Page 8 of Heartbreaker

“Yeah, well, it seems someone played a bit of a prank on me, took my clothes from the locker room. Thankfully, they left my underwear, or it would be a different show altogether.” There’s a loud, boisterous laugh from the press, and Tyler looks even more annoyed. Interesting. “I hope none of you mind too much. I didn’t want to leave you all waiting by running to my hotel room to get a shirt.” I stare at him as he speaks. He’s confident and easygoing, as if none of this fazes him, but for the briefest flash, I see it there once more: nerves. Something that shouldn’t be in place on a man so self-assured and arrogant, but it plays along the lines of his face all the same, hidden behind that mask of his.

Now, why would a man like Roman DeLuca need fake bravado at all?

“No, I don’t mind at all,” the reporter says, fluttering her lashes.

“Are you two going just to flirt the entire time? If so, I’ve got better things to do,” Tyler snaps, glancing between Rome and the woman, his jaw tight. “Some of us actually take this job seriously, not like some big joke.”

“Ohh, uh, no, I’m so sorry—” the woman says, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“No need to be sorry, Ty’s just grumpy I kicked his ass, is all. Just like the old days, huh, Tyler?” Roman’s gaze has turned to a glare. Tyler’s face goes a bit redder, with embarrassment or anger; I’m unsure. Thankfully, before it can escalate, Courtney points to another reporter to ask a question, and a man stands.

“You got your first win since returning to the circuit—what do you think changed?” the man asks.

To my shock and horror, his face turns toward me, grinning wide, and all the attention in the room zeroes in on me as well. This—the attention, the fame, the spotlight—is very much not part of the plan. I figured I would just fade into the background, a woman in a sport dominated by men, a token player in this game, but he’s putting all eyes on me in a way I don’t know how to feel about.

“Got some worthwhile competition. I wanted to show her what the champion looked like.” Despite my best intentions, a blush burns hot on my cheeks. I’m relieved when Courtney picks another reporter to ask Tyler a question, but even when the attention shifts away from me, I can feel Rome’s eyes on me.

The questions continue for a bit, one reporter asking me how it feels to be the only woman in the circuit, to which I answer diplomatically but honestly: it feels fantastic, and I’m having the time of my life. Before time is up, one last reporter asks Roman if they’ll see him out at the city’s best clubs, and if so, where he’ll be so they can catch him. He tips his head toward them, smirking, all shining bravado and charisma for miles, before shaking his head.

“No, no. I won’t; I’m on my best behavior right now. Gotta be a good boy.” The room erupts in laughter, and Courtney then thanks the reporters for their time before guiding us back into the greenroom. Once the door closes behind us, the mask falls from Rome’s face, frustration replacing the good ol’ boy grin that was just there.

“Okay, who was it?” he says, anger sparking on his face. “Who stole my clothes?” My eyes widen at the quick change.

“What are you talking about?” Oliver asks, looking at Rome with confusion. He’s one of the few drivers who doesn’t seem to have any real issue with Rome. Quickly, I look around the room, desperate to capture the responses of everyone around as I realize what’s happening: I’m witnessing the aftermath of a potential sabotage in real time.

“Someone snuck in while I was showering and stole my clothes like this is some kind of high school bullshit. Now I want to know—who did it?”

“Rome, calm down, I—” Courtney says, her voice appeasing as she reaches for him, but he steps away.

“Someone is trying to fuck with me, and you all can play the game as if it isn’t happening, but I know it is. I’m fucking tired of it. Someone here is fucking with me, and I want to know who it is.”

“Enough with the dramatics, Rome. Not everything is a personal vendetta against you. For all we know, you were still drunk from last night and didn’t remember to bring your clothes into the stall,” Tyler says.

It happens so quickly I almost miss it, but in an instant, Tyler’s back is to the wall, Rome holding him there with a hand on his chest. The room goes utterly silent. Anyone sane would be scared, with a man as big and angry as Rome pinning them to the wall. But Tyler just smiles.

“Not sure how showing up naked and then getting into fights plays into your have to play nice to get back in the big leagues plan,” Tyler taunts as if he couldn’t care less about the threat before him.

Well, well, well. I wonder what that means?

“Is that your plan? Fuck with me, make me lose out on getting back into Indy to make yourself feel better about never being good enough for it?” Tyler’s face transforms, the teasing attitude disappearing as he pushes Rome’s hand off his chest before shoving him away.

“God, you really are so self-obsessed, aren’t you? Not everything revolves around you,” Tyler spits out. Rome slams his palm against the wall, the loud sound filling the room.

“Except I’m the one shit keeps happening to, and no one seems to fucking care.” I try to gauge reactions as quickly as I can, but everyone looks as shocked by this outburst as I am. “Fuck this shit,” Rome says after a moment, stepping back and moving toward the door. He flings it open and slams it shut behind him. The room remains still for long seconds after he leaves.

“What the fuck is his problem?” Jordan murmurs, breaking the silence. It seems to snap everyone out of their frozen state, prompting them to grab their things and start moving.

“Who the fuck knows. I told Phil he shouldn’t be here. He’s a loose cannon,” Tyler says, rubbing at his neck. “He probably isn’t even missing his things, just wants the attention.”

“Not a fan?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“No one is. No one wants him here. He only came because he couldn’t race anywhere else,” Tyler says, shaking his head.

“I don’t know, he seems to have a few friends here,” I say, which is true. During practice, he almost always has a few people around him, chatting and asking questions.

“They’re all idiots who think he’s going to pull them up with him when he goes back to Indy,” Tyler grumbles.

“And you’re not?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.