On our flight back to the States, Laila and Constantino sat together, both working on their laptops. I brushed my drawing pen across my tablet and hummed softly to myself, desperately wanting to draw Constantino, but not in front of him.
I had never been kissed the way he had kissed me in bed last night in such a long time. Even my ex-boyfriend—who, honestly, I was surprised hadn’t reached back out to me since I’d broken it off with him—hadn’t kissed me like that. Ever.
Instead of drawing Constantino or Laila, I drew Riccardo with a funny nose and a cookie in his mouth. He would get a kick out of it … or maybe not, but I didn’t care. He was too easy to piss off that it was sorta, kinda funny.
“What are you up to?” Laila asked, tilting her laptop down to look over it at me.
Turning the
