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“All right. No need to get pissy at us.” Liam’s last words end that conversation.
I take off in the direction of the Bandini motorhome because I have another round of apologies to get out to Sophie’s dad and the pit crew.
Unlike the last time Maya avoided me, we both keep our distance this time. Me because of shame. Her probably because I gross her out, not that I blame her at all.
The rest of Saturday is uneventful, which fills me with relief. I recover from my awful hangover, trying to overhydrate because race-day conditions are hot and alcohol dehydrates like no other. No doubt I’ll sweat out three pounds of body weight at least.
On race day, I eavesdrop on Santiago and Maya’s conversation, desperate to feel close to her. She keeps her voice low and inaudible. To avoid punching a wall out of frustration, I exit my suite to go to the pit area.
I run through some engine checks and attend a pre-race briefing. Busying myself keeps me from doing something stupid, like finding Maya and giving into her demands while begging for forgiveness. After wrapping up with the top engineers, I head back toward the garage.
I silently curse at Maya sitting next to the computer bay. She wears one of the engineer’s headsets so she can listen in on Santi’s team radio. A churning feeling of jealousy swirls in the pit of my stomach. Being jealous of her brother…a new low.
A lot of contradictory feelings mix inside of my head. Maya rejects me because she wants more than I can give her, but I don’t even know how to try to give her what she wants.
Her vlog camera swings around in full force, filming the busy race-day activities.
I find it difficult to ignore her voice while I discuss the logistics of the car and any last-minute tune-ups. She tours the place and introduces members of the team, a sweet gesture to show off the men and women who are essential to Bandini. Her voice raves about how the crew keeps everything up and running, even introducing them by name, proof of her connection to the team. She has this way of charming people. Unlike me, who has a way of fucking up with people.
I try to hide my shock when she walks up to my car.
“Here we have Slade’s team.”
I see we are back to last names now.
She does a spin to get everyone in the camera shot. “They’re busy doing last-minute checks on his car. He has a big task of catching up to Santiago, Liam, and Jax since he starts in P14 today. It’s his worst start since he began racing in F1. Better luck next time.”
Thanks, Maya. I take it because I deserve it and more.
I wave at the camera as she pans over my car. Her fruity shampoo hits my senses, instantly bringing me back to the other night. Her lips on mine, the sounds she made when I touched her, when I grinded into her. My dick twitches in my race suit. Great.
She moves on to interview one of the head engineers. He subtly checks out Maya’s chest in between questions, and it takes everything in me not to push him away.
Concentrate on your car. You’re about to go race and you don’t have time to worry about her.
I decide to ignore Maya for the rest of the prep. No need for any more distractions, least of all from her since she decided she doesn’t want anything casual. She rejected me. Her loss.
I lose the race big time. But I worked my ass off to get out of
fourteenth position, and considering where I started, I’m happy with placing eighth. Santi and I even get points for the Constructors.
I head to my suite, not wanting to check out the podium celebrations today despite being glad for Jax and Liam. Santiago, too, I guess. But it was a good day for McCoy, which means a bad one for Bandini.
Maya sits out on the empty balcony of the hospitality area, lying across a couch, cellphone in hand. I like to head up here when I have a bad day, but it looks like she beat me to it.
“Was she worth it?” She baits me, not glancing up from her cellphone screen. My irritability grows with every second she refuses to look at me.
“Who?” I play stupid because I don’t want to deal with this shit anymore. We aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend.
“The floozie from last night.”
My lips twitch up at her word choice. “Oh, her.” That gets her to look up at me. I don’t like her stormy gaze, the way she comes off indifferent to a situation that bothers the fuck out of her. I’d rather have her mad at me than feel nothing at all.
I meant it when I said I’m a selfish bastard.
“Yup.” Her lips pop on the last letter.
“She was a decent lay.” I shrug, coming off uncaring, even though my throat feels like I swallowed glass. It feels wrong to lie like this, my words hurting her because I take my anger on myself out on her.
