A kiss is a kiss. Jesus Christ. Of course I liked it.
I fucking loved it.
Jin’s face falls and he shoves his hands in his pockets, clearly disappointed. I get on the bike, then glance across the street.
Oh?
Rava. I spot him by the side of the road, half-shaded under that crooked olive tree like he’s trying to blend into the damn landscape.
Poor thing’s hilarious without even trying. He sees me and immediately whips his head the other way. Now he’s glued to his phone, tapping absolutely nothing on the screen, pretending I don’t exist.
Adorable.
He’s dressed well today. But I can’t tell if that’s his normal, or if he’s going somewhere, or if he accidentally dressed nice and now regrets it because I’m here.
Wouldn’t blame him.
"Maybe next time," I say to Jin, more distracted now, kicking the engine to life.
"Yeah, sure…" He sighs heavily, then leaves.
I roll the bike straight toward Rava and stop without killing the engine. This dumbass is still pretending he doesn’t see me.
Unreal. Still playing Mister Mystery.
Be fucking serious. You could suck on my lip ring just fine.
But now you can’t look up?
Sure. Makes sense.
I rest one hand on the throttle, keep the engine rumbling, and stare him down blatantly.
You’re gonna look at me today. Whether you want to or not. Whether you’re ready or not. He can pretend all he wants. I grab the hem of my shirt and wipe the sweat off my forehead, lifting it just enough to feel the air hit my abs.
I know he saw it. He definitely saw it.
"Are you serious right now?" he mutters without looking.
I blink innocently. "What?"
"You’re literally showing off your abs."
I chuckle, surprised, genuinely. "Oh? So now you can look at me?" I smirk. "Funny, because when I talk, you just stare at the ground."
He tries to walk past me, probably hoping I’ll just let him go.
Obviously, I don’t. I’m not gonna leave him alone now that I know what his mouth tastes like.
I rev the engine once, then ride in small circles around him like a damn hawk. His head follows me every time I pass.
I pass behind him, lean a little, and flick my hand out just enough to gently smack his ass. A quick tap. Barely anything.
He turns with this scandalized, betrayed expression like I just stole his innocence.
I stop the bike, throw my hands in the air dramatically.
"Swear to God," I say, "you had dust on you. Cement or some shit."
