Page 67 of Giovanna

“She’ll kill him if he touches you again,” he mutters just loud enough for me to hear. “She promised him.”

The campy DJ looks like is trying to hit every stereotype in flamboyant-gay-man bingo. He is topless, in very tight denim cutoffs, and neon pink sunglasses. Before we started drinking we rolled our eyes and contemplated leaving to go to a straight club.

“Does everything always have to be so fucking extra?” grumbled Massimo. He tends to reject anything camp and resents being stereotyped. He’s very masculine and it often takes people a while to clock him as gay.

Several cocktails and a couple of tequila shots later we are beltingJust Like A Prayerat the top of our voices and making friends on the dancefloor. Alcohol has dissolved our snobbery and the heaviness of our earlier conversations forgotten.

Massimo hoists me up by my hips and I throw my arms out wide, my head back and sing. He spins us around and I feel like I’m flying.

“You two are fuckin’ wackos,” the unmistakable drawl of Bluey snaps me out of my moment and Massimo lets me slide to touchdown on my feet.

He scowls at Bluey. “What are you doing here?”

“What? Am I not allowed? They must have forgotten to check my ‘Heterosexual Card’ on the way in,” he teases, but there is a little bit of an edge to his voice.

“But, whyareyou here?” I ask. “Feeling a bit curious? Wanna try some dick?” I cringe at how crass I am when I’ve had a bit to drink.

He laughs, but Massi doesn’t. “Nah, I’m here with Gio. She’s meeting some mates. I should go back and lurk near her.”

I whip my head around and look in the direction he points. Sure enough, there’s Giovanna. God, she’s perfection. How does just seeing her liquify my insides every time?

She wears black ripped jeans, a white t-shirt, a leather jacket, and a slouchy beanie. One of her friends is talking to her and she frowns, sipping beer from a bottle. I nearly go cross-eyed imagining what it would be like to walk over, slide my hands up her chest, and press my lips to hers.

“You’re staring,” Massimo whispers in my ear from behind and I jump. I’m lucky I’m not drooling as well.

Shaking my head briskly, I snap at him, “No I’m not!”

“Reow! Easy tiger. No need to take my head off,” he teases, making camp claw movements with his hands.

I laugh weakly. I’m half distracted by Giovanna’s presence and half terrified that Massi noticed me gawking.

“What’s wrong with you?” He takes a sip from his cocktail and fixes me with a suspicious stare. “You’re blushing.”

My eyes slide over to where his sister is standing as if I have no control over them at all. He follows my gaze, eyes narrowing.

“Youarestaring, Francesca Rossi!” he accuses.

My eyes snap back to his face and I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. I could blame the alcohol, but really I’m in a state of shock over the electric attraction I have to Giovanna.

“No,” I finally half-heartedly object. “I was just looking…to see what Gio was doing.”

One of his eyebrows arches into a quizzical expression and he shakes his head.

“You’re a weirdo. Got a few roos loose in the top paddock …” he starts, but before he can finish the train of thought, he suddenly asks, “Oh my god. It’s her isn’t it?”

Gulping, I play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“My sister is the one, isn’t she? The only one you wank to.”

After slapping him playfully on the arm, I pause. I’m too drunk to lie convincingly. My shoulders droop and, reluctantly, I nod.

“Holy shit. Since when? Makes sense though. You followed her everywhere!”

We stand at the side of the dancefloor, watching his big sister chat with her friends not far from us.

“Since forever. She is everything, Massi. I can’t believe I’m telling you this now.” In my drunken state, being in unrequited love with my best friend’s big sister feels like the most painful and awful thing to endure.

“Oh babe,” he pulls me into a hug. We sway as if slow dancing to the high-tempo club beat. “You know what’s fucked up? You’re going to be fucking my brother while thinking about my sister….”

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