Page 239 of Alessio

“Clearly.”

Okay, that came out cold as hell.

Even he heard it.

Corrado looked back at him, a fire blazing in his gaze. “Do you have something you want to say to me, or what?”

Why lie?

“Yeah, but I don’t think you want to hear it.”

“Which room?”

Alessio didn’t even look over his shoulder when he asked that question. Corrado watched his hand flex tightly around the black bag that dangled from his fist, and the way his shoulders tensed with every step he took.

Pissed all over.

Or … Alessio was something else altogether.

Jealous.

“Room 208.”

Alessio made a noise under his breath, still walking straight down the hallway without bothering to look at Corrado behind him. “All right.”

He wanted to deal with the fact that Alessio randomly showed up when no one was supposed to know where he was—that was Cree’s deal, right? If he made it back to the complex before the sun went down, then he would get one free night to do what he wanted without babysitters watching him the whole time. So, how the fuck did Alessio know where to find him?

At the same time, he didn’t mind. Or rather, he didn’t care that it was Alessio that showed up. Except going into that meant handling the fact Alessio was jealous. Because he didn’t like what he found when he showed up.

Not that it had been anything.

Or meant anything.

Corrado didn’t even know that guy’s name, or what the fuck he wanted. He’d been trying to have a drink before he went upstairs, and passed out on the king-size bed. He’d wandered around the city for a while earlier, trying to decide what he wanted to do. And maybe, had Alessio been there with him, he might have picked a half of a dozen things just because.

Instead, he wanted to be alone.

Drink.

Sleep.

Feel fucking normal.

He’d been content to ignore the guy at the bar, whether his friendly attempt at conversation was just that—friendly—or whether it was a hint for something else. Which was exactly what he had been doing when Alessio showed up.

Not that Alessio realized that.

Or saw it.

Corrado could tell.

The bigger problem?

He liked it.

Corrado wasn’t a liar, or he tried hard not to be. So, it’d be a damn lie if he tried to say the warning—one for him, and for the other man at the bar—that flashed across Alessio’s face because he thought he knew what was going on there didn’t make Corrado feel some kind of fucking way.

Not that he wanted to feel that way.