Chapter 5
DIEGO
Pure, unfiltered chaos. The first mixer is already a full-blown rager with more alcohol and people than the off-campus house can hold, despite its massive size.
Emilio stands on the diving board, waving a bottle of whiskey in the air as he screams lyrics to some god-awful remix blaring from the speakers.
His dick swings between his legs for all the world to see without a damn care in that empty head. His babysitting brother is nowhere in sight, or he’d at least have some trunks or underwear on.
The pool glows neon blue, littered with plastic cups, more naked people, and a rogue pool float that bobs along, trying to escape the germ-infested madness.
Dom is perched on the retaining wall by the fire pit with his usual exasperated expression.
I grab a beer from a nearby cooler and make my way over, shaking my head as Holli saunters past. His arm is slung around some topless, well-endowed girl.
A whiskey glass dangles from his other hand, sloshing over the rim as he climbs the stairs to the balcony.
“Where the hell is he going?” I mutter, dropping onto the retaining wall beside Dom.
“Probably to ‘show her the view.’”
His voice is loaded with sarcasm as he drags from the joint. It’s not the smartest idea to smoke weed and ride bikes, but if anyone can keep it under control, it’s Dom.
Honestly, if he didn’t have his medley of vices, he’d probably kill a guy just for the release. He chases it with a slow sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on Emilio, who’s now attempting to backflip off the diving board.
Emilio leaps, his legs curling into a sloppy cannonball midair before he crashes into the water, sending a tidal wave over the pool’s edge. The crowd in the pool erupts in cheers. Some swim toward him while others stand around the pool, laughing and filming the chaos.
“That’s going viral tomorrow.”
I tip my beer toward the soaking wet crowd.
“Viral for all the wrong reasons,” Dom mutters, rubbing his temples like he already has a headache before taking another drag. “I don’t get how the twins haven’t been banned from hosting parties yet. This is a nice ass neighborhood.”
“They’re too rich to ban. Their dad pays for the guard shack at the front gate for the neighborhood,” I point out, taking a swig of my beer, both of us watching this hot Latina undressing by a pool lounger. “According to Emilio, they’re creating memories. Stupid, drunken memories if you ask me.”
“Memories that usually end with an ambulance or the cops.”
“Or both.”
I laugh, leaning back against the wall and watching the naked chick slip into the pool. After seeing her goods on full display, a couple of guys swim her way.
“Remember the time Em tried to light that firework while holding it? Thought he was going to lose a hand.”
“And instead, he just lost his eyebrows,” Dom says, shaking his head and dragging the last bit from his joint before flicking it into the fire.
“God, he’s an idiot.”
The fire crackles beside us, the heat radiating against my legs as the chaos spirals around us. Someone screams from inside the house, followed by the distinct sound of glass shattering. A group of guys in Hawaiian shirts starts chanting for another keg stand.
“Think they’ll survive this one?”
I nod toward Emilio, who’s now climbing out of the pool, his dick bouncing all over the place as he does a mock victory lap around the edge.
It’s the last fucking thing I want to see.
“Define survive.”
Dom arches a brow while Emilio spots us and grins. He points the whiskey bottle at me, water still dripping from his hair.
“Diego, you’re sitting by the fire like an old man! Come on, show everyone your micro dick!”
He grabs his junk, giving it some generous pulls for effect as the crowd goes wild.
“Where the fuck is Massimo?” I grumble to Dom, who’s flicking Em off.
“Fuck if I know, but he needs to get a hold of him before I go over there and beat his ass.”
That’s the thing.
Dom would readily do it. Not give two shits. Not feel bad about it either. No remorse at all. Not that he’s a complete sociopath, but he thinks stupidity begets stupidity. He’d probably chalk it up to Em’s ass deserving to get beat. It’s a complicated relationship between the two of them.
“Pussies!” Emilio shouts, but his attention shifts to the crowd cheering for him near the pool. He raises his bottle and starts yelling something about being the king of the night.
Dom shakes his head, his lips twitching in disgust.
“Why do we still hang out with them?”
“Because it’s like watching a train wreck,” I reply, my tone dry. “You can’t look away.”
I close my eyes, the heat of the fire licking at my skin as I try to drown out the chaotic noise of the twins’s rager around me.
Holli’s voice echoes in my head. He’s been relentless in pestering me over the last two days about coming to this damn party.
And now?
He’s nowhere to be found.
Probably upstairs with that girl, doing things I don’t want to picture. It wouldn’t matter if I slipped out early. I could probably vanish for the night, and Holli wouldn’t notice.
My thoughts bounce between two very different women. My hot professor, whose voice and movements during today’s lecture had me shifting in my seat, and that biker in pink leathers. Wild, reckless, and nearly splattered against a moving train.
That lecture was torture. I behaved. I stayed quiet.
Damn, if it wasn’t a test of my will.
Rossi—Professor Rossi—moved around the room as though she owned it. Her tone was sharp but measured as she broke down reaction mechanisms. My mind undressed her a thousand times, peeling away her perfectly tailored blazer, imagining what was underneath every precise gesture and no-nonsense glance.
When her eyes scanned the room for answers, I felt her gaze land on me. My heart thudded against my ribs, but I didn’t move. She asked a question I knew the answer to and could’ve nailed without breaking a sweat, but I kept my hand down.
Let her wonder.
Let her look.
Still, my mind drifts. Back to that night.
The streak of pink tears through the streets of Boston.
The glint of her helmet’s visor as she glanced at me, daring me to keep up.
She nearly got herself killed, racing past that train.
The image plays over and over. That razor-thin moment when her bike barely made it.
My adrenaline spiked as I slowed, watching her disappear into the night.
Who the hell is she?
I open my eyes and glance at Dom. He’s still staring at the fire. His beer bottle rests against his thigh. He looks calm and detached, but Dom’s always been good at hiding what’s going on in his head.
“Hey,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “I saw that pink biker again.”
He glances at me with mild curiosity.
“The Barbie dream bike?”
I chuckle. That’s pretty clever for Dom, even if it’s true.
“Yeah, she almost got herself killed racing past a train the other night.”
“That’s your new type now?” His tone is flat and uninterested. “Suicidal speed junkies?”
I snort, shaking my head. He knows my history and would never support me getting with the female version of myself.
“No. She reminded me of someone.”
Dom’s brow furrows slightly as he slowly sips his beer, the flickering firelight reflecting off the bottle.
“Yeah, yourself,” he says after a beat. “You’re bored, just a class away from being done, and she drives as wild and crazy as you did. Of course, she reminds you of someone. The version of you before you broke your back at MotoGP.”
His words hit hard. I glance away, my jaw tightening. He’s dragging up memories I’d rather keep buried.
The crash.
The surgery.
The months of rehab.
The endless discussions and opinions from my doctors, parents, sponsors, and team about returning to racing or risking being paralyzed. It’s been years, but the scar still feels fresh.
“Maybe,” I mutter, my voice low and void of the lingering hurt. “But it’s not just that.”
Dom shifts, turning his full attention to me now.
“Then what? You’re not seriously thinking about tracking her down, are you?”
I shrug, not meeting his gaze despite feeling it bore into the side of my head.
“I don’t know. She’s just . . . stuck in my head.”
“Is this about her, or are you looking for an excuse to chase something since you’re healed up and shit?”
I grip the bottle tighter. The glass is cold against my palm. Dom knows me too well. Better than I’d like. He knows how much I miss the adrenaline. The high of pushing myself to the edge.
The pink biker is more than just a distraction. She’s a flash of what I used to be. A flash of ego resurfaced when I was someone more than just a college kid in a sea of college kids in this town.
“I’m not chasing anything,” I say finally, though it sounds weak even to me. “It’s just . . . she was different.”
Dom snorts, downing the rest of his drink and tossing the bottle on the ground.
“Different how? Because she nearly got herself killed? Or because you saw yourself in her?”
I don’t answer, the words catching in my throat. He’s not wrong, but admitting it feels like giving too much away.
“Don’t you have enough on your plate with that professor? Maybe don’t add another impossible chase to the mix.”
My gaze snaps to his, a smirk coating his lips, a question on mine.
“How did—”
“Hollister told me.”
I nod, not liking Holli spreading my business like a gossipy bitch, even if Dom is a close friend.
“Who said anything about a chase?”
“Don’t get your balls in a bunch. He just mentioned it.” He shrugs a shoulder with indifference as if absolving himself of the burden of my feelings. “And you did, by the way. You’re talking about her to Hollister.”
I don’t reply.