He huffs a laugh. "When you leave and go back to your little Canada," he says, tightening the strap, "you’ll be like, oh no, I don’t have a sexy, amazing biker to put my helmet on for me anymore."
I smack his shoulder. "I won’t be saying that. I don’t get on other people’s bikes. Ever." His brows lift. "You literally told me you’d been on a bike once before."
"I lied so you wouldn’t start roasting me," I admit.
"So your first time on a bike is with me?" he asks.
I nod. "Your honor."
He doesn’t even argue. "As it should be." While he’s focused on the strap under my chin, my hand slides down to his waistband, fingers brushing over his black pants, squeezing down there, definitely not innocently.
He tugs the strap a little tighter in revenge.
"Don’t be impatient," he says, completely straight-faced. Impatient.
So thereissomething coming.
Something I’m apparently waiting for.
Involving dicks.
Fine. I can be patient. For that? I’ll be a saint.
"Get on, angel."
I climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. "Where are we going?" I ask, leaning in so he can hear me through the helmet.
"To burn rubber," he says. "Get ready to scream."
"What?" I choke out.
"You’ll see. I’m not explaining."
Of course he isn’t. He starts the bike and pulls out onto the road. Ten minutes later we pull up to this place and yeah, okay. There are bikes and cars everywhere.
Not normal cars. Not "I take my kids to school" cars.
Racing monsters.
The kind of cars I’ve only ever seen in edits and video games. I honestly didn’t think people in real life actually own stuff like this. I’m in shock.
There’s loud music blasting from somewhere, I can’t even tell where it’s coming from. It just vibrates through the ground.
Everyone here looks wild in every possible way. Tattoos, chains, piercings.
Even the women look like they could beat the shit out of me with one hand and not smudge their lipstick.
I feel personally attacked. My dad would have a full cultural breakdown if he ever stepped his foot in this place.
He’d probably start praying on the spot and trying to "fix" everyone. We walk a bit and I notice something else. Everyone also seems to know Gio.
"GIO!" A wave of cheers. Slaps on the back. People fist-bumping him, calling his name, laughing like the fucking prodigal devil returned. "You’re fucking back, man! Where the hell you been?" Gio just shrugs. "I was busy."
Before I can ask with what exactly, another bike rolls up beside us. "BUONASERA, AMICI!" a voice yells.
Lorenzo.
He pulls up way too close on purpose, parks, and drops his feet to the ground. He leans over to sit next to us because obviously this night isn’t chaotic enough without him.
