Page 72 of Downforce

“It’s race weekend,” she says by way of an answer. “You’re busier than I am.”

I shrug. “All I do is sit in a car, press a pedal, and hope it stays on the track.”

She rolls her eyes while a smirk plays on her lips. “You’re so full of it,” she mumbles.

“And you need to eat.” I take her by the arm and guide her to a chair. I’m satisfied when she doesn’t pull away even as I allow my fingers to linger on her skin.

“Duck?” She eyes the meal when I remove the lid from the platter.

“You never answered when I asked if there was anything that you didn’t eat. And last year at the post season gala you thoroughly enjoyed the duck that was served for dinner.”

It’s not until the ensuing silence once I’ve plated Annalise’s food and placed it in front of her that I pause to find her staring at me.

“What?”

“You were watching me?”

I swallow, dropping my gaze to my own plate.

“I’ve always watched you,” I admit more to myself than to her.

I’ve replayed the years in my mind repeatedly over the past couple of months. There was rarely an event, race, or photoshoot where she was in attendance that I didn’t find my attention on her in one way or another.

“You do like duck, don’t you?” I ask when she simply continues to stare.

“I do.” I watch her as she cuts into a slice of the meat on her plate and then brings it to her mouth. Her eyelids droop, and her lips push out a—clear sign that she’s enjoying it.

Satisfied, I finally take a bite from my own plate.

We eat in relative silence, sneaking looks across the table at one another. Not so much sneaking on my part. I blatantly watch her eat because this is the first time that I get to watch her without consideration for who else is around.

My gaze lands on the freckle on her left eyebrow and lingers there.

“You’re being creepy.” She squirms in her chair then points at my plate with her fork. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

“I’m not that hungry.” I don’t take my eyes off of her.

“You need your energy for tomorrow.”

In the minutes she’s been in my room, I came close to forgetting where the hell I am and why I’m here.

“Your practice laps today looked good,” she comments.

“Were you watching me?”

The question earns me another eye roll. “Everyone in the Amato garage was watching you. It’s kind of our job.”

I don’t bother reminding her that it’s not quite her job. Mainly because I don’t want to bring up the source of her conflict in being here with me, and because I don’t want her thinking about anyone but me right now. Selfish bastard that I am.

“Then you’ll be watching tomorrow, won’t you?”

“I’ll be there,” she answers noncommittally.

“Will you be cheering for me?”

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because you should want to cheer for the most technically skilled driver on the grid.”