Page 14 of Giovanni the Savage

Atta boy.

I tap my wheel in appreciation and sigh when I finally see the finish line approaching. My phone suddenly starts ringing violently on my seat, and I ignore it the first two times. When it rings loudly again, I glance at it and decline the call from Ivan. He knows where I am and also knows not to disturb me when I’m racing. This is the only thing that can get my head out of the gutter.

Well, this and thinking about a certain dark-haired angel.

Her voice is like a soundtrack playing on repeat in my head. I haven’t stopped thinking about our easygoing conversation. I’m still trying to figure out what made her leave.

The fact that she didn’t leave me with at least a name makes me want to pinch myself. So much for the mysterious shit. I’m tempted to ask my private investigator to look into her, but that would be too much, even for me.

The few seconds I zone out is enough time for Joe to get his shit together and skid past me.

“Fuck!”

I punch the wheel and regroup just as his sly finger flips me off through his window.

We’re a few miles from the finish line, and all I want to do is bash his head in. Friendly match or not.

My gaze drops to my speed limit, dangerously high but not as high as Joe’s ego will be if he beats me in this match. It is with this knowledge that I step on it even more. I’ve gone faster than this before. The day I lost my father, I raced for more than five hours. The rush and danger gets me out of my head and to a place that only I can access. It’s been a coping mechanism and why I was able to not talk about the loss with anyone. I’m even more shocked that I spoke about it with her.

Her calmness and the grace she exuded extracted something from a part of me no one has seen before.

And there my thoughts go, straying to a stranger.

If she’s a stranger, why does it feel like I’ve known her my whole life?

“Focus, you fuck!” I mutter to myself and increase my speed.

My hands go to brake, and I prepare my car to glide up a hill. On my descent from the hill, my eyes narrow when I see Joe’s car inches from the finish line.

Something tells me it’s too late, but it doesn’t stop me from increasing my speed, and just like that, I’m right behind him.

Three seconds.

That’s all it takes for Joe’s car to cross the finish line three seconds before I do.

Our cars halt, and the crowd on the pavement erupts in applause.

“Fuck,” I groan, clutching the wheel so tight my knuckles are turning white.

Have I lost so much focus that I can’t beat Joe in a race?

I’ll blame this one on you, my little dancer.

Just like that, a small smile is on my lips at the thought of her.

Joe gets out of his car and starts heading to mine with a smug smile on his lips and a hop in his steps.

Of course, he’s excited; he beats his teacher.

I don’t wait for him to knock on the window before I get out and give him a tight-lipped smile.

“What’s up, man!” he yells, engaging me in a bro hug.

I pull off my helmet and shake my hair off harshly in his face; it helps that he’s inches shorter than me.

“You did good, Joe.”

The glint in his eyes tells me that’s all he wanted to hear.

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