Page 104 of The Slug Crystal
Marco tilts his head, eyes sharp but gentle. “Perhaps she wants to check on the treat they were working on earlier.”
I laugh weakly, sliding off the bed before either can follow me or call me out on running away like a coward. My legs feel unsteady, and it’s not from standing too quickly.
Their eyes track me as I cross the room. My skin prickles under the weight of their attention. I can still hear Marco’s voice echoing in Italian, Ben’s laughter chasing it, and I wonder, not for the first time, how long I can keep floating between all of them before I drown in the waves of growing desire that I haven't quite yet figured out how to approach.
Monday 8:03AM. A crack of thunder startles me awake the next morning, rain lashing against the villa's windows in sheets of silver. Our plans for another day by the pool evaporate with the changing weather, forcing us inside where the stone walls keep the space cool. Almost too cool, encouraging proximity on the couches as we debate how to pass the time. Alex's terrarium has been moved to a bookshelf, safely away from our increasingly animated gestures as Ben unearths a stack of board games from a cabinet beneath the television.
"Monopoly is relationship suicide," Luca declares, uncorking a bottle of red despite the early hour. "I've seen blood feuds start over Park Place."
"Chess?" Marco suggests, accepting a glass from Luca.
"Too cerebral for a rainy day," Ben counters, holding up a dusty box. "How about Italian Trivial Pursuit? Though fair warning, I'm terrible at trivia unless it involves obscure movies or bar facts."
Jake settles beside me on the couch, his warmth seeping through my thin sweater. "Emma's surprisingly good at trivia. Especially music and pop culture."
"Is that a challenge, Martinez?" I ask, accepting my ownglass of wine from Luca, who winks as our fingers brush during the exchange.
Two hours and four bottles of wine later, we've abandoned traditional rules entirely. The board sits neglected on the coffee table, surrounded by empty wine glasses and the crumbs of focaccia we'd torn apart to soak up the alcohol. Rain continues its steady assault on the windows, casting the room in a gray-blue light that feels simultaneously intimate and conspiratorial.
"This is boring," Ben announces after correctly answering a question about 1980s Italian cinema. "We need higher stakes."
Marco raises an eyebrow. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
Ben's smile is slow and deliberate, his eyes finding mine before scanning the room. "Strip trivia. Get a question wrong, lose an item of clothing."
A beat of silence follows, broken only by the rain's persistent drumming. I feel Jake tense beside me, Marco's scholarly expression shifts to careful consideration, and Luca's smile widens with predictable enthusiasm.
"I'm in," I say before I can overthink it, the wine buzzing pleasantly through my veins. "Unless you boys are scared that I'll see you naked before dinner while I keep all my clothes."
"Not scared," Jake says, his voice lower than usual. "Just making sure this is what you want."
Something in his protective concern ignites a competitive flame in me. "I want to win," I tell him, holding his gaze. "And I'm very, very good at trivia."
Luca laughs, refilling glasses around the circle. "Then it's settled. New rules, new game."
The first few rounds remain surprisingly tame. A collection of shoes and socks is discarded. Marco answers a question wrong and decides to lose his sweater, folding it neatlyon the arm of the couch. Ben dramatically removes his watch as if it's a precious garment when he loses the next round.
There’s good-natured teasing all around, but the mood shifts perceptibly when I miss a question about Italian geography, and reach for the hem of my sweater instead of removing my bracelet.
"That doesn’t seem like the wisest next choice,” Marco points out, eyes widening as I pull the material over my head, revealing the simple black bra beneath.
"My game, my choice," I reply, enjoying the sudden stillness in the room, the way four pairs of eyes track the movement before politely shifting away, or not so politely staring in Luca’s case. Luca doesn't bother hiding his appreciation, his gray eyes lingering until I raise an eyebrow at him.
Jake's jaw tightens, but there's heat behind his concern now. Marco adjusts his glasses, a gesture I've come to recognize as his way of processing something unexpected. And Ben… Ben just grins, raising his glass in a silent toast before taking his turn.
"Geography clearly isn't your strong suit," he teases. "Let's see how you do with entertainment."
The game accelerates after that. Marco's button-down joins my sweater on the growing pile of discarded clothing. Luca makes a show of removing his shirt, flexing subtly as he tosses it aside. Ben loses his jeans after failing to name Italy's prime minister during a specific historical period, leaving him in just boxer briefs that do little to hide his interest in the proceedings.
Jake holds out longest, his methodical approach to questions keeping him mostly clothed until a particularly difficult science question from Marco forces him to remove his shirt. I try not to stare at the defined muscles of his chest, the result of years of disciplined training and sports, but I fail spectacularly.
"Eyes on the game, Hartley," Ben teases, noticing my distraction. "Unless you're hoping to lose that bra next."
"In your dreams, Clark," I retort, though the thought sends a treacherous heat through me.
From his perch on the bookshelf, Alex's terrarium catches the gray light, the blue snail methodically exploring his enclosure. A pang of guilt cuts through my wine-warm pleasure, quickly suppressed as Luca asks me a question about Italian wine regions.
"Barolo comes from Piedmont," I answer correctly.
