I clear my throat. “I hear what you’re saying. I’ll…take it under advisement.”
B laughs, adding levity to the moment. “You have a month. After that I’m creating profiles for you on all the dating apps. Consider this your warning.”
I chuckle and shake my head at her antics.
“You know I’ll do it, too.”
“That’s what scares me, B.”
“I want you to be happy, fratellone.” Big brother. “Give yourself a chance.”
Bianca and I chat for a few more minutes before ending the call. But her words, the truth underlining them, stick with me for the remainder of the day.
I feel antsy and unsettled by our conversation. Worry threads through my thoughts at her threats of setting up dating profiles. I don’t want to be splashed across the dating apps. Gesú, the social media platforms would eat that shit up. Hell, that’s probably Bianca’s plan.
Feeling restless, frustrated, and slightly out of control, I crave a release. An outlet. There’s only one remedy for when I feel like this. It’s the one vice Álvaro introduced me to years ago.
Grabbing my leather jacket, helmet, and keys, I leave my flat and head to the garage. There, I uncover my Ducati motorcycle.
Just seeing her—sleek, fast, forbidden—alleviates some of the pressure mounting in my chest. I drag my hand over the leather seat. “Dio, I’ve missed you.”
The freedom my bike offers gives me the illusion of control. I crave it.
Throwing my leg over the bike, I straddle her, jam on my helmet, and ride out of the garage. From there, I navigate past the city limits, to the open roads of the surrounding countryside.
Out here, I can block out the echoes of Chiara’s accusation. I’ll never come first in your life.
I can ignore my sister’s words. You deserve more. A woman who sees Luca the man, not Luca the fútbol player, or Luca the caretaker.
The responsibilities I’ve shouldered for years melt away, allowing me the chance to breathe deeply.
Wind whips past my head and shoulders, the rolling hills and setting sun surround me, and I lean into the reckless turns I take. Adrenaline replaces my frustration. Excitement washes away my obligations. And I live for the moment—the thrill, the chase, the sweetness of enjoying something forbidden and off-limits.
I push the bike faster, farther, and relish the quiet that finally fills my head.
Sweat-soaked and relieved, I drive back to the city two hours later. I had chicken empanadas and a Coke Zero for dinner, sitting in the sand and watching the ocean tide roll in. Even though it’s February, and there’s a bite to the evening air, I enjoy the cool breeze.
The streets are quiet as I cross back into the city, driving along the Turia park.
I pause at a red light, noting some players kicking a soccer ball around on one of the pitches.
A braided blonde ponytail catches my attention and I narrow my eyes as I note Carla. She’s the only woman in a group of men.
Curious, I pull to the side of the road and cut the engine. Straddling my bike, I lean over the handlebars and watch as she expertly maneuvers the ball around one of the guys.
He tosses his head back and says something that causes the group to laugh. Carla spins around and hollers an insult that makes him charge at her. Lowering his frame, he catches Carla easily, tossing her over his shoulder and continuing to run. She smacks his back as the group whoops. But when he settles her back on her feet, she’s laughing with him. As she swats the guy playfully, he tucks her under his shoulder and she grips the back of his shirt.
Their interaction is familiar. Playful and carefree. It reminds me of my old fútbol, days, when I was happy to spend countless hours on the pitch because it meant being with my best mates.
The group plays four on four and it’s as intense as it is casual. They smack talk and play rough, but they also joke and laugh. Carla’s talent shines as she loses herself in the play, dribbling expertly, making crisp passes, and setting her teammates up for goals.
She’s vibrant and wholly in her element. Controlled, strategic, and fair. A genuine team player.
Goddamn beautiful.
As I watch her, a pang cuts through me.
You deserve more. A woman who sees Luca the man, not Luca the fútbol player, or Luca the caretaker.
