I know I’m probably breaching the distance he wants, but I don’t care. I ask around, hoping someone knows where he is. It’s only after I’ve exhausted all my options that I ask Mr. Landry, who, aftermocking me, gives me Zia’s address. I know I’ve officially reached stalker level, but I don’t care.
As soon as I read the text, I’m out the door and on my bike, ignoring my father’s and Charlie’s shouts since we are training late—or supposed to be.
I need to see him.
I need to know he’s okay.
It’s a quick drive through the city at this hour, and when I pull up outside of the gate with security on a private street, I almost back down. Does he live in this massive mansion, or is this his family’s house? I don’t know, but it’s intimidating as hell.
I knew he was rich, but seeing it is another thing.
Pulling my helmet off, I rest it on my tank and pull out my phone.
He doesn’t answer the first few times, but I don’t give up, ignoring the suspicious looks I’m getting from security. When it finally connects, I don’t let Zia speak.
“I’m outside. Come down or I’m coming in.” I hang up so he knows I’m serious. He’s turned up at my house, and now it’s my turn.
I’ll chase him across this entire fucking city if I need to.
I wait, and five minutes later, the front door opens, the staff snapping to attention, but he ignores them as he steps out onto the covered porch, wearing loose silk pants, a white shirt, and boots.
He looks around hesitantly, as if he’s unsure if I’m actually here, until his eyes meet mine and widen.
I wait, and he walks down the driveway, through the stone archway leading to the house, then stops before me. “Nikko, what are you doing? How did you know I was at my father’s?” he snaps.
“I have connections too, baby,” I reply. “I needed to see you. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, his chin tilted up defiantly. His face is bare, his hair natural and swept back.
He’s so fucking beautiful, it hurts. I drink in the sight of him as if I’ve been starved.
“So what’s with the silence?” I ask as I continue to stare. His eyes narrow, and I wait.
“We’re fuck buddies, Nikko, so don’t overstep.” He goes to turn away, but I grab his arm. There’s a click, and I glance up to see his security aiming guns at me. I don’t let go.
“You got scared and ran. Admit it.”
His security steps forward, and he holds up his hand. “Go back inside. I’m fine.” Zia meets my gaze. “I don’t get scared. I’ve been busy and don’t owe you an explanation. Go home, Nikko.”
“No,” I snap. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping? Eating?”
“It’s no concern?—”
“I can worry as a fuck buddy, Zia, especially when you look like shit.” He flinches, and I lean back. “You’re stressed.”
He purses his lips and says nothing.
“Okay, get on.”
“What?” he stutters.
“I said get on. We’re going to destress you—as purely fuck buddies, of course. I wouldn’t want to overstep,” I tease.
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t move, and I run my gaze down his body. It’s chilly tonight, and he isn’t wearing much.
He has no jacket, so I shrug out of mine and hand it over. “Put it on and get on the bike.”
He reluctantly puts it on, and I lift my helmet and swing off my bike, then I carefully put it on him. I make sure he’s okay before shutting the visor.
