Chapter 6 #6
Okay. Fine. If that’s what his straight friends do, then maybe that’s what I have to do too.
I take a breath, roll my shoulders back. He raises an eyebrow, amused. I grab his arm first, using both hands.
I slide down from shoulder to wrist, squeezing hard. Then I nod like I’m inspecting produce at a supermarket.
"Right. Sure. Okay." I grab his other arm. Same thing. Up, down, slow, thorough. Then I place both hands on his shoulders. My thumbs keep pressing into the muscle. He’s warm.
I pretend I’m not dying. His chest now. God help me. I put my palms flat on it and squeeze. Not gently.
Literally like I’m trying to prove a point. He inhales sharply. I pretend not to notice. Then I drag my hand down.
Over his ribs. His abs. My fingers follow every line.
When I reach his waistband, I stop.
Look up at him, dead serious.
"Is this straight enough for you?"
He stares back at me. "I love how straight you are."
He pulls his shirt on, still smiling to himself. "Good," I mutter, stepping back. "Now get dressed properly. We’re late."
He laughs under his breath as he fixes his collar. "You’re the slowest asshole I’ve ever met," I say.
"Even your damn cat gets ready faster."
He grins without looking up. "Relax, fake boyfriend. You’ll still be the prettiest one there."
"Fake boyfriend, my ass. I’m only doing this with you ’cause unfortunately you were the one that Sophia chose to sext."
"And because you secretly love spending time with me."
I snort. "The day I love spending time with you, shoot me in the face."
"Hey. Don’t tempt me."
"Just get dressed, Gio. Jesus."
He fixes his hair. "You’re acting like this isn’t our first date." "It’s not. It’s not even a date. It’s damage control."
"Oh, baby," he says, hand on his chest in mock offense. "If it wasn’t for the meetings, you wouldn’t have the balls to get within five feet of me."
I laugh. "Please. If it wasn’t for meetings, I’d never even see you and I would be happy about it. You think I’d hang out with someone like you willingly?"
He walks toward me, half-buttoning his black shirt, eyes on mine. "Someone like me?"
"Loud. Cocky. Half-naked eighty percent of the time. And definitely not my type."
"Oh, you’ve got a type now?"
"Yeah. People who don’t piss me off on sight."
He’s standing in front of me, taller by just enough to make it annoying. "You’re so full of shit, Ravioli," he says, grinning.
"You’d ride me if I let you."
I shove his shoulder, pissed. "In your dreams, Gio."
I stare at him for half a second too long before rolling my eyes. "Put on your goddamn boots. I’m not showing up with you barefoot."
"Yes, sir," he mutters, smirking.
Finally.
We step out of his house. I really thought we were gonna die in there. His bike sits there like a fucking beast, and of course, he looks at me like this is the moment I’ll lose my shit.
"You remember how to hold on?" he asks, tossing me the helmet.
"I remember how to strangle you with this strap."
He snatches it back before I can put it on, steps into my space again.
"Let me."
His fingers brush my neck, a little too long on the buckle.
"There," he murmurs. "Wouldn’t want you falling off and dying. Not before I ruin your night properly."
"You’ve already ruined it," I snap. He laughs and gets on the bike. I hesitate, then climb on, my hands resting awkwardly before I wrap them around his waist.
His voice comes back over his shoulder.
"Try not to get a boner, angel."
"Drive the damn bike, Gio!"
Jesus Christ.
Has this man ever driven like a normal human being in his entire life? We’ve been on the bike for maybe thirty seconds and he’s already acting like we’re competing for a world title in ‘who can kill their passenger fastest’.
Someone please tell him this is a casual ride, not the fucking MotoGP. I have no choice. If I don’t hold onto him, I’m going to fly off this bike, die instantly, and haunt him forever.
My arms tighten around his waist on reflex. I bury my face against his shoulder blade for a second just so the air doesn’t rip my skin off.
"Slow the hell down," I shout over the wind. He just laughs. Typical.
Blue lights.
My stomach drops as a police car pulls out from the side and signals for us to stop.
"You’ve gotta be kidding me," I mutter.
Gio slows, pulling off to the side. We stop. He doesn’t even seem surprised. He pulls off his helmet with one hand, shaking out his hair like this is a damn photo shoot.
I climb off behind him, helmet still on.
A cop approaches. "License and registration," he says firmly. He glances between us. His eyes linger on me, then shift back to Gio.
Gio doesn’t move. He just smiles lazily. "Evening, officer. Was I speeding?"
"You were weaving lanes like it was a video game. Again."
"You caught me in a good mood."
I want to punch him. "Gio," I hiss. "Just give him the damn license."
He sighs like I’ve just asked him to donate a kidney, but finally pulls out his wallet and hands over his info.
The cop takes it and walks back to the car. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I snap under my breath.
"Relax. He’s just doing his job."
"You were driving like a maniac!"
"You were holding on tight. Thought you liked it rough." "You think this is funny?"
He smirks. "A little."
I shove him. "You’re unbelievable."
"Aw, come on, baby. I got us here already."
"Barely."
The cop comes back a minute later, hands the papers back.
"Watch the speed, ragazzi," he says. "And wear that helmet properly."
He looks directly at me. "He’s reckless."
Tell me something I don’t know.
Once he leaves, I turn on Gio again. "You could’ve gotten us arrested."
"But I didn’t."
"You really think just because you smile like a fucking god you’re invincible?"
He leans in close. "You think I smile like a god?"
God, he is so delusional.
"Fuck you, Gio," I mutter.
He chuckles and gets back on the bike. "Come on, golden boy. Party’s waiting. Don’t wanna be late, right? Wouldn’t want people to think we’re riding each other."
I hesitate, then get on behind him again, pissed but burning. His voice comes low as he starts the engine.
"Next time, hold on tighter. Might save your life."
And we speed off again.
…
Finally. We make it to the house.
Calling it a "house" is not the right word. It’s a mansion. I’m hit with the smell of alcohol and we’re not even inside yet. There are lights everywhere, mostly blue. The music is so loud I feel it in my ribs.
Gio parks near the garage. He turns his head toward me. "You ready, pretty boy?"
I take off the helmet and throw him a glare. "Fuck you."
He grins wider. "Perfect. That’s the energy I need from my fake boyfriend tonight."
"Keep calling me that and I’ll make it real just to dump you publicly." He laughs like he loves that idea. "Make sure she’s watching when you do."
Her. Right.
That was the whole point of this. Sophia. I’m using this wall of muscle next to me to make her jealous.
Will she get jealous? I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s kind of entertaining.
We step through the gate together and Gio instantly drapes an arm over my shoulders. His fingers brush my throat as we walk.
He’s already spotting people he knows. Imagine being social. Imagine leaving your house voluntarily.
Every single person he greets looks shocked, like they’re thinking what are YOU doing here.
And meanwhile I’m just scanning the room, trying to avoid eye contact so no one asks me the obvious question: how the hell did YOU end up dating this maniac?
I tug him forward before someone traps us into conversation, because I’m not mentally prepared to explain my life choices to strangers, especially the part where I made out with Gio in his bedroom for strategic reasons.
"Play the part," he murmurs against my ear.
"She’s watching."
I don’t have to look to know he’s right. I can feel her eyes on us like heat on the back of my neck. I loop my arm around Gio’s bicep tightly.
I hate this. I know it’s fake.
But oh my God it’s worth it. Someone whistles as we pass.
"That’s new."
Tell me about it.
Gio doesn’t miss a beat.
"What can I say? I finally found someone who can keep up."
I laugh. He squeezes my shoulder in warning. "Don’t blow it now, lover."
We push deeper into the house and the music somehow gets even louder.
Some guy stumbles past us and nearly shoves me straight into the pool. I swear I see my life flash before my eyes.
My hand tightens around Gio’s bicep on instinct. He pats my hand twice.
"See? My arm saves lives."
I roll my eyes. "I wouldn’t die if I fell in."
He shrugs. "You would die from the embarrassment."
I exhale. "...Right. Thanks then."
He gives me that stupid little smirk. Sophia stands near the drinks, a white dress hugging her body, her expression unreadable, but her gaze is locked on us.
I see her lips part. Good. This is working. Gio pulls me closer. Too close. "You look hot when you’re shy," he whispers.
"I look homicidal."
"Even better."
He grabs a drink from a passing tray and hands it to me. Then, without warning, he loops his arm around my waist and kisses me hard, literally making out with me in the middle of the crowd.
His other hand comes up to the back of my head, sliding into my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me.
My knees actually wobble. I don’t even get a warning, and somehow, before my panic even catches up, I’m kissing him back, just for a second.
Then I break it. "You absolute son of a—"
"She saw that," he says softly, without even looking. I turn my head just enough to catch Sophia across the room. She looks mad. Good.
Perfect. Gio turns to me fully, tilting his head like he’s genuinely amused. "You gonna keep looking at her, or at me?"
My brain is soup. My emotions are whatever comes after soup. I don’t know what I’m feeling, why I’m doing this, why my body is reacting like this. Everything’s blurry.
I turn back to look at Gio. "Right... sorry."
His eyes flick down to my lips again. He clinks his glass against mine. "Let’s go say hi to her, boyfriend."