“No judgment,” he continues, tossing the condoms back on the bedside table and holding up his hands like he’s surrendering. “Nothing wrong with blowing off some steam the night before a big race with a grid girl.”
Fuck if he doesn’t seem proud. Everything I’ve done to try to earn his approval, and all this time all it took was him thinking I’m some kind of player, a different girl in every stop on the circuit. If he only knew last night’s bed buddy was cowering in the closet. And that it wasn’t a grid girl but a grid guy.
The thought is so absurd I can’t help snickering. I bend down to tie my sneakers, hoping that will hide my laughter. Unfortunately, it’s too little too late.
“What’s so funny?” my father barks.
“Nothing,” I lie. “I just remembered a joke Gabe told the other day before our press conference.”
“You’re not becoming too close the other drivers, are you?” he asks archly. “Remember, they’re your competitors, not your friends.”
That may have been his MO when he was on the circuit, but it sure as hell isn’t mine. I spend half my life with these guys. Without them, I’d be pretty fucking lonely. And pretty fucking miserable. Besides, unlike my father, I don’t think you have to hate people in order to beat them. Camaraderie and competitiveness aren’t mutually exclusive.
But it’s not worth arguing with him about that now. Not with my race engineer/fuck buddy stashed in the closet. Ben’s a big guy. He must be getting pretty uncomfortable in there. I hope he’s not claustrophobic.
I finish tying my shoes and stand. “I really need to get to the gym. Will I see you at the garage later?”
His scowl gets even scowlier. If that’s a word. If it’s not, it should be, and my father’s expression right now would be the picture next to it in the dictionary. “Trying to get rid of me?”
Yes. “No, of course not. Just taking your advice about getting in a workout before heading to the track.”
That seems to satisfy him. Stroking his ego usually does.
“How about breakfast?” He rises and crosses to me. “I can meet you in the hotel restaurant after your workout. I hear they make an excellent Bloody Mary. Not that you’ll be having one.”
And just like that, there goes breakfast with Ben. I wish I had the backbone to blow my old man off. But I can’t make myself do it, stupidly holding on to the hope that maybe this time will be different. Maybe he’ll finally, magically morph into a father who’s loving, caring, supportive. Like fathers are supposed to be.
“Sure,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, ushering my dad to the door. “Why don’t you go and get a head start? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Don’t skimp on the cardio,” he warns, pulling the door open. “Endurance has always been your Achilles’ heel.”
I ignore the jab and open the door. “See you downstairs.”
He nods and leaves. The second he’s gone, I close the door behind him and slump against it, fighting back tears. As usual, all I got from him was steaming pile of disapproval. He didn’t even say a fucking word about qualifying. I’m starting in P6. My best yet.
I brush a stray tear from my cheek and straighten up. Contrary to popular belief, real men do cry, but that’s not the Grady I want Ben to see right now.
“All clear,” I call to him.
The closet doors slide open and he steps out, rubbing his neck. “I take it our breakfast date is off.”
My heart tap dances at his casual use of the word date, but the thrill doesn’t last long. “I’m sorry. He’s my father. I—”
Ben cuts me off with a fast, possessive kiss that leaves me breathless. “No need to explain. I get it. My dad could be tough to handle, too.”
And here they come again, those pesky feelings. I swallow around the lump that’s magically appeared in my throat. “I guess I’ll see you at the track, then.”
He fidgets with his watch strap. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him nervous before. It’s adorable and endearing and a threat to my fragile equilibrium.
“I could come with you if you want,” he offers tentatively. “To breakfast. Act as a buffer.”
“How much did you overhear?”
“Enough to know you could use a buffer.”
I consider his offer for a moment, then shake my head. “Thanks, but it’s probably better if I go it alone.”
The last thing I want is for him to get sucked into the drama that is my complicated relationship with my father. Plus, my dad still has a lot of powerful contacts in F1. And I could see him going after Ben if he does something stupidly noble like jump to my defense when my father inevitably starts in on me.
