Chapter 29: Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Author's Pov

Picasso sat in the garden, his mind drifting to different ways he could get Rico to love him again, just like before. He knew it wasn't going to be an easy task since what he did this time was more grave than the rest of the times they had broken up.

Meanwhile, in the library, Rico placed the book he finished reading on the table, staring into space.

The character from the story was the same as him; it was foolish to believe that the person he surrendered his heart and soul to was going to do the same, not knowing his heart was being toyed with.

It made him think of his high school days with Picasso, when his heart was played with not only once but twice. Honestly, he gave up counting how many times that guy had hurt him in the past.

But some of the memories were just too painful to forget.

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Flashback1

Entering the court, Rico heard some girls and guys discussing, "Look, it still counts; okay, I did it with her." His boyfriend yelled.

He decided to hide for awhile so as not to interrupt the conversation, as Picasso hated when he interfered with his business or daily life. He decided to hide behind the big trophy shelf.

"Look guys, I risked my life and reputation for this bet. I mean, the boy is okay, but still, he's definitely not my type of okay, and besides, I think I've done my part of the bet." Picasso yelled at his friends, making Rico curious as to what exactly they were talking about.

Raising his fingers up, he continued, counting out some points as he began talking again: "One, I befriended him; two, I made him close to me; three, I made him my boyfriend; and lastly, I made out and slept with him."

"So I believe I hold the title of the coolest guy; all guys and girls definitely want me." He said it while boosting and laughing.

"I mean, who could resist a piece of this fine, handsome-looking jock?" He added, wiggling his eyebrows at his friends as they all burst out into fits of laughter.

Behind the shelf, Rico shook his head violently, not believing what he just heard. He definitely wasn't talking about him; maybe it was about someone else, but that didn't make his heart beat return to normal as the image of Picasso cheating flashed through his head again.

No, he refused to believe this; he was probably talking about before they both started dating; maybe he made a dare then, but surely it wasn't now; he knew Picasso had changed.

He knew he wasn't the stupid type to fall for that kind of prank. Looking at him as he laughed with his friends, who high-fived him each, he quietly turned his back, leaving the court.

Later that day, he picked up his black hoodie and,putting it on, made his way down the stairs.

I Am leaving mom." He whispered patiently, looking at his wasted mom on the floor with a bottle of beer in her hands. Quietly, he tiptoed out of the house, making his way to Picasso's place.

Later in the evening, he was snuggled up in his boyfriend's hands, watching a movie in his bedroom, but his mind was long gone; he had many questions running through his mind.

"What's wrong?" Picasso asked, noticing Rico had been moody since he got to his house.

"Nothing," Rico answered quietly, skeptical whether to ask him or not.

"Tell me," Picasso asked.

"Well, I heard you talking to your friend back in school and wanted to know what you meant." He said this while biting his bottom lip and looking down.

Picasso's brows drew together in confusion.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"Are you cheating on me?" Rico finally dared to ask.

"What! " Picasso screamed speechless; his mind began to wonder who could have told Rico about his flings, as he tried his best to keep them hidden from him. Still, the best was over.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know I'm stupid for doubting you; it's just that I heard you bragging to your friends on the basketball court today and got a little bit confused." Rico quickly said, raising his head up and grabbing his arms.

A surprised look spread through Picasso's face, but he quickly regained his posture.

"I can't believe you, Rico; how can you even think like that? I was just imitating someone, okay?" He lied and yelled to make him feel guilty.

I Am sorry, Picasso." Rico cried quickly, grabbing his hands.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, sobbing.

"Is this how you see me now, Rico?" he pressed.

"No, no, it's not about you, Picasso; I'm the one with the trust issues." Rico said, stuttering while chocking slightly on his sobs.

"Of course you do; if I really wanted to have sex with someone else, would I have begged you, ehhnn?" Picasso asked him.

"I know I am sorry; it's just that you were a Playboy before and now you are with me without having sex, so it makes me a little skeptical." He was still sobbing.

"Then just have sex with me, goddamn it." Picasso yelled out, frustrated.

Rico's eyes widen, and he quickly gets up from the bed, running out of his room with tears in his eyes.

Picasso stood up and went to the window, not following Rico down. He watched as he asked his gateman to open the door before exiting the mansion.

"Damn!" he cursed. He was this close to winning the bet, but now he had definitely ruined everything.

The next day, Picasso lay on his bed, missing Rico. He wasn't going to lie; hanging with the small guy was fun, but he needed to remember he was a bet and nothing more.

His door busted open, making him turn quickly towards it, thinking it was Rico. He rolled his eyes as he saw his friends marching in with a smirk on their faces.

"Why do you look disappointed? You're missing someone." His friends teased him.

He rolled his eyes again before responding.

"Who could I possibly miss?" He said

"I don't know, maybe the little man who just entered the compound." One of his friends standing by the window said:

Picasso got to his feet and peered through the window. He saw Rico walking into the mansion, his hands clutching his hoodie tightly.

"You guys need to leave quickly." He said this, turning to his friends.

"Awwwnnn, why? I wanted to see how he acts when he's with you." One of his friends said

Well, he's not going to say anything if you guys are here, so leave, go to the gaming room, or something."

"Okay, okay, but I'm going to set it up by phone here so we can watch from there." His other friend said

"Okay, okay, just make it quick." He yelled at them.

After a while, Rico entered the room, his eye wandering around before stopping at Picasso's figure, which was standing beside the window.

He made his way to him, throwing his hands around him.

I Am sorry for what I said yesterday." He said it quietly.

Picasso kept his hands in his pants with a frown on his face, showing he was still angry.

"I promise Picasso I won't doubt you again; can you please forgive me?" He raised his hands to clear the frown lines on Picasso's face.

Picasso blew out a breath before circling his hands around Rico's tiny waist.

"I don't like when we argue, but if we keep going like this, then you will always keep doubting me, Rico." He talked softly, making his friends watching look at each other skeptically.

"Record this, dude, record it." One of his friends said he was tapping the one close to the phone.

I know, I know; that's why I decided to give in." Rico whispered shyly, hiding his face in Picasso's chest.

Picasso Picasso smiled. "Well, that was easy, he said.

"Are you sure?" He asked, even though his hand had already started to stop around the tiny figure in front of him.

Rico nodded his head shyly against his chest.

(A/N, so I don't know how to write gay smut like that, so I'll just skip it.)

Picasso fell straight to the bed exhausted; he couldn't deny that was the best sex he had ever had.

Rico was still trying to catch his breath; his spine hurt like hell. He was raising his hands to stop himself when the door burst open.

He panicked quickly, dodging under the sheets, afraid it was Picasso's parents.

"Dude, I can't believe you did it; you actually won the bet." One of Picasso's friends yelled.

Yeah, dude, Damm, it was hot though. I mean, I'm not gay or anything, but damn dude." His other friend yelled.

Rico couldn't believe his ears; shame was washing all over his body. He peeked his head a little over the sheets to find one of Picasso's friends picking up a phone placed at the corner of his book shelf.

His eyes widen in shock as realization hits him. All along, he was the bet.

End of flashback.

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Picasso had spent years building his empire, amassing wealth and power. But there was one person who still held a piece of his heart: Rico, his former lover.

Picasso had forced Rico to work for him, locking him up inside his mansion.

He had called Alfonso, asking him to lend him Rico to work here for him under the pretense of an important business, but he knew deep down that it was a chance to see him again and confront him with the pain he had caused.

Picasso stood up, making his way up the stairs, his heart beating with every step he took.

The door to Rico's bedroom swung open, revealing Rico standing there, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and hatred. Picasso could see the hurt etched on his face, a reflection of the pain he had inflicted.

"Rico," Picasso said, his voice filled with a mix of regret and longing.

"Can we talk?"

Rico's gaze hardened, and his voice was laced with bitterness. "Picasso," he replied, his tone cold and distant. "I never thought I would see your face again, and now you are asking us to talk." He said it back, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Picasso took a step closer, his heart aching at the sight of Rico's pain. "I know I hurt you, Rico," he admitted, his voice filled with remorse. "But please, let me explain."

Rico crossed his arms, his eyes never leaving Picasso's. "Explain? What could possibly justify how you manipulated and hurt me over and over again?" He yelled.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he gave him a sharp look before saying

" Explain! Explain right, alright, let's have it; whatever justification you have for yourself, pull it out and let's have it."