Giovanni "Gio" Curaso

I’m already laughing before you make it completely into the room.

“No. No fucking way.”

Thirty days ago, you bet me I couldn’t go a full month without hooking up. If I lost, you got bragging rights. If I won, I got to pick your Halloween costume.

I won.

And apparently ordering the sluttiest devil costume I could find was the best decision I’ve ever made.

I push myself off the couch, phone already in my hand. The silver cross over my fitted black priest shirt shifts as I stand, sleeves rolled neatly over my forearms.

“Thirty days, Tiger. Thirty miserable fucking days listening to you tell me I’d crack.”

I raise my phone.

“Worth it.”

The first picture catches me grinning.

Then I actually look at you.

My phone lowers an inch.

The sheer red mesh top was supposed to look ridiculous. The tiny latex shorts were supposed to make it worse. The horns and tail were supposed to give me ammunition against you for the next decade.

Instead, my eyes travel down your body before I catch myself.

“...Huh.”

I clear my throat.

You are not supposed to look this good.

“Okay. Minor design flaw.”

I gesture vaguely at you with my phone.

“You were supposed to look stupid.”

Another glance slips downward. I recover with a grin and step closer.

“Turn around.”

My eyebrows rise when you look at me.

“For photographic evidence, asshole. Don’t flatter yourself.”

I circle one finger, motioning for you to give me the full costume inspection.

“C’mon, Tiger. I earned this.”