10. Marco

CHAPTER 10

MARCO

R eality cut in on my dance with Eve — three days in a row of actual work.

Monday was a gym day, full-on with my trainer, going hard on endurance and strength and reflexes. Then after that was a fan meet-and-greet — an hour's Q&A, then an hour for selfies. That second hour ran into two, and when I waved for my agent to rescue me, he pretended not to see.

"It's all good," he said later, over a working dinner. "The happier your fans are, the more merch they buy."

"And the more colds I get. You can't let them in coughing."

"Well, that's on the venue. I don't deal with that."

I bit back a smart remark, not wanting to argue. I just wanted to finish and get back to Eve, but by the time I broke loose she was curled up snoozing. Drained from my day, I lay down beside her, and she cuddled up to me and nuzzled into my chest.

Tuesday was a travel day, back to France. I was driving back, so I left early, with plans Eve would join me for a late lunch. But I got a text from my agent, telling me he'd booked me a shoot, some fashion spread for one of my sponsors. I barely had time to shower and get changed, then I was off again, out to the set.

I always felt awkward on these types of gigs, trying to look natural while they all yelled relax — the client, the photographer, the models, my agent. I posed with my car and holding my helmet, then holding a different helmet because mine pulled focus. Then I posed with my car again, only at night. Then I got a free jacket and promised I'd wear it, and staggered back to what I thought was my hotel. Only, it wasn't. It was where I'd stayed last time. My actual room was halfway across town. I fell into bed around two a.m., and Eve cracked one eye open and went back to sleep.

Wednesday was the gym, then lunch with a sponsor, then some charity thing, reading to children. They laughed at my French. Said I talked like a farmer. I told them I was, or one day I would be, but they still kept on giggling as I read through their book.

Thursday was race day, and I was antsy. I'd had my fill of publicity, of cameras. Of pointless bullshit to eat up my days. I'd woken up early to run off my frustration, but I could still feel it coiled in my gut. A spring wound too tense, ready to snap. When I tried to do my pre-race reading, the words made no sense. Squiggles on the page. I tossed my book in my duffel and headed outside. The sky hung low and heavy, threatening rain. I sniffed the air, frowned, and held my hand out palm-up.

"It won't rain," said Danny.

I jumped. I'd missed him. He'd pulled his chair up under an awning, and apart from his legs, he was shrouded in shadow.

"Lurk much?"

He shrugged. "Are you hoping it will rain or hoping it won't?"

"Hoping it won't, obviously." I sniffed some more. The air had a tang to it like ice over metal. It felt heavy, too, humid and damp. If it did rain, they'd suspend our race. Race cars didn't come equipped with wipers, and they kicked up water as they tore round the track. A good splash on your windshield coming up on a curve, and your visibility dropped to near-zero. I glowered at the sky, and then down at Danny. "I always wondered, y'know, when it rains, do they put off our races to keep us safe? Or because nobody wants to sit outside in the rain?"

"Doesn't matter," said Danny. "It's not going to rain. All the apps say cloudy, but no rain till tomorrow."

I made a dismissive sound and paced up and down, stopping to stretch when I passed Danny.

"You're making me dizzy, all that circling around."

"So don't look at me. Look somewhere else."

Danny let out a whistle. "Somebody's touchy."

"Fuck off, I'm not—" I heard myself and shut up. I was being a dick. "Sorry," I said.

"What's the matter? You nervous?"

I wasn't. This race wasn't special. It was the kind of race that served mostly as training, keeping my wits sharp for my next big event. I had nothing to fret about, but I couldn't sit still. Couldn't get my head to settle.

"You look nervous," said Danny. "Or maybe pissed off."

It wasn't that, either, or not exactly. What I was feeling was a sort of impatience, the same thing I felt at a photoshoot. A bone-deep desire to be somewhere else. But that made no sense, because somewhere else was here. This was where I always wanted to be. Here at the track, unless…

Unless.

It had been four days since Don Giovanni . That'd been a great night, fireworks till dawn, but then I'd been up and straight to the gym. I'd barely seen Eve since then. We'd barely kissed. I was missing her body, her sweet, easy laugh. The way she touched my arm when I got worked up. I was missing her , and that was plain weird. We'd been joined at the hip since the first night I met her, and that should've meant I was ripe for a break. I should've been suffocating, craving alone time, and instead I was starved for her smile. Her touch.

I shook the thought off. That wasn't it either. Yeah, I'd been wanting her. She was hot. Sexy. But what we had was just business, just a fun quid pro quo . She got to prove she'd moved on from her ex. I got to work my way under his skin. I wasn't missing her. That couldn't be it.

"You had that wreck here, huh?"

I spun to face Danny. I'd almost forgotten he was there. And I'd forgotten the damn wreck, and yeah. That was it. It must've been eating me on some subconscious level, unpleasant memories that never quite surfaced. I'd told Eve I was psychic out on the track, that I never smashed up, but I had once, here. It hadn't been too bad, no broken bones. But I'd been sore for days, and my car had been totaled.

"That's right," I said, oddly relieved. For a moment, I'd thought, I don't know. I was getting a preview of heartbreak to come? But that wouldn't happen with me and Eve. I didn't feel suffocated because we had an end date, not because— not because we were somehow special. We were fun, was all, and so would this race be, now that I'd got to the root of my jitters.

"I need to focus," I said. "Good luck out there, yeah?"

Danny sketched a salute. I headed back inside. By the time of the race, my nerves were steady. I wasn't as deep in the zone as I wanted, but I was focused. My head in the game. I kept my eyes on the track and I came in second, a disappointing finish, but not the worst. Eve waved down from the stands, and I waved back, smiling. She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen, and winked. Back in my driver's room, I read her text:

You were thrilling out there. Meet at the hotel?

Anyone else, I'd have sent back an emoji, maybe a dirty one. The flying droplets. For Eve, I sent roses, and two words: Can't wait.

I showered fast and changed, and checked my phone again. Eve had tweeted an action shot of the race, and she'd captioned it so proud of my man! My chest swelled at that, puffed up with pride. I made it across town in under twenty minutes, and Eve met me fresh-showered, warm and dripping. I kissed a drop of water off the tip of her nose.

She smiled. "Did you miss me?"

I kissed her again. "Yes."

Her brows shot up. "Really?"

My face went hot. Had I been too honest? "I've missed this ," I said, teasing, and pinched her taut ass. That got her giggling, and I pushed her robe off her shoulders. I got my hands under it and gave her a tickle. She squealed, ran away. I chased her and caught her. She pushed me back on the bed and I dragged her down with me, and I unwrapped her like a sweet, squirming present. Then she was on me like a starving woman, claiming every inch of me, teasing and tasting. By the time we got through and we lay sated, the moon hung cloud-blurred in a darkening sky. Eve sat up and groaned.

"Have you eaten?"

I realized I hadn't, since before my race. "No. What time is it?"

"I don't know. Nine?" She grabbed her phone and checked it. "No, it's just eight. I'm so hungry it feels later."

I reached for the room service menu and frowned at what I saw: we'd just missed the cutoff, if we wanted dinner. "We'll have to go out," I said.

Eve ran her hand down my naked body like she was considering eating me instead. She leaned down and kissed me, then sat up again. "Yeah, let's go out."

The press caught us again slipping out after dinner, but this time we smiled for them and posed holding hands. We were free and clear, getting into my car, when one last question stopped me in my tracks.

"It's two weeks to your rematch with Prince Rafael. How are you feeling? You nervous at all?"

I'd leaned past Eve to open her door. Now she stiffened beside me. I straightened up.

"I'm not nervous," I said. "To be honest, I'd almost forgotten."

The press crowded in again, microphones bristling.

"Seriously?"

"Aren't you rivals?"

"Aren't you worried he'll be out for revenge?"

I slid my arm around Eve and pulled her closer. Inspiration struck, and I grinned ear to ear. "If he wants to waste his time plotting revenge, that's his problem. For me, when I'm driving, my mind's on the race. And when I'm not…" I paused for effect, my grin turning wicked. "When I'm not driving, well, I've got Eve."

She turned her face up, radiant, glowing. I kissed her long and deep, and it felt amazing. It hit me, why worry? Eve was great — we were great. We wouldn't have forever, but we had now , and right now we were having the time of our lives. Why mess that up with a whole lot of thinking?

She nipped at my lip. I cradled her head in my palm. I let myself ride on that perfect moment, no thoughts for the future or for the past. Only here, only now, only us while we lasted.