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My eyes had narrowed, and I’d crossed my arms over my chest, not falling in with the bullshit. This conversation could have taken place over the phone. Or in an email. No way had she flown into Michigan, early, to deliver that information, when there were about thirty-seven hundred other things she had to do leading up to the beginning of the season and Daytona—the racebeforeFontana.
“You could have emailed me.”
Apparently, my gritted words had little effect on her. She’d given a tiny, negligent shrug, coupled with a small, flirty smile. “I missed you.”
What the fuck? That seemed to be my main thought of the hour. Seriously, though… What the fuck? A decade older than me, she was way beyond these coed-level games.
“What are you even up to?” I growled. Actually, I knew. She was pounding nails in her professional career’s coffin. “We don’t have a relationship like that—we’re not even fucking friends, Marta, and you know it. I’m your boss, and that’s it. So I’m fucking sorry you hauled ass out here…” Not really. I wasn’t sorry at all; I was pissed. “But you need to leave and find someplace to be—away from me and on your own dime—until you’re supposed toassist meon Friday.”
“Axel,” she simpered.
“Dead serious, Marta. Stop whatever you’re doing. You’re walking a microscopic line as it is. This…whatever it is you’re thinking isn’t up for discussion.”
Her eyes glittered with anger, and she’d huffed. “Coming back to this little hole in the wall place certainly hasn’t improved your attitude at all. You’re usually more…”
She waved a hand as if to finish the thought.
My brow lifted. “Tractable? Spiritless? Beaten down? Under my uncle’s boot? Spineless? Yeah. Maybe, my vision and motivations are a little clearer than they have been in a while. For a lot of things.”
Her eyes widened just slightly before she’d clamped down on her reaction, hiding it behind the plastic mask she generally kept in place.
“You need to leave,” I’d continued.
“I just got here. We haven’t even—”
“Have you been listening to me at all? Get. Out. I’ll check my email, andthat’s it.”
Now, almost an hour later, while I waited for Bristol to come out, I took deep breaths and tried to clear the annoyance still seething through me. I couldn’t be agitated around Bristol; things were on edge enough as it was.
Marta’s appearance had reminded me of one thing, though. One thing I was hard pressed to forget. I had precious little time with Bristol before I had to hit the circuit again. It made me ache. It made me worry. I needed her, and I wasn’t sure I could easily say goodbye to her again. Ever. And that was with her barely giving me the time of day at the moment. Once I got past her defenses, it would be a thousand percent harder to leave her. That didn’t stop my determination to press forward with my campaign.
Bristol would be mine again.
Hell, technically, she was still mine.
I cared about her. I wanted her. Hell, she was married to me whether she knew or not. Which circled me back to the knowledge that plagued me. It had been in the forefront of my thoughts for days, and it wouldn’t subside.
It pushed to the center of my awareness again when I’d texted our friends, knowing we’d hang out with the people who’d been there when the wedding had occurred. My thoughts didn’t abate when Bristol emerged from her room, looking fucking sexy in jeans and a silky pink blouse that draped alluringly over her breasts. I helped her into her coat, wanting to touch her, to thrust my hands into her hair and kiss her until we forgot anything but our bodies coming together. My need taunted me when we got into the car where her floral scent reminded me of what I couldn’t have.
My fingers drummed restlessly on the steering wheel. We were in her little lime-green sedan, which gave me a little more leg room than the silver roller skate. She’d agreed to let me drive, after a short discussion—i.e. me begging. I hated the rental, but I also hated being a passenger. Driving put me in control and gave me something to do. What could I say? When it came to cars, I had control issues.
Still, the distraction of navigating to the bar didn’t erase the worry that gnawed at my insides like a plague.
“Will I to have to deal with a boyfriend showing up to kick my ass?” I finally asked her, wondering if I’d be facing a bar fight tonight when someone challenged me over her. It wasn’t my main concern. I’d win. Hands down. No matter who the guy was. However, getting in a fight would be the opposite of the press I was supposed to be garnering.
Not that I gave a shit about press, tonight. Seeing my potential replacement would destroy me in ways I didn’t want to contemplate—yet, I had been thinking of it. Relentlessly.
Bristol snorted, the sound half-strangled in the darkness of the car as she made a half-ass attempt to hold it back.
“I don’t think many people in Cherish Cove could kick your ass, Ax.”
“Yeah, but… Will there a problem with the asshole you met for coffee after work last night?”
She was silent for a moment, the quiet a knife on my skin. Fuck. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. My knuckles turned white, and the cover she had over it creaked beneath the pressure. I deserved this. I’d brought this on.
Fuck.
Clarity slapped me harder then than ever before. In the silence, the stray gravel on the road crunching beneath the tires of the vehicle, I knew I couldn’t lose her.
