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Damiano’s eyes flicker with something I can’t read before he shakes his head. “Well, good for you.”

“Huge dicks.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The third guy is super rich and married. But we’ve figured out a workaround so it’s not technically cheating.”

Damiano’s jaw clenches and his hand grips the present a little tighter.

“We just do anal.”

Damiano’s nostrils flare as the veins in his hand ripple.

“Well,” he finally grits out through clenched teeth. “That’s great for you.”

I shrug. “Seriously, dude. I truly don’t care who you’re dating.”

“Clearly,” he says dryly.

I resist the urge to shove him over the cliff.

I think Dr. Fallon would call this progress.

“You could marry her tomorrow. I’d send a blender.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “A blender?”

“Hey, people need blenders.”

“Right…”

“Smoothies. Margaritas. Human remains.”

“There's the psycho.”

My temper flares. “All right, asshole⁠—”

Before I can stop him, or tell him to just look in the fucking box, he turns, winds his arm back…

Please God no…

And hurls the still-wrapped present into the Long Island Sound.

My heart slows to a crawl and then plummets to my feet. When I finally pull my gaze from the inky dark ocean back to him, my horror must show on my face, because Damiano's expression changes.

“What?” he says with a frown.

“You…” My voice comes out dully. “You threw it over the cliff.”

“Sure did.”

I laugh once. “You unbelievable fucking asshole.”

His brow creases. “Wait, what was in it?”

“Nothing,” I croak.

“Bella.”