My phone buzzes within a minute with her response:
Maren:Holy shit, are you in heaven?? That view!
Me:It’s incredible. Like stupid incredible. I may never come home.
Maren:So how are things going after THE KISS? Still pretending it meant nothing?
I roll my eyes. She’s been relentless since I called her approximately five seconds after it happened to tell her everything. She sees right through my denials about any real feelings, which is annoying because I’ve been working really hard on lying to myself about how I feel about Jack.
Me:It was nothing, just a moment of insanityBut there’s been a slight complication. His manager upgraded us to the “Romance Suite.” Complete with heart-shaped bed.
Maren:NO WAY. This is TOO perfect! The universe is literally throwing you two together.
Me:The universe is trying to make things supremely awkward, that’s what.
Maren:Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, babe. So you’re sharing the heart bed, right? Please tell me you’re not making him sleep on the floor after all your lectures to me about making a move back when I was lovesick over Calvin.
Me:That was different and you know it. And we haven’t figured it out yet. I’m at the pool actively avoiding the whole situation. With my fun cocktail.
Maren:Chicken. You literally pushed me into Calvin’s arms and now you’re running away from your own heart-shaped destiny?
Me:I hate you sometimes.
Maren:No you don’t. Now go get your man and text me all the dirty details.
Me:He’s not MY anything. And there will be no dirty details. I’ll send you purely professional updates about the racing events, thank you very much.
Maren:Sure you will. Enjoy your night in the sex suite
I put my phone down with a laugh and take another long sip of my drink. I settle back into my lounge chair, letting the Miami night envelop me. The rum is warming my veins, the ocean breeze is perfect, and for a moment I let myself just enjoy being here, without overthinking the sleeping arrangements waiting for me back in the room.
As my stomach starts to rumble, I signal the server and order dinner—the grilled mahi-mahi with mango salsa that another guest was having. When it arrives, it’s a work of art, the fish perfectly seared and the salsa vibrant with colors that pop even in the evening light. It’s one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted.
I’m savoring the last few bites, watching the city lights reflect on the water, when a familiar voice breaks into my thoughts.
“Found you.”
I look up to find Jack standing beside my lounge chair, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s changed into dark slacks and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing tanned forearms. His expensive watch catches the pool lights, and his hair is slightly damp, like he’s just showered. He looks like he stepped straight out of a men’s fashion magazine, the kind that makes you stop flipping pages and stare.
“I went back to the room after meeting with Thomas,” he says, sitting on the lounge chair next to mine. “When you weren’t there, I figured you’d be up here.”
His eyes drop to my bikini for just a second before snapping back to my face, but that brief glance is enough to send a flush of heat through me that has nothing to do with the Miami temperature. I suddenly become hyper-aware of exactly how much skin I’m showing and how the fabric clings to all my curves. Part of me, a part I should definitely ignore, feels a little thrill at his quick look. I resist the urge to arch my back slightly, just to see if his eyes would dart down again.
Crap. Maybe that drink was stronger than I thought.
“I thought you’d be longer,” I say, reaching for my glass anyway and taking another sip to hide whatever my face might be doing. “How was the meeting?”
“Thomas had to run,” he says, signaling a server. “Some issue with one of his other clients.”
The server approaches, and Jack orders a beer. I notice the way the female server’s eyes linger on him, taking in the rolled sleeves and the way his shirt fits across his shoulders. I can’t blame her, honestly. The man looks good enough to eat.
“How was the pool?” he asks, looking around the rooftop oasis.
“Amazing,” I say, gesturing to the view. “This whole place is unreal. I feel like I accidentally stumbled into someone else’s life.”
He smiles. “Wait till you see the track tomorrow. It’s a whole other level of surreal.” His eyes light up with excitement. “Well, for me at least it’s the best part of Miami. Nothing beats the smell of racing fuel and the sound of engines.”
We chat about the schedule for tomorrow as we finish our drinks—track tour in the morning, driver meet-and-greet at noon, then back to the hotel to change for the gala. Jack explains each event with obvious passion for the racing elements and tolerance for the sponsor obligations.
