3） That’s His Boyfriend
Rava
I sneak out the back door like a criminal.
Honestly, I don’t think I’d be this dramatic if I was meeting an actual murderer. For the love of God. Look at this.
Look at what I have to do just to go out with the person I actually want to be with. All because he’s got a dick and muscles and can’t get pregnant.
All because he’s a man.
As I get closer to his place, I spot him already on his bike. Of course he’s in all black. Obviously. He’s got his cheeks resting in his palms, elbows propped on the tank.
My Gio.
He spots me and instantly gets off the bike.
"Okay, meeting up is definitely going to be—" I don’t even finish the thought. His hand is already on my jaw and his tongue is in my mouth like my personal space never existed.
I jolt, a small surprised laugh slipping out against his lips, but my body catches up real fast. I grab his face with both hands and kiss him back with everything I’ve got.
His palm is at my waist, dragging me closer when there is literally no closer left. "Hey," he mumbles into my mouth, still kissing me. I laugh, staring at his stupid perfect face.
"Hi. You look ugly, Giovanni." He smirks and kisses me again like that’s the best compliment he’s ever received.
"You taste nice," he says, giving me one more soft kiss before turning back to the bike. He reaches for the second helmet, then comes back and stops right in front of me. "Where are your glasses?" he asks, squinting at my face like something’s missing.
"I put contacts in… They don’t work well with the helmet. I don’t wanna break them."
He nods like this is a very serious issue.
"Fair. But when you’re sucking my dick, I want them on."
I swear I actually die for a second. How does he say stuff like that so easily?? And why does it sound so hot coming from him and so tragic in my head when I even think about talking like that?
Maybe it’s the confidence. I need more of that.
"Freak," I mutter, smiling. He just grins and starts settling the helmet over my head. "When are you gonna let me put the helmet on by myself?" I ask, looking at him through the visor. I don’t even know why I’m asking.
I like it when he does it.
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 there is something 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.
I turn and see a man hugging Gio, and then he turns to me. "Hey man! I’m Paulo," he grins and gives me a handshake.
Ok. Wow. This is going way better than I thought.
I’m not a ghost here after all.
"Rava, nice to meet you." We weave carefully through the hot cars. Paulo throws his arms over Gio and Lorenzo.
"Alright, listen up," he says. "I’ve got some wild opponents for you tonight." He looks at Lorenzo first. "You, Lorenzo, you take Teo Garcia. Spanish. New-ish. INSANE. You’re gonna shit yourself."
Lorenzo scoffs.
"Eh, I don’t want fresh meat. You underestimate me, cookie." Paulo raises a brow. "I’m telling you, he’s tough." Then Paulo turns to Gio with dramatic flair. "And you…" He stretches a hand out toward the chaos. "Miro fucking Escobar."
My stomach drops and I don’t even know who that guy is. Paulo keeps going. "Bro. Only YOU could take him. See that Ferrari SF90 Stradale?"
He points at that red monster that looks like it kills people for fun. Like Gio’s car.
"That’s his. He’s wanted to race you for YEARS.
" He drops his voice. "But uh… he’s a little crazy.
So, like… you CAN say no. Totally fine. You could pick that other guy instead.
" He gestures to another rider, this one on a bike.
"Whatever you want. Tell me in ten." And then Paulo just spins and disappears into the crowd.
I look at Gio. This can’t be good. I came here thinking we’ll watch something chill, clap twice, kiss once, go home. Not this.
"Gio, you’re not taking the car, right? That Escobar guy?" I’m staring at him from afar. Yup.
He one hundred percent looks like a mythological creature that eats men.
"Of course I’m taking the car. The Escobar guy."
I gasp. "Are you INSANE?" Lorenzo pats my shoulder like I’m five. "Relax, sweetheart. Gio knows what he’s doing. Escobar is a brick. A literal brick. Racing a bike with a car is the dumbest matchup. The dude is probably high and wants to prove a point."
Before I can yell again, Gio grips my shoulders and sits me down on a low wall like I’m about to faint.
"Ravioli," he says gently, kneeling a little so he’s eye-level. "Didn’t expect to say that… but bigger doesn’t always mean better. This is easy for me." I look at the car again. The demon Ferrari with murder in its headlights.
I’m not convinced. Not at all.
Gio nudges my shoulder with his elbow. "Don’t let that car scare you. It looks crazy, yeah… but that doesn’t mean it can beat me." I raise a brow.
"Okay, listen," he says, pointing at the Ferrari. "The car? It’s heavy. Like, fifteen hundred kilos heavy. My bike isn’t even two hundred. Light means fast reactions. I move quicker than he ever will."
He steps in front of me a little, tilting his head, making sure I’m not spiraling. "And that car needs space. Long roads, wide turns. My bike doesn’t. I can switch directions in half a second. He can’t."