Page 26 of Italy Can Bite Me

“Nailed it!” The caption is perfect:Ciao! From Italy!Simple. Elegant. Not at all desperate.

POST!

My phone explodes:

Petra:YOU’RE IN ITALY???

Cam:Um… surprise vacation?

Petra:Have you been kidnapped by the Mafia?

Cam:You look gorgeous!

Petra:Total smoke show. But who’s the clueless senior citizen spelunking in his nose?

The what now?

I zoom in and—

Oh dear God no.There’s Lorenzo. Our veteran bus driver. Standing behind me with his finger so far up his nose he’s touching his brain.

This cannot be happening.

I just posted soft-core tower porn that features a geriatric nose-picker to my Instagram feed.

I give up. This day is a total bust, and there is only one person to blame… Matteo.

CHAPTER FIVE

MATTEO

Protipforrunninga dying tour company: Nothing says safe travels like your elderly bus driver/mechanic conducting open-heart surgery on the engine while everyone pretends not to notice as they board.

“Buongiorno my bold explorers!” I pass out Carlo’s lemon cookies like they’re golden tickets, praying the sweet distraction works its magic.

My beloved seniors shuffle aboard, their warm smiles and enthusiasm make my insides all mushy. They deserve better than this hazard on wheels.

I pat the bus’s worn exterior, our daily ritual. “Just a little longer, old girl. I applied for the business loan and once it gets approved, we’ll get you a full makeover. New transmission, fresh paint job, and how about one of those disco balls for impromptu dance parties?”

The bus responds with a concerning gurgle that sounds suspiciously like a death rattle.

And then, here comes trouble in a fitted floral top. It’s pulling at her curves like a magnet, and let me tell you, my personal compass is pointing due north. I shift my weight and straighten up as Katie climbs the bus steps like she’s marching up to her throne of judgment. She looks fully prepared to ruin my day, my self-esteem, and my will to keep things professional.

“Are we actually touring Milan like it says on the schedule?” she asks, all clipped consonants.

I stroke my jaw, catching how her eyes track the movement. “Eventually. Probably. Maybe?”

The way her nose scrunches when she’s annoyed shouldn’t be adorable, but damn if it isn’t.

“So we’re at the mercy of wherever your horny brain takes us?”

“If you’re craving a private tour with me, bella, simply say the word. I’ll show you pleasures you never knew existed.”

Oops. There goes my professionalism.

A rosy hue spreads across her cheeks, and Cristo help me—watching her get flustered is my new favorite hobby. She drops into the seat beside me with a huff that gives her chest a sexy little bounce.

Not that I’m looking… much.

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