I cover my mouth with my hand, my fingers brushing against Kent’s bare knee pressed against my face, desperate to hush the sound of my panting breath.
A string of obscenities flies through my head as I press my eyes shut, praying frantically that Alessi didn’t see me – that he doesn’t peek around the side of Kent’s desk and see him sitting in his desk chair with no pants on.
Next to me, Kent’s leg begins to shake and tremble. And I know he has precisely the same fear.
“Not so late, Alessi,” Kent sighs, and I’m shocked to hear how composed he sounds, especially as I’m almost gasping with fear down here.
“Eh, perhaps I just remember you from our youth in Italy,” Alessi says fondly, “always early to bed for Kent. But yes.” A pause here, and I imagine him giving a casual shrug, “per
