Wreckless

by Katie Golding

  She shakes her head, tossing her mane.

  “Well, we’re not staying here for the rest of the day.” I click my tongue and urge her forward. She takes a step but then halts and squirms back into the tree line, stomping her right front foot. “What the—”

  The sound of a car cuts me off, white dust from my caliche driveway billowing up from my left. In another blink, a yellow taxi comes around the bend and drives past us. Betty White bristles at the car, stepping farther into the tree line. A branch scratches my arm, but I hardly notice. No way did I just see…

  “Ya!” I command, Betty bursting from the grove and heading down the driveway.

  When we come to the opening, where the driveway circles around in front of my house, the back seat door is already opening.

  “Whoa,” I tell Betty, keeping her back from the cab.

  A brown loafer steps out from behind the door, finding the driveway. Followed by dark-wash skinny jeans, a cocoa-colored button-down, sunlight glimmering off black sunglasses and even blacker slicked-back hair. Betty shifts restlessly beneath me, my heart pounding in my chest as my grip tightens on the reins.

  He’s here. The one guy in my life who has always been The Guy, whether he was playing angel or demon, or both.

  Please, let this mean what I think it does.

  I can’t resist beaming at him as I swing a leg over, getting down from the saddle. “Your flight home take an unexpected detour?”

  Massimo chuckles after dismissing his ride, his smile wide as he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. “One truth is always the same, Tigrotta. You are difficult no matter what country we are in or what day of the week it is.”

  Heat rushes into my cheeks as I stop in front of him, shifting Betty’s reins into a lead. “Where’s your luggage?” My eyes rake down the length of him and back up, Massimo bristling when Betty snorts at him. He eyes her warily, and I have to remind myself that he probably doesn’t know horses like everyone else around here. “Somehow, I’m thinking you weren’t just in the neighborhood.”

  “Ah, cara.” Massimo grins at me, apparently deciding it’s worth it to risk the wrath of my mare. He hooks a finger below my oversized belt buckle, then pulls me forward until my chest brushes his. “I could have been.”

  A soft laugh tickles my throat, but it quiets as Massimo tentatively leans in, then kisses me, and I can’t believe this is happening.

  We’re doing this. We’re giving us a shot.

  I let myself sink into the delicious depth of his lips, instantly back in that German hotel bathroom. No man has ever dared to kiss me with that much confidence, with that much drive, but also slow enough to relish it. And I was more than ready to relish him: the mental image of his shirtless body burned behind my eyes like a dirty picture I only caught a fleeting glimpse of.

  I nearly murdered Frank when I got back to my room that morning. But now, it’s almost hard to remember why I was upset when Massimo slowly pulls back from my lips. His thumb trails lovingly down the edge of my jaw as his eyes search mine, and instead of a background of a foreign circuit or a random hotel, it’s my home, my family’s land, and it’s so surreal that all I can do is smile. “I…I can’t believe you’re here.”

  His grin grows even brighter, a burst of wind swirling his cologne into my lungs. I inhale it like a salve for all the rest of me that still dares to hurt.

  “I cannot believe you are wearing this belt and not falling over.”

  I burst out laughing for what feels like the first time in forever, and Massimo shrugs.

  “You look good, though. Like you found…Lorina.”

  Everything in me softens, and even more so when I look more closely at his face, taking in the darkness under his eyes and how his hair is still a little wet. He must have showered just minutes ago.

  “You look exhausted,” I say, and Massimo chuckles. “No, like really exhausted.”

  He shrugs, his fingers still toying with my belt. “I have been in Heathrow for a day and a half, maybe two days now, because of a storm in London. Delay, delay, cancel, standby. I only just got off the plane, stopped by my hotel to take a shower, then I came to see you.”

  Oh my God, he did not just say that. But based on how he looks? I totally believe it.

  Massimo winks, touching a fingertip under my chin and bringing my lips back to his, and I have no idea who this guy is that just flew halfway across the world to see me and didn’t even presume to bring his luggage to my house. But I’m wrapped in his arms, and everything about him feels so good that I can’t think of a single reason why I should ever, ever move.

  “Did I hear someone drive up?”

  I startle, pulling back from Massimo to see my dad coming out of the house, my mom right behind him. I also don’t recall dropping the reins, but I have to scramble to collect Betty from where she wandered off to graze a few feet away.

  Massimo clears his throat next to me once I’m back beside him, apparently not registering the big ol’ smile lighting up my dad’s face as he shakes a finger. “You must be the famous Massimo Vitolo we hear so much about.”

  Infamous, more like. Massimo dips his head, a smile curving his mouth. Embarrassment floods my cheeks as my mother stares me down from the porch, a satisfied arch to her eyebrow because I already know exactly what she’s thinking, and it sucks.

  My dad practically jogs down the stairs to shake Massimo’s hand. “It’s good to finally meet you. Probably should’ve extended the invitation sooner, considering how long we’ve been watching you race. How was your flight? ’Cause by my count…” My dad looks at his wrist for a watch he’s not wearing. “You’re a couple days late.”

  I gape at my dad, but the direction quickly flits to Massimo as the conspirators reveal themselves. “It was not bad, grazie.”

  “You little…” I mutter. Then I look to my mom. “He’s been stuck in the airport for days, and he needs to sleep.”

  My mother reopens the front door, waving Massimo toward her. “Why don’t you come inside, and James will get you settled?”

  “Actually,” Massimo says, “I have a room at—”

  “Nonsense,” my dad interrupts. “We have plenty of room, and I insist.”

  Massimo turns to me, sneaking me a smug wink before he turns back to my dad. “Grazie, Signor Hargrove. That is very kind.”

  I snort. “Smooth. And his last name is Mattison, not Hargrove. That’s just me and Mom.”

  Massimo’s brow furrows, but I’m not sure if it’s because I mumbled that too quickly or he’s just surprised. I jerk my head toward my dad, who is friendly as can be but doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

  “Tell you what,” he says when Massimo starts walking toward him, my father clapping him on the back and steering him toward the garage. As though this is all a totally normal thing. “We’ll go grab your luggage first. Gives me an excuse to take out the Lambo.”

  Massimo flinches, peeking back at me but still walking next to my father. “You have a Lamborghini?”

  Dad laughs. “That ain’t all I got. Come on.”

  The pair of them head toward the separate warehouse garage, disappearing inside, and I kinda hate that I’m missing Massimo’s face right now. My mom, however, beelines it straight for me.

  I swing up into the saddle, gaining the high ground. “So you knew he was coming and you didn’t tell me?”

  She comes to a sharp stop beside Betty, her curly brown hair a mess in the wind and already waving me off like she expects us to bolt. “Oh no… First, you get to explain how long you and Massimo have been seeing each other. Because last I heard, you hated him. The next thing I know, you come home looking like a punk rocker, and some Vinny guy is calling from Italy in the middle of the night asking for our address and whether it’s okay if Massimo ‘swings by.’”

  I shift in the saddle, getting as comfortable as
I can in such an uncomfortable situation. “We’re just friends.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Her gaze narrows into the look that makes hard-worn farmhands bow to her every command. “Funny how your friends always live in other countries.”

  “Mom,” I warn, but she just keeps right on going: starting the same old argument about me self-isolating. Which isn’t true. I’m just not interested in dating cowboys who are all belt buckle and no buck, and she keeps trying to set me up with them.

  “Kinda like how that first guy you were all hot and heavy with conveniently lived in Spain…”

  “I was seventeen, and he barely spoke English,” I pop back. “How serious did you think that was going to be?”

  “Then what about the Australian? And the guy from Britain? They spoke English just fine, and you were in your twenties.”

  I roll my eyes, Betty getting restless under me. “And one by one, they dumped me when I wouldn’t ditch a race to go see them. Bravo to the most selfish generation in existence.”

  My mom shakes her head, stubborn as always, but it was different for her. Easier. Well, maybe not easy, because she was still fighting off the debt collectors when she met James.

  Thanks to the mismanagement of my asshole of a bio dad, the ranch had been teetering on the edge of going under. I know she never wanted him to have control of it in the first place, but Massimo called it: love blinds you to the greed and ruthless selfishness of certain people. But after their marriage whittled down to her choosing him or the ranch and they divorced, in walked this accountant with a hat as big as his smile, and he didn’t try to save her.

  There was no swooping in with a magic calculator that fixed the numbers. Instead, he hung out with two-year-old me so she could work the problem. She ended up building one of the biggest and most respected ranches in the southern states, all by keeping her eyes on the prize. It was James who introduced me to motorcycles, and by that point, I was already calling him Daddy. She was calling him Husband. We never looked back.

  All I’ve known is James, forever calling me Peanut and telling awful jokes with each breath he takes. But I also know that my mom getting a happily ever after with my adoptive father is the exception. And every guy I’ve dated has only further convinced me that my bio dad—the person asking you to give up your dreams because when you have two competing sets of them, only one can win—that is the damn rule.

  “Lorelai, commitment isn’t horrible,” my mom says, her arms crossed and her boots locked in the dirt. “You can’t live your life alone. One day, you’re going to want more than racing.”

  “Like what? A Jet Ski? And I don’t recall you being like this when Taryn and Billy were moving in together. You gave him such a guilt trip that he is still praying it off. And Billy doesn’t even pray.”

  I get the look. “Taryn is not my daughter, and don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.” Mom steps closer. “You’ll date these guys, sure, but you keep an ocean between you and them. You’re just afraid of—”

  “I am not afraid!”

  A couple of farmhands picking mud off their boots outside the barn stop what they’re doing, looking over at us. I take a breath, trying to calm down. My mom is my mom, but she’s also their boss, and I try not to disrespect her in front of the men who work—and live—under her authority.

  “Look, Massimo can be nice,” I tell her. “And yeah, I’m attracted to him. But I won’t let any man take what is mine. Nobody, absolutely nobody, is going to make me choose.”

  My mom sighs, probably as sick of having this argument as I am. “Honey, no one is asking you to choose. And the right one, he won’t.”

  “Yeah, well…we’ll see.”

  She reaches out and pets Betty, presses a kiss to her nose, then turns and heads toward the house. “I guess we will.”

  ***

  “More! Harder!”

  Massimo pants out a raspy groan that brings me endless satisfaction, his sharply defined arm muscles glistening with sweat. My back arches at the next hit, my hips bowing to pure power, and I cry out with all the air in my lungs, harnessing my stamina and endurance and focusing only on the sweet release of victory.

  “More!”

  “Basta! Enough, Lorina!”

  Frank chuckles from where he’s standing guard over us in my home gym, placing another sandbag on each of our lower backs—the fifth since we’ve started doing weighted planks. Massimo’s roar on the gym floor next to me grows louder, fire burning through my abs and singeing its way through my arms and legs.

  “Come on, Peanut!” my dad cheers me on. “You almost got him. He’s shaking! He’s about to drop!”

  “Get those hips up, Lori,” Frank counters. “Good job, Massimo. Nice form.”

  I grit my teeth through the growl tearing its way up my throat, glancing at Massimo next to me. His hands are fisted so tight, his knuckles are white, the bump of his bicep and triceps and deltoids trembling above his elbows. The scythe on his ribs bleeds a fresh drop of sweat as he strains to keep his hips up from the floor, a stack of sandbags covering the Madonna on his back.

  I look away from temptation incarnate, focusing on the row of my promo posters hung on the gym wall. Massive images of me in all my different leathers over the years, flags and banners strung from the ceiling. I duck my head under another groan, determined to remember I’m home to heal and get better.

  Me first. Career first. Just like Mama taught me.

  Even if she no longer agrees.

  “More!” I shout.

  Massimo barks out something in Italian as my father puts another bag on his back, looking a little too happy about the painful noise Massimo is making. My mother, however, totally tried to set him up to stay in my room, which he super awkwardly had to decline because no, we’re not sleeping together.

  Yet.

  The weighted bag I called for hits my back, my core screaming as my hips sink, and I am an idiot for pushing us this far. But he’s been acting like a child all day: exercise after exercise, circuit after circuit, he won’t stop daring me into seeing who is stronger. And even though I’ve kicked his ass the whole way through, he still won’t give up.

  “More,” Massimo growls, sneering at me while Frank places another bag on my spine.

  A strained yell pours from my lungs. “Dick!”

  “Lorelai,” my father rumbles, placing another bag on Massimo’s back.

  “No more,” Frank announces. “Y’all are gonna end up hurting each other before—”

  Massimo collapses almost the moment I do, but he gave out first. Sucker.

  “Good job, Lori,” Frank says, already sweeping the bags off my back. A pocket of air rushes into my lungs, and holy hell, those were heavy. I am so going to regret this tomorrow. “Way to tough it out.”

  “That was ridiculous,” Massimo pants out, rolling over to catch his breath. My father extends his hand, helping him to his feet.

  “You’re just saying that ’cause you lost.” I push myself to standing, sweat trickling down my back and flooding the bottom of my sports bra and the waist of my leggings. I take a towel from Frank, wiping off my face and the back of my neck. I finish in time to see Massimo squirting a stream of water into his mouth, his whole upper body swelling and sinking with every breath, and it only exaggerates how freaking cut his hips are.

  God, I’m totally going to end up sleeping with him. If I don’t, it’ll be a miracle.

  “I did not lose.” He shakes out his hair before running his hand through it. “I made the decision that it was not worth it to keep going. I put me first.”

  I scoff, taking a drink from my own water bottle. “Says the loser.”

  My dad chuckles from where he’s finished helping Frank clean up the sandbags, bumping his shoulder. “Is it weird that I want to put them in a boxing ring and let them go at each other?”

 
Frank stares down my father. “Yes.” Then he looks to me and Massimo, clapping his hands in the signal for more torture to come. “Okay, tough guys. Since you’re still more concerned with outdoing each other than focusing on your workouts, time for jump ropes.”

  “Ugh,” Massimo complains, toweling off his chest. “I am not the one distracted. Lorina can hop. She is the one who cannot—”

  “Tell you what,” Frank interrupts in his I-am-so-over-this-shit voice he uses on Mason. I take another sip of water, waiting for the smackdown. “Considering I am under specific instructions from Vinicio to run your ass into the ground and keep you focused on Brno while you’re here? Five miles, now, or it becomes ten.”

  Massimo glares at my manager, then points at me. “See what you have done?”

  I shrug innocently with a grin so big, my face feels cracked in half. “Nope.”

  I’m on Frank’s side. Three weeks can turn you into mush before you know it, and Massimo ate way too much of my mom’s carb-loaded cooking last night, my dad and him singing her culinary praises with every bite, and my mom’s proud grin practically daring me from across the table to reverse the room arrangements.

  I swear, it really kinda sucks she’s so happy with James, because it makes me wonder if she’s right. If maybe I could have it all, but I’ve been subconsciously avoiding it by dating guys who live overseas, knowing there’s an assured breakup around the bend. If maybe I have sacrificed too much of my life for one thing, and if it abandons me, I’ll be left empty.

  Massimo starts muttering under his breath in Italian, walking over to his bag and pulling out a hoodie. My eyes can’t help but lick his ripped body with every movement as he tugs on the gray cotton fabric, hiding the view I’ve had way too much fun admiring all morning.

  He looks over and busts me, the corner of his mouth twitching up before his eyes drop to my lips, and I have got to get this under control. I’ve already had to recharge the batteries on my vibrator twice since I’ve been home.

  “Outside, now!” Frank commands. “I want the full loop, Lori.”

  Massimo chuckles, looking away and taking another sip of water as I head out of the gym, letting the door close loudly behind me. I gulp in the fresh air, free of cologne and male deodorant, then start running on the path my feet have been beating since I was a kid, putting some sobering distance between us.