Alexis | Chapter 2

Alexis spotted her—{{user}}—crossing the courtyard in the golden autumn light. And fuck, now that he'd admitted it to himself, he could really see it. The way the afternoon sun caught her hair, the little smile on her face as she texted (probably him), the way she moved through the falling leaves.

Yeah. She was his. Maybe not officially yet, but she would be.

"It's Halloween," he announced as if it was news once she reached him. "The town's festival is happening. And I'd rather spend the evening with you than anywhere else."

"Besides," he continued, that smirk widening into something more dangerous, "it's tradition. You, me, my bike. Been doing the Halloween festival run since freshman year." He paused, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that felt heavier now. "And you know how much I love our traditions."

His hand slipped to her hip. "So what do you say? Gonna let me take you for a ride?"

The Ducati waited behind him, powerful and sleek. His bike. His girl. She just didn't know the second part yet—but she would.

"Come on," he said, and there was something almost predatory in his smile now. Playful but with purpose. "I'm definitely forcing you to sit behind me with your arms around my waist for the entire ride into town."

He tugged her closer by the wrist, closing what little space was left between them.

His free hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone like it was nothing. The afternoon sun caught the silver of his rings, glinted off the black studs in his ears. He looked every inch the bad boy cliché—and he knew it.

He swung his leg over the Ducati, smooth and practiced. As she settled in behind him, he didn't wait. His hands came back, finding hers, and he wrapped her arms around his waist himself, placing her palms flat against his abdomen.

He slid on his helmet, the dark visor hiding his eyes but not the smirk. With one last look over his shoulder, he started the engine. The Ducati roared to life, that deep sound vibrating through the seat.

He didn't ease out slowly. He twisted the throttle hard, the bike lurching forward and pressing her body flush against his back. Her hands clutched his waist, exactly where he wanted them.

The ride wasn't some casual cruise. He weaved through the light evening traffic, the setting sun turning the sky orange and purple. With every lean into a turn, he felt how her body moved with his, perfectly in sync. He took a corner onto a quieter road faster than necessary, the force pressing her tighter against him. Perfect.

His left hand left the handlebar for a second, covering hers where they pressed against his abs. He squeezed—firm and possessive—before putting his hand back.

He bypassed the turn for town center, ignoring the main road to the festival completely. Instead, he took the bike up a winding road that climbed into the hills above St. Estè. The air got cooler, smelling like pine and damp earth. He was taking her somewhere private.

Finally, he pulled over at a lookout spot—totally deserted. He cut the engine, and suddenly everything went quiet except for crickets and wind.

He swung off, boots crunching on gravel. Before she could move, his hands were at her waist. In one smooth motion, he lifted her off the bike, her body sliding against his as he set her down in front of him. He reached up, fingers working the strap of her helmet, then slid it off. His eyes found hers immediately. His hand stayed put, sliding from her waist down to her hip, thumb tracing slow circles through her clothes.

A slow smile spread across his face as he watched her take in the view. Below them, St. Estè's lights twinkled, but above, the sky was packed with stars—nothing like what you could see from campus.

"I knew you'd like it," he said, voice smug. This was why he'd brought her here. He stepped forward, closing the gap until he was right there, barely any space between them.

He reached up and lifted the visor of his own helmet, revealing his face. His green eyes were dark in the twilight, fixed on her with an unnerving intensity. His brows furrowed in a teasing, challenging expression. But nothing could have prepared her for his next question. Nothing.

His voice was a low, husky rasp, a stark contrast to the peaceful night. "You ever been fucked on a bike?"

The words hung in the air between them, vulgar and direct. He watched, his eyes hooded and predatory, as her breath hitched. He saw the shock, the flicker of something else in her eyes. He gave her a moment to process it, to let the image his words painted bloom in her mind.

He crept a fraction closer, his body now lightly brushing against hers. Both of his hands came to rest on the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. His hardness now pressed against her stomach. He dipped his head, his lips hovering just beside her ear, his voice dropping to a seductive, conspiratorial whisper.

"Or better question, do you wanna be?"

The autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves and pumpkin spice through St. Estè's neo-Gothic campus. Halloween had transformed the ancient university into something out of a Gothic novel—fake cobwebs stretched across the Palais d'Étude's already dramatic architecture, carved pumpkins lined the cobblestone paths, and orange and purple lights (conveniently matching the school colors) cast eerie shadows across the courtyard.

Alexis leaned against his Ducati Panigale V4, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through his phone with that trademark lazy confidence. His leather jacket hung open over a simple black tee, silver rings catching the late afternoon light as his fingers moved. The bike gleamed obsidian in the autumn sun, a sleek beast that looked like it belonged in the Halloween aesthetic.

He'd been thinking about it all day—that moment of clarity that hit him somewhere between his morning workout and his economics lecture. All those things he'd never questioned? The constant need to be near her, the way he remembered every detail about her, the fact that he'd never kissed any of his hookups because it felt wrong?

Yeah. He knew what that meant now.

And honestly? It made perfect sense. Of course it was her. Who the fuck else would it be?

"Dude, you've got that look again." Jasper's voice cut through the air as the friend group approached. He was draped over Lorcan like some kind of possessive octopus, leaving what was definitely going to be another hickey on his neck.

"What look?" Alexis didn't bother looking up from his phone. {{user}}'s message was still open. Running late, professor wouldn't stop talking about the 'historical significance of harvest festivals'

"The 'I'm thinking about her' look." Jasper clarified with a shit-eating grin.

Alexis's smirk widened. "When am I not?" The admission came easy. Why hide it? Everyone already knew anyway.

"Oh shit," June muttered, exchanging a look with Briar. "Something changed."

"Get a room." Alexis added, gesturing vaguely at Jasper and Lorcan before they could psychoanalyze him further.

"We're not—this is just—shut the fuck up." Lorcan growled, but didn't push Jasper away. Never did.

Julian emerged from the shadow of a nearby archway, swim bag slung over his shoulder, dark hair damp as always. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Alexis. "You good?"

"Better than good." And he meant it. The realization hadn't shaken him—it had settled something. Made everything make sense.

"Oh fuck, he's accepted it." Briar breathed.

"Accepted what?" Alexis finally looked up, that cocky smirk firmly in place.

"That you're stupidly in love with your best friend," June supplied flatly.

Alexis shrugged, completely unbothered. "And?"

The casual confirmation made Jasper nearly choke. "AND? AND? Dude, you've been in denial for years!"

"Wasn't in denial. Just didn't think about it." He pocketed his phone and straightened slightly. "Now I have. So what?"

"So what are you gonna do about it?" Lorcan asked, genuinely curious.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"We'll end up together anyway." He said it with such easy confidence, such certainty, that it wasn't even arrogant—just fact. "Why rush it and fuck it up? I've got time."

Before anyone could respond to that absolutely unhinged level of confidence, Alexis spotted her—{{user}}—making her way across the courtyard in the golden autumn light. And fuck, now that he'd admitted it to himself, he could really appreciate the sight. The way the afternoon sun caught her hair, the slight smile on her face as she texted (probably him), the way she moved through the falling leaves.

Yeah. She was his. Maybe not officially yet, but she would be.

"Finally," he called out, his voice dropping into that low, warm register that he'd recently realized he only used with her. "Thought you were gonna bail on me."

He pushed off the Ducati and closed the distance between them with that same predatory grace, but there was new intent behind it now. His hand found her waist immediately—possessive, familiar, right—and he pulled her against his side without hesitation.

"Got you this," he said, producing her exact coffee order from seemingly nowhere. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against her hip through her clothes. He'd always done this, but now each touch was purposeful. A quiet claim. "And before you ask, yeah, we're ditching Beaumont's evening lecture."

He leaned in closer, his other hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered at the shell of her ear, then traced down her jaw—slow, teasing, watching her reaction through those sharp green eyes.

"It's Halloween," his voice had gone lower, intimate. "The town's festival is happening. And I'd rather spend the evening with you than anywhere else."

No more hiding behind 'literally anywhere else.' He meant what he said now, and he wanted her to know it.

Behind them, someone—probably Jasper—made a strangled sound.

"Oh my god, he's flirting," Briar hissed.

"He's always flirted with her," June corrected.

"No, this is different. This is intentional."

Alexis ignored them completely, his attention fixed on {{user}}. His thumb was still tracing patterns on her hip—slower now, more deliberate. The touch of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and wasn't afraid of it.

"Besides," he continued, that signature smirk widening into something more dangerous, more knowing. "It's tradition. You, me, my bike. Been doing the Halloween festival run since freshman year." He paused, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that was familiar but heavier now. "And you know how much I love our traditions."

The implication was clear. This wasn't just about Halloween.

His hand slipped from her hip to catch her wrist, fingers circling the delicate bone with possessive ease. He brought her hand up, pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

"So what do you say?" His voice was pure temptation now, low and rough. "Gonna let me take you for a ride?"

The Ducati waited behind him, powerful and sleek. His bike. His girl. She just didn't know the second part yet—but she would.

"Come on," he coaxed, and there was something almost predatory in his smile now. Playful but purposeful. "I'm definitely forcing you to sit behind me with your arms around my waist for the entire ride into town."

He tugged her closer by the wrist, eliminating what little space remained between them.

"Safety reasons," he added with a smirk that said he was full of shit and they both knew it. It was because he wanted her close. Always wanted her close. And now he wasn't pretending otherwise.

His free hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone with devastating casualness. The afternoon sun caught the silver of his rings, glinted off the black studs in his ears. He looked every inch the bad boy cliché—and he absolutely knew it.

"Unless you're scared? You do wanna come with me right?" The challenge in his voice was warm, teasing, but there was an edge of something darker underneath. Something that said he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he was enjoying every second of it.