Chapter 6: Death Race

Marco’s POV

"Never thought I’d see you again." That was all I could manage to say without sounding like a completely lust-struck slash sexually frustrated teenager.

"Same here," Fabio replied, his voice a low, steady hum as he finally began walking in my direction.

He was wearing a grey bathrobe that barely managed to cover his damp, carved chest. Could someone please explain to this man that I was moments away from officially and illegally dropping my "good boy" act and physically pouncing on him? He could sue me later for assault once I was done living out my wildest fantasies.

"You look... well." Even my own tongue felt sour spouting such mundane words. He looked far more than just well.

He chuckled, sending a traitorous ripple straight down into my knees, which were suddenly threatening to turn to jelly. "I can’t say the same about you. You seem different."

That instantly caught my attention. Different? No, absolutely not me.

"How so?" I asked curiously, forcibly shoving my incredibly dirty thoughts to the back of my mind—though they were aggressively clawing and fighting their way right back to the front.

Fabio stopped right in front of me. I had to tilt my head up to look at his face. He narrowed his eyes slightly, studying me like a complex math equation.

"How do I put this?" He trailed off, clearly analyzing every micro-expression on my face. ’Yeah, baby. Keep looking at me with those dangerous, sexy eyes, but don’t blame me later when I drag you back to the sofa and...’ "You seem... tame. And quieter. And a lot less flirtatious."

I raised a single eyebrow. After giving it a quick mental review, I realized he was entirely right. I was completely losing my signature edge in front of him. That was completely, utterly unacceptable.

I smirked, leaning back leisurely against the cushions of the couch and crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "You want me to flirt with you?" I threw in a wink for good measure, though it honestly felt a little stiff and fake even to me.

Fabio let out a low chuckle, turned on his heel, and walked over toward a chair where a pile of clothes, definitely his, was neatly folded. He picked them up and started walking back toward me.

"Do you want to?" he countered smoothly.

But he didn’t just stop there. How should I put this to make it hit with the maximum amount of impact? Slowly, deliberately, unceremoniously, and shamelessly, he began untying his robe right in front of me. Not beside me, not turned away, straight in my direct line of sight.

I didn’t flinch, I didn’t blink, and I certainly didn’t panic. I just fucking froze, staring dead ahead at his now completely exposed upper body. To say he looked like a masterpiece would be a massive understatement. His skin looked impossibly smooth, flawless without a single blemish.

"What do you think?" I challenged, my smirk stretching even wider across my face.

Once more, he just chuckled, tossing his clothes on his shoulder and walking back into the bathroom to finish getting dressed.

I let my tongue trace my lower lip, breathing quietly yet heavily through my nose, trying to regulate my runaway pulse.

A little while later, Fabio and I walked out of the private room side by side. By this point, I had somehow managed to beat my brain into submission. I just needed to treat Fabio like any ordinary, everyday fling and leave it at that. It wasn’t like we were going to become a permanent fixture in each other’s lives. It was called a one-night stand for a specific reason. One night. Done.

"You okay?"

I didn’t even realize I had completely zoned out until the man right beside me spoke up.

Before I could fire off a sarcastic reply, thankfully, Ethan appeared from down the hall, heading straight toward us.

"You’re up next," Ethan announced once he was within earshot.

This was my golden ticket. My ultimate chance to make a run for it, flee as far away from this track as humanly possible, and pray to whatever gods were listening that I never crossed paths with Fabio again.

"I’ll be on my way, then," I flashed a quick, polite smile and had already slipped a full two steps backward when Ethan’s hand shot out, clamping tightly around my bicep.

"Not so fast," Ethan grinned, and I instantly hated the mischievous look in his eyes. "It’s a death race. You against Fabio."

Even Fabio looked genuinely surprised by the sudden announcement, his brows shooting up in disbelief.

"Hold on, but—"

There was zero room for argument or pleading for my life. Ethan was already grabbing us both by the shoulders and practically herding us toward the staging area.

Lined up side-by-side on the starting grid was me on my rented Aprilia, and right to my right was Fabio straddling a black, roaring Ducati.

I glanced over at him through my visor, unable to keep the competitive edge out of my voice. "Let’s hope this one doesn’t end up like last time."

Fabio turned his head, his dark eyes flashing with a familiar, dangerous challenge. "Meaning?"

"No holding grudges afterward once I leave you in my dust and take the win."

Fabio sneered, letting out a dark, confident chuckle. "Dream on, asshole. Tonight is mine."

I fired up the engine, revving it until the sound shook the pavement, and stared straight ahead down the dark stretch of asphalt. "Alright... sweetheart."

The deafening roar of both our engines drowned out the crowd as the green light flashed and we tore off the line.

I knew Fabio was legitimately talented on a bike- we’d already proven that during our first fateful encounter, so I didn’t hold back an ounce of skill. But no matter how hard either of us pushed, we were neck-and-neck, constantly trading the lead back and forth, surging ahead only for the other to relentlessly claw their way back. It was an absolute war of speed and nerves all the way until the final stretch, both of us charging hard toward the glowing finish line.

I slammed my throttle all the way to the stop, squeezing every single drop of power out of the machine. I could see the finish banner right ahead. It was going to be an absolute photo finish, a dead tie.

Until it wasn’t.

Because with mere seconds left before we crossed the line, Fabio abruptly twisted in his seat and glanced sideways right at me. Catching his movement, my eyes snapped toward him, which was the exact fatal error he was banking on.

As our eyes locked at over a hundred miles per hour, Fabio distinctly mouthed two words across the wind: "Fuck you!"

That single, devastating distraction broke my focus for a fraction of a second. By the time I snapped my eyes back to the road and wrenched control of the handlebars, Fabio had already surged across the line, beating me by a razor-thin margin of a single second.

He cut the engine, dismounted from his Ducati with a triumphant, blinding smile plastered across his face, and pulled off his helmet as he sauntered over to where I was still straddling the Aprilia.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" I could hear the electric thrill of victory vibrating in his voice.

"I feel like I should blame you," I muttered, shaking my head. Though deep down, I knew it was entirely my own fault for getting distracted by his stupidly dangerous mouth at the worst possible moment.

"I still won fair and square, didn’t I? What’s my prize?" Fabio stepped in close, leaning his hip against the side of the bike while I was still trapped sitting on it.

"How about—"

Fabio didn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence before a loud, obnoxious screech, or rather, a gleeful yell, shattered the moment. It was Tony.

He was grinning like an absolute idiot, flanked closely by James and Ethan as they jogged over to join us in the paddock.

"I actually got to live to see this historical day!" Tony crowed, pumping his fist in the air. "Marco Chen actually lost a race!"

Yeah, of course. Tony was never going to let me live this down. He was going to hold this over my head for the rest of our natural lives.

"Alright, enough gloating," Ethan chimed in, clapping his hands together with excitement. "It’s time for the official after-party. And you’re all invited."