We’re still racing down the road. Streetlights flash past like we’re in a damn video game. Two bikes in front of us.
Three behind. Police sirens all around us. I can barely hold on. Apparently, everyone else is having fun, while I’m trying not to die back here.
Gio swerves left. I nearly slide off. I press myself tighter against him. He yells back, "You still hanging on?"
"Do I have a freaking choice?!" The bike jumps onto a small road, then dirt. We’re off the pavement now.
The sirens fade a little. We’re losing them.
Oh my God, we are actually losing them.
After a while, Gio slows down. We pull into some random spot, high up, quiet. A broken wall and a clear view of the whole damn city.
He parks. The engine dies. Other bikes arrive too.
I take off the helmet. My hands are still shaking. Gio turns around, grinning. His hair’s wild. His eyes are still burning from the rush.
"Fun, right?" he says.
I just stare at him. He’s actually insane.
Around us, engines cut one by one.
Laughter spills out immediately. The other bikers start falling onto benches, into grass, onto pavement like they’ve survived a war and they’re drunk off the adrenaline.
Someone lights a cigarette with shaking hands. "Did you see me jump that curb?! I swear I almost died!"
"Bro, the cop was right behind me, I dead-ass smelled his fucking cologne."
A guy in a tank top collapses on the ground and just lies there with his arms out like a starfish. I laugh.
And suddenly everyone is laughing harder. I lean against a railing, trying to catch my breath. A guy I haven’t even spoken to during the game drops next to me on the bench.
He looks over, still grinning. "You’re alright, man."
He nudges me with his elbow. "For someone Giodraggedinto the fire?! Dude you didn’t even blink."
I shake my head, still smiling.
I almost passed out, but yeah, sure, I didn’t blink.
He laughs again. Then he looks toward the Ducati, where Gio is leaning back, sipping from a water bottle like he hasn’t just committed several crimes and burned rubber through the entire city.
"So, you’re his date or what?"
What. I laugh.
Too loud.
"What? No. No. Absolutely not.What?"
He raises his eyebrows, amused. "Okay, okay, chill."
"I’m not his date," I say again, because apparently once isn’t enough. "We’re just, I don’t know, we kind of work together. Not even that close. I mean, we kind of hate each other, actually. I think?"
He gives me a slow look. "You came to an illegal poker night with him, on his bike, sat across from him like you were flirting with the deck, and then ran from the cops together. That’s… a lot for not-close."
I open my mouth. Close it. My brain is stalling.
