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I let this sink in. Max said my name in his sleep? I wonder when. “Well, whatever. Because we’re not having sex. Tonight or any other night. I’m over him.”
“Mm-hmm. We’ll see,” she hums.
Anh knows the incredible chemistry between me and Max and probably suspects (correctly) that I’m in denial.
“Nope. You know my dating record.”
She snorts. “Max was way better than that string of tech guys you dated. Remember the time Bryce and I met you and that bro for dinner in San Francisco?”
I squint. “The guy who wore the stained hoodie?”
“No, that guy was kind of okay, even though he communicated only in monosyllables. I was thinking of the man who wouldn’t stop talking about Steve Jobs. Remember how he showed us all those photos of the time he went to Jobs’s house? Then he seemed offended when he said his company was selling for ten million, and we weren’t superimpressed.”
I grimaced. There had been a time when I tried, hard, to find a partner in Silicon Valley. “It was difficult to be impressed when the man ate pasta with his hands.”
Anh folds over with laughter, shaking and snorting. She’s one of those people whose laugh is infectious, and I can’t help but chortle.
“They were all losers. Max isn’t a loser, but our romance is firmly in the past. I’m serious.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll believe you for now. But I want a full report every day, because I have a feeling things are going to change. And Max has impeccable table manners, so keep that in. mind. Listen, I have to meet up with a sponsor. Coffee, tomorrow? Text me.”
We do an exaggerated air kiss, keeping a foot away from each other—we’d done this for years—and she bounces off.
For the rest of the party her words echo in my ears. Is it possible that Max is truly a reformed fuckboy? And why do I care so much?
Chapter Sixteen
MAX
I flop around on the sofa in the hotel suite, trying to get comfortable. It’s ten at night and I haven’t yet heard from Lily. Her stuff was delivered two hours ago, and Tanya had told me earlier that Lily had showered at the track and gone directly to the sponsor dinner, and that she had a key to the suite.
I really shouldn’t care so much, but I do. I’m kicking myself for inviting her here, and haven’t yet told Lucas. He’s at a meeting with the other driver’s assistant tonight, and has expressly told me to stick to my diet and get a decent night’s rest. My Tex-Mex dinner of vegetarian chili con carne was outstanding, although eating it alone in the hotel room was a bit of a downer.
Annoyed at myself, I flip through the TV channels, wishing I’d been assigned to that dinner at the taqueria. But according to my contract I only have to do two sponsor dinners per race, and this isn’t my night. I’d insisted on two nights off before each race, and normally I like the downtime, chilling in the hotel room, meditating and exercising, and catching up on much needed sleep.
I flip to ESPN, and the talking heads are chattering about basketball. I only half listen, because I’m wondering how Lily is doing at the party. She’s not really a social creature, and she normally shied away from such events back when we were together.
There’s a sound at the door, like the lock is disengaging, and I sit up and grab my water. Then I realize I look too eager, and set down the bottle and sprawl back into the plush cushions. Better to have her think I’m half asleep, or engaged in the program.
She peeks in and enters quietly.
“Hey, there,” I say.
She jumps, startled, and presses a hand to her chest. “Oh! I didn’t see you there in the dark. Gosh.”
“Sorry that I startled you.” I sit up.
Her eyes dart around the room, and I stand up, then realize I’m not sure what I should do once I’m on my feet. I’m wearing gray sweatpants so I can’t even stuff my hands in my pockets. Holy shit, she looks incredible in those tight jeans and red boots.
“Someone from the team delivered your suitcases,” I say, wanting to be helpful. As angry as I still am about our breakup, I’m genetically incapable of being nasty to her.
“Oh, good.” She lets out a breath. “All I want is to take a real shower and go to bed. I feel a headache coming on.”
“Those dinners can be really stressful. How was it?”
“It was quite nice. I caught up with Anh. The tacos were amazing. They were street tacos. I ate, like, ten of them.”
Laughter slips out of my mouth. “You ate ten of those big stuffed things?” I hold my hands about a foot apart.
