Page 6 of Toxic

Gianni groans. "Jesus. Tell me you aren't going to drool over Bridget all night."

"Shut the fuck up," I bark. "We're friends. You know this."

"Friends?" His arrogant expression makes my gut twist. Gianni's as big of a dick as I am, maybe bigger. But one thing he knows is how to be is a friend, and there's no denying I didn't treat Bridget like a friend.

"If you two don't have any questions for me, take your conversation out of here," my father orders, but his dark eyes sear into mine, warning me without saying anything further. It's not the first time Bridget has come into the conversation, and he only had to warn me once. I denied my feelings toward her, but Papà isn't stupid. He saw it before Gianni said anything. It was the night before I fingered her in the movie theater. He heard Gianni warning me not to mess with Bridget, and it was all it took for my father to give me a stern lecture about showing Bridget respect.

Something about that conversation made me push the limit. I was already trying to figure out how to cross the line from the friend zone. My papà's words should have stopped me, but all they did was make me want to prove to myself I could have her.

Watching Bridget's eyes roll and listening to her tiny whimper fascinated me. Everyone around us, and who we were, disappeared. All it did was kick my desire for her into overdrive.

Then the lights turned on, and our brothers came into view. Tully and Papà came into the wing and said they were ready to show us how to play pool. I ignored Bridget the rest of the night then returned to our nightly text conversations, acting like we were still only friends.

The night of her sweet sixteen, I was praying the bottle stopped at her feet. When it did, I couldn't believe my luck. The moment I stepped inside the closet, I told myself I wouldn't hide from her—from us—anymore. I meant what I said about taking her out. And her kisses... Jesus. They were more than I bargained for, more than I imagined, and more real than any girl I had ever kissed.

She wanted me.Reallywanted me.

But then reality hit when we stepped outside, and I fucked it all up again, succumbing to the pressure of what my brother and I had created.

We were kings of the school with reputations we constructed when we were freshmen to pass the time. It all started with one girl who wanted us both. She slept with me then kept asking about Gianni. At first, it upset me. I liked her. She was my first. But then I got angry and told Gianni to pretend he was me.

He had no problem getting in her pants, solidifying his role in our game. Between the two of us, I often wonder whose morals are more screwed up. Often, I think it's Gianni, but then I do something unethical and it makes me rethink my conclusion.

I told him to fuck her to piss her off, thinking she would be horrified, but she wasn't. And that was the beginning of Gianni and me passing girls to each other and making them do all sorts of crazy, lewd things.

Now, I don't give a shit about any of that. High school seems long and gone. Those snobs and pricks we spent four years with are all at Ivy League schools or snorting themselves to death on cocaine on their daddies' yachts. And the night of Bridget's sweet sixteen party, I was already over it. But everyone was looking at me, including Gianni. He had that warning in his eyes, and he didn't need to speak. He knew I wanted Bridget and would have kissed her in the closet. Hell, I had been dying to kiss her.

Challenging me in front of all the other kids was Gianni's way of protecting me. It may seem like he was just being a dick, but in his way, he was looking out for me... looking out for our family.

I've regretted that moment and standing Bridget up after my boxing match ever since. And no matter how much I try to escape her or attempt to find another woman to take her place, the itch for her never dies.

It's driving me nuts that she's ignoring me. So, tonight, I'm going to stop being a coward. Fuck my papà's orders and all of Gianni's warnings. I'm going to correct all these wrongs I've done and convince her to move back to New York.

I ignore my papà's stern gaze, and we leave. Gianni stops me as soon as we move several feet past the office. "I don't get it, bro."

My hands turn to fists at my sides, knowing it's about Bridget. "What's that?"

"She's in Chicago. She's Tully's daughter. Let it go. There's plenty of ass to get beside hers, and we've been through this," Gianni states.

My rage grows. She's the only girl I've ever talked to who seemed to get me. She didn't care I was a Marino, how much money I had, or what it would do for her popularity to be with me. Bridget liked me for me. And all the stupid shit I did to her, I regret. Instead of having the balls to tell her how I felt and take her out, I listened to Gianni's warnings.

I was an idiot, and now I'm paying the price.

She's gone.

I miss everything about her—the way her face lights up when she laughs, the text conversations I cut off to try and stop my attraction toward her, and both of us secretly watching the other during our family events.

Not having her at my parents' monthly parties makes me feel off. I'm constantly looking for her, even though I know she's hundreds of miles away.

Every girl I fuck, I pretend she's her. I close my eyes and try to drown them out, attempting to hear her voice and see her face.

So, Gianni and my father may be right about her being Tully's daughter and not a good idea, but I'm past all the bullshit. I'm going to make her mine, and wherever the cards fall, they fall. But I'm not going to continue to be a coward. I can't stop obsessing over her, and if that isn't a sign we should be together, then what is?

"Just shut the hell up," I bark at Gianni, and one of our housekeepers jumps then scurries by.

He pushes me to the corner. "She's not a girl to play with or fall for. She's not Italian and she's Tully's daughter. It can't go anywhere. You know this," he tells me for the hundredth time.

I hate that he's right. Bridget is supposed to marry an Irish guy, and I'm supposed to have an Italian bride. It's the way things work in our families. My brothers and I can sleep with any girl we want of any ethnicity, but we can't have one for a serious girlfriend. Papà warned us plenty of times, telling us to get all our itches out of us until we found our Italian brides because there was no other expectation.

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