I decided to walk to Giovanni’s instead of taking the tram. It was a trek across the river, past the ancient ruins with all the cats hanging around. The walk took nearly an hour, but I thought it might take a load off my mind.

When I got to his apartment, Giovanni opened the door in his towel. I was stunned; there were just so many abs. I didn’t know a person could be in possession of that many abdominal muscles.

“Sorry,” Giovanni said, slightly out of breath. “I just returned from the gym and have to take a quick shower.”

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Jahan is studying for algebra,” Giovanni said, leading me through his ornate living room. “His exam is on Wednesday, but he says he will join us later. Rocco is held up at work. Here, let me fix you a drink. What do you want?”

“Whatever’s easy,” I said.

Giovanni poured me a drink, and we kept walking through his massive apartment, the dining room with the giant Caravaggio, all the way until we reached his changing room. It was about the size of a classroom.

“I will be quick,” he said, and he went into the shower.

I gulped my first drink down fast—it was nice and cool, and there was no air-conditioning in this beautiful apartment. When Giovanni got out of the shower, he fixed two more, one for me and one for himself. We took them back into the changing room.

“I was thinking about our conversation the other night,” Giovanni said. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, his hair dripping wet. “The Italian men, running down the street, tipping one another’s hats off. Chasing one another into the darkness. I think that would make a great opening for my book.”

“You don’t have an opening yet?”

“I have toyed around with about ten million different ideas, but none of them seem to work,” he said.

I took a big gulp of my drink. “I think that would be a cool opening, yeah.”

Giovanni undid the white towel wrapped around his waist. I was sitting in the far corner of the changing room, where there was a staircase leading upstairs. “I simply need something more exciting,” he said. “Something that will grab your attention.”

I stared at his back. It was like a map; uncharted territory. If Jackson and Valerio were boys, the maps I knew well, then Giovanni was Westeros. His ass was in full view, and although he was covering his dick with his hand, his abs were still very much on display through the mirror.

My eyes jumped between Giovanni’s body in front of me, hot, the empty glass of ice cubes in my hand, cold, and the flesh in my pants, hard.

“When do you think you’ll finish your book?” I asked, my mouth dry.

“Oh, who can say?” Giovanni said. He slipped on a pair of underwear, finally. “Is a book ever really finished?”