17. Brayden

Something has changed. I not sure what it is, but seeing him in that wreck really messed with my head. It brought back a lot of memories, but it also made me realize how fond of Carson I've become.

Which is not great, since we're mixing that with really, really hot sex. I mean, the best sex of my life, if I'm honest. I can't seem to get enough. I find myself wanting to get done racing for the day so I can get Carson alone.

That has never, ever been the case before. I don't really know how to navigate this. I don't think we're in a relationship. I mean, we agreed to keep it casual. But today, we're at a photo shoot—some promo bullshit I've always hated—but I hate it for another reason today.

A whole new reason I never saw coming.

The photographer, who I've known for a while—who has recently had a very public divorce from his husband of three years—cannot seem to keep his damn hands and eyes off Carson.

I'm not jealous.

I'm not.

I don't get jealous. I've never been a possessive lover. But if this fucker sweeps Carson's hair back one more fucking time, I might break his arm off and beat him with it.

So there's that.

"You okay?" Sebastian leans over to ask me, and I can't pry my eyes off Carson and this photographer fucker.

"What?"

"You look like you want to murder someone. And we aren't out on the track, so it's kind of freaking me out," Sebastian says.

I finally pull my eyes away from Carson and eye Sebastian, who's standing there shirtless, with his jumpsuit unzipped and hanging off his hips. They've put makeup on the Pretty Boy to make his eyes pop even more, and he looks goddamn ridiculous, if you ask me. We're racers. We shouldn't have to look pretty for the camera.

But the annual calendar is a best seller, and the proceeds go to charity, so I tolerate it. "I'm fine. I just don't know why the photographer isn't taking the fucking pictures."

Axel—who's dressed just like his husband and standing behind Sebastian—just has to chime in, "Aw, are you a little pissy because he's touching your rookie?"

"He's not my rookie," I grit out.

But my stupid-ass eyes drift back over to him, of course, because I can't seem to keep my eyes off him. I don't like that people are noticing either. I can hear Axel and Sebastian chuckling, but I'm still watching Carson as the photographer leans in and whispers something in his ear. I see red.

"Dude, did you just growl?" I turn to look at Axel, who looks surprised.

Did I?

Shit.

"No. I didn't growl. I just want to get this fucking shoot over with. I want the photographer to take the damn pictures, like it's his—you know—job."

They both snicker, and Axel shoves my shoulder. "Hey, at least your nipples aren't out, man. Mine are about to fall off. It's too fucking cold in here."

"You're always complaining about your nipples," I grumble. Some things never change, I swear.

"Well, your jumpsuit is zipped up." I can't help the smile on my face. We have this same conversation during every shoot.

"I've earned it." I go with my usual response. I look at Carson, whose nipples are also out, his broad muscular chest on display—a chest I had my mouth on only hours ago. He grins at me, like he knows where my thoughts have gone, but I don't smile back.

I'm too pissed off. Wanting to know what that photographer is whispering to him. Wanting to get that motherfucker away from Carson.

Finally, he's able to pry himself away from the rookie and get in some shots before we wrap it up and get to change out of the racing outfits and into street clothes. I'm walking out to my car when Sebastian and Axel race up to me, with Carson and Maverick not too far behind.

"You guys want to go out to that new club in downtown KC?" Axel asks, and I stop walking.

"You two are married. Aren't your partying days over?"

"They're married. Not dead," Maverick says, eyeing me.

Royal, who I didn't see before, catches up to us as we all stand out in the parking lot. "I'm in. Soren is in town, and I'm sure he'll want to go too."

They all seem to be looking at Carson and me now, waiting for us to chime in. Axel wraps his arm around Carson. "What do you say, rookie? Wanna go party? Got your fake ID?"

"Fuck off," Carson says, shoving him away playfully. "I'm legal."

He looks over at me. Is he asking if I want to go? I don't know, but I'm itchy. Wired. Something just feels off for me after this shoot, and all I want to do is get him alone. "We can't," I say, answering for Carson, and I realize that's weird.

Carson looks surprised. "We can't?"

"Since when are you a we?" Sebastian asks, looking way too amused. I want to punch him in his pretty-boy face.

"We aren't," I say defensively. "But we have plans to hang out. We're best friends now, remember?" I try to say it sarcastically, but we are friends. Friends who fuck, yes, but still friends. I have no idea how the hell that happened.

"We do?" Carson says, and I grit my teeth. He's enjoying this.

"Yes," I say through my clenched teeth.

"Jesus, fuck," Royal says. "They're still trying the best friend/mentor angle with you two? When are they going to stop with the roles?"

"Never," Axel says easily. "It works too well. They're eating this shit up."

I grimace, hating that it's just supposed to be a role. We're supposed to be playing up the best-friend roles but kind of crossed a line. I cringe, thinking about what would happen if Jenny found out.

She'll likely kill me. And tell me I should know better.

Which I really should.

Look at today, I'm shaking with barely contained rage, all because the photographer was ogling Carson. I'm a professional. I've been doing this for ten years. This shouldn't bother me, but I'm off-kilter and just want these guys, who are my friends, to go the hell away so I can be alone with Carson.

So I can claim him like a caveman.

Maybe I should go out to a club with them and get far away from this situation. But I can't force myself to do it.

"You guys have fun," I say dismissively, hoping they'll get the point.

Finally, they all leave, teasing me about being an old man, which is totally fine by me. When it's just Carson and me, I look him over, utilizing every bit of strength I have not to jerk him into my arms and tell him he's mine.

He's not yours. I try to remind myself of that.

"Meet me at my place," I demand, and Carson's eyes widen a little. I don't back down though.

He studies me quietly for a moment, and for whatever reason, he only nods instead of arguing with me.

He just climbs on his motorcycle, pulls on his helmet, and then takes off. I climb into my car and head to my house, hoping the entire time he'll be there when I get there.

This is not good.

I'm really losing control here, and I hate it.

But I also can't seem to stop it.