his ribcage under his hands.

“Seven–”

“Put me down,” Seven repeated, voice steadier this time.

Enzo lowered him gently until his feet hit the ground. For a second they stood pressed together, foreheads almost touching, breath mingling. He needed to pretend this never happened. He had no choice but to fix his clothes with the proof of their moment of insanity cold and sticky against his skin.

“This changes nothing,” Seven said quietly, staring at the hollow of Enzo’s throat instead of his eyes. “We’re still just…whatever we are.”

“Sure,” Enzo said, like the word hurt. “Whatever we are.”

Seven forced himself to step sideways, out of Enzo’s space, immediately hating the cold rush of air that took its place. He tried not to watch as Enzo fixed his own clothes.

“Tomorrow,” Seven said, backing toward the parking lot, hands balling into fists at his sides, “I’m going to pretend this never happened.”

Enzo leaned back against the wall, watching him go. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled where Seven had grabbed him. His mouth was red and swollen. Seven’s stomach did a stupid flip.

“Then I guess I’ll pretend with you,” Enzo said with a sigh. “Goodnight, Seven.”

Seven turned away so Enzo wouldn’t see the way his expression crumpled for a second. He made it three steps before he stopped, shoulders tight.

“Hey, Enzo?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah?” Enzo’s voice came back, rough.

Seven hesitated, then said, “Walking home like this is gonna suck.”

He heard Enzo’s startled laugh, low and helpless, and let himself smile where Enzo couldn’t see it. He wasn’t ready to leave him even though he should. 

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

“That’s probably a bad idea,” Seven hedged, even though it was exactly what he’d wanted. 

Enzo shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. Besides, there’s wet wipes in the glove box…”

Seven gazed longingly at Enzo’s car at the end of the alley. “Fine, but this doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Message received, loud and clear,” Enzo promised, catching up with Seven then leading him to his car.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know,” Enzo said. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. Let’s just get you home.”

Seven nodded, letting Enzo’s palm rest on his spine, letting Enzo open his door for him, click his seatbelt into place, give him a longing look. The door shut with a soft thunk that felt absurdly final. Seven let his head touch the cool glass the entire way home, hating that he could still taste Enzo on his tongue and feel his hands on his skin.

Tomorrow, he’d pretend it never happened. But tonight, he was going to lie awake and replay every second.