Page 152 of Can't Always Get What You Want

“You’re not good enough to kiss the toe of her boots let alone dry hump her in her living room!” my brother shouts from beneath my boyfriend.

“Take that back, dickhead!” Luca bellows theatrically, wrapping one arm around Gio’s neck in a very uncoordinated headlock.

My brother gurgles.

“Fuck you!” Gio gasps, flailing as if he’s fighting off a wild raccoon. “THE PEOPLE DESERVE THE TRUTH!”

“Oh—and you’re the people?!”

“Iam the people!”

“Fuck you, dude!”

“No—fuck you!”

I stare in disbelief as my brother and my very muchunofficialboyfriend roll off the couch and onto the rug like emotionally repressed toddlers at a wrestling-themed birthday party.

They grunt.

They flail.

At one point, Gio yells, “Tap out!” while Luca shouts back, “You tap out first!”

This is the most insane thing I have ever seen in my whole, adult life—and I’ve seen a lot of insane shit. Mostly at my sorority house in college, but we’ll save those stories for another day.

Currently?

I’m witnessing two full-grown, testosterone filled men attempting to resolve a seemingly fabricated argument with grunts, limb-flailing—and actual carpet burn.

“Give me your goddamn ankle!”Luca yells.

“Screw you!” Gio screams, crab-crawling backwards like he’s in a wrestling ring.

My eyes widen as I watch them roll into my coffee table, knock over a stack of magazines and a candle thatwasburning until about thirty seconds ago.

Smoke rises from its wick.

“You’re both ridiculous,” I declare loudly, over the sounds of their coughing and grunting, while Luca uses a couch cushion as a weapon against my brother.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Gio grunts, going to put Luca into yet another headlock. “I shall rise victorious!”

Luca groans. “I’m so glad we’re bonding.”

“Please make it stop,” I mutter. “Please.”

Then Luca, who’s laying on his back, hair sticking out in seventeen directions, chest heaving, rolls in my direction and says?—

“So. Are you ready to admit to your brother that we’re dating?”

Huh?

“What?”

“You heard him,” my brother says, resting on his elbow, totally relaxed. “It’s getting embarrassing at this point, sis.”

My brain tries to scramble, but there’s too much to compute. The fake wrestling. The emotional manipulation. The fact that Gio is now lounging like this is apicnicand not the site of his own staged meltdown.

“You twoplannedthis?” I hiss.

---