“Oh.” My brow furrows, sending a small sting down my nose. I’d assumed that Faust would be on a different floor than anyone else. Possibly with his own private chef, and masseuse, and door attendant? “I guess that makes sense, since we’ll be meeting in the mornings you head to the circuit, right?”
Faust hums. He’s looking at my face—or really, the middle of it. “Hold on,” he says quietly.
My heart drops as he goes to the only other doorway near ours: an alcove housing the clunky hotel ice machine. “I’m fine, seriously. If I’m not bleeding, then it’s not a big deal,” I insist, trailing after him. He ignores me. This seems to be his style. In one ear, out the other.
He scoops far too many ice cubes out and wraps them in one of the towels from next to the machine. “You should go to a doctor.”
“No thanks.”
“No doctors?”
I blink. How did he notice that? “It’s not broken. Unless it is and you haven’t told me yet.”
Scowling, Faust holds out the anti-nosebleed device. I guess it isn’t broken. I also feel like he’s not going to let me say no to this, so I bite back a sigh and take it. The cold makes me wince, but after a few seconds, it sinks into my skin, comforting.
“Thanks,” I say begrudgingly. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”
I meant it as a joke—how this was weird, and meeting him around Bernard was weird.Notas a reference to the white-knight wedding run-in that didn’t happen. Only, in this ice-machine alcove, that particular memory feels bigger than usual. Heavier, since there’s less space around us to offset it. Or maybe that’s just Faust? He’s so intense, so severe, that being in a small room with him feels vaguely claustrophobic. When his eyes flash to mine, my body is keenly aware of the two feet between us, as if I have a measuring tape pinned from his chest to mine.
“Remind me,” he says, studying me. “Where did we last meet?”
“Ha-ha.”
His eyebrows rise. “Something funny?”
The desire to echo backsomething funnylike a petulant middle schooler is almost too strong. “Nope. Nothing at all.”
“Nothing. Really.”
“Just—” I shake my head. “Forget it.”
He huffs, a quick, exasperated noise, and the measuring tape between us slips another inch. It’s kind of fun, making himhuff. But then he’s staring at me, and the ice in the towel cracks ominously in the silence, and then I crack, too.
“You didn’t say hi.” Oh my God. I’m saying this. I’ve said it. To aprofessional athlete who clearly doesn’t like me. “At that restaurant. In Surrey. That’s where we—would’ve last—oh, shit.”
Speaking has not helped the nose situation, and now, I’m bleeding. Without another word, Faust takes a step toward me, and there must’ve not been that much space between us to begin with, since he’s here with just that one step. In my bubble. With his hand out and—“Sorry,” he mumbles as he takes my chin, tilting it up. His skin is rough, but the way he moves me is gentle. “And stop talking.”
My face burns and my nose hurts like hell and his eyes are definitely cool-toned. There’s no orange, or green, or yellow, only inky midnight-in-a-forest brown. It’s kind of… stunning? In a dart gun kind of way. “I bet you really like saying that to people, don’t you?” I taste copper when I giggle. Distantly, I hope I’m bleeding on his hand.
My laughter seems to bring out a new feature on Faust’s face. A small smile line, running parallel to the dipped corner of his curved lips. “Maybe,” he murmurs, his deep voice lower than before. Softer.
Intrigued.
And the measuring tape between us slaps against the tile floor.
Metaphorically speaking, of course. We’re still standing here, stemming off a potentially hazardous medical event, when footsteps echo around the alcove’s corner. “Faust, you ready?”
I don’t recognize that voice. Faust’s hand drops as we turn to look at the newcomer, both of us awkward and quiet for God knows what reason. Because nothing is happening here. Nothing bad. Other than me acting really not normal in front of the one person I need to act normal around. “Hell-lo there,” says the newcomer, his confused hazel eyes shifting between Faust and I. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” Faust answers cleanly, stepping toward the doorway. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, too, and I’m so distracted bythat. Hands, gone. As if us being in an alcove, alone, touching,red-handed, wasn’t already questionable. He had to jump away, too.
“Bummer!” The shorter brown-haired man points at me, his smile back up and running. “Oh, hey—you’re Cat! I’m Eddie, the new reserve driver. Also, do you know you’re bleeding?”
More towels are wasted, more of Faust playing doctor, though I notice that he doesn’t touch me again now that this new guy is here. Which—okay. I made it weird when I brought up the restaurant and also laughed while bleeding, I don’t know why I did that, but he’s making it weird now. Weirder. Why? It can’t be that my nosebleed triggered a memory of Bernard’s wedding, as horrible as that night had been for all involved. And Faust can’t have been flirting with me, either, when his voice went all syrupy and velvet. Flirting takes effort, and that had been… easy. Fast. Not over the top. I’m an expert at flirting. I know how it goes.
“All better,” Eddie announces when I’m clean and largely unscathed. He has a run-of-the-mill Midwestern accent, though there’s nothing average about his grin. It’s infectious, young and playful and slightly devious. “About time we met, Cat. I’ve been trying to get on your schedule for ages.”
“Oh. Sorry, I’m, um—they’re probably still working out schedules.”
