Not many people I meet get excited about that sort of thing.
But Chiara does.
Her eyes lit up when I mentioned X-Ray Spex and The Germs, and when she admitted she used to blast Dead Kennedys in her room as a teenager, I knew I was in serious trouble.
We even got into an argument about whether the New York Dolls were underrated or just nuts.
And when she started humming a Ramones song under her breath while stealing my spring roll?
Yeah, I was done for.
We laughed.
Really laughed.
The kind that sneaks up on you when you forget you’re supposed to be keeping emotional distance.
And then, once we’d both had our fill of dumplings and noodles…
I had dessert.
And nothing on earth compares to Chiara Giardino when she lets herself go.
The woman has absolutely ruined me.
Wrapped me around her finger without even realizing it.
And the maddest part?
She still thinks this thing between us is temporary.
Like I’m going to wake up one day and decide I’m finished with her.
Not bloody likely.
We fell asleep sometime after the second shower.
And then we woke up tangled together and made a complete mess of the bed again before my alarm went off.
Which is a novelty for us, honestly.
We’ve mostly been stealing moments here and there since that first night.
Actually waking up beside her?
Dangerous.Addicting.
Because it makes me want that every morning.
The image of Chiara sprawled across those motel sheets—hair everywhere, curves on full display like some kind of erotic feast—slides straight into my head at exactly the wrong moment during practice warm-ups.
BAM.
A rugby ball smacks me square in the side of the head.
“Fuck!”I bark.
“Where’s your head, bruh?”Koa Jackson calls from across the pitch.
