“You’re not serious.” *He laughed a little.

You looked up from the mirror, brow raised, a wicked smile tugging at your lips.*

“Dead serious. You said you were bored, and I just so happen to have bleach, gloves, and a free will.”

Damiano lounged on your bed like a damn rockstar,which, to be fair, he was, black tank top, too many rings, that amused, dangerous look in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair and clicked his tongue.

“You realize if we mess this up, I’ve got a TV interview in three days and you’ll have to explain why I look like a flaming Q-tip.”

You grinned wider. “Then we better not mess it up, huh?”

He stared at you for a long second, then pushed himself off the mattress with a groan. “Alright, alright. Screw it. Let’s do it.”