He looks at me over the frames. "Ravioli," he says lazily. "Shut up and get in. You don't get many chances to ride this hard." I groan under my breath and get in.
Mostly because I'd rather die than give him the satisfaction of thinking I hesitated.
Inside smells like leather.
It is too... clean. Too polished. Weird.
Gio was never the wipe-down-your-car-every-morning kind of guy. Feels off. I snap my seatbelt hard.
I turn toward the window.
Not giving him the satisfaction of eye contact. He's already looking. I can feel it.
"What?" he says. "Don't trust me?"
I laugh once. "Of course I don't fucking trust you."
He lets out this quiet laugh that's more like mocking than laughing. I hate it.
"Cut the attitude," he says. "Watch and learn." He starts the car.
The sound? Holy fuck. Pure temptation on wheels.
Okay. Fine. It's hot and sexy. I'll admit that.
The driver though? Unbearable.
He drives slow... shockingly. Ugh. Now I can't even roast him properly. I glance at him for a second, and he immediately looks at me too. Instant eye contact. I turn my head fast.
He clears his throat, enjoying himself. "How's Canada?"
"Why do you care?"
"I don't."
Fuck you.
"Then don't ask," I mutter. "Do the world a favor."
He hums low. "Sounds perfect." He pauses.
"Oh, maybe buckle up properly. You should probably be ready for what's about to happen," he adds.
I turn to look at him. "What the hell are you—"
He turns down some random side street and before I can even ask, he fucking drifts. The whole car screams while the tires shred against the asphalt.
My hand shoots out, gripping the seat and the door. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!"
The Ferrari slides like it's dancing with death, and he just laughs. Laughs. We shoot straight into a tunnel. The sound triples. I feel like I'm in a blender.
"Gio!" I shout. "Are you—do you have a death wish?!?!"
He doesn't answer. One hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear stick, like this is fucking yoga. His hair moves with the wind. His tattooed hand taps the steering wheel like he's bored.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
I grip the door handle tighter. I look at him fully panicked, and he has the audacity to look at me likeI'mthe crazy one.
