Jax and I spend our free time relaxing in the McCoy motorhome suite area. I lie on a gray leather couch, scrolling through my phone, passing the time before the Russian Grand Prix practice round. Shanghai finished on a high note. The weekend went by fast with a bonus of spending time with Sophie.
Sweet Sophie with lips meant for kissing and a body made for fucking. The girl who looks at me with wide eyes whenever I flirt with her, tempting me to give up on my dry spell. The same one who’s popped into my mind over the last week more times than I care to admit.
My phone vibrates. A new text from Claudia lights up my phone, disgust sitting heavy in my stomach as I open another unwelcome message.
“Claudia sent me another nude.” I delete the picture before it saves onto one of the clouds.
Jax grunts before taking a swig of his water. “Mate, she’s obsessed with you. I thought she would let go of it by now. It’s been two months already.”
A groan escapes my lips as I try to wipe away the mental image of Claudia lying down in bed without clothes. My life has become a recurring nightmare of unsolicited photos, trashy articles, and ridiculous press releases.
“I didn’t want to block her number, but I don’t have a choice. I pray she doesn’t come to any races because I can’t handle that type of crazy.”
Jax winces as he runs a tattooed hand through his hair. “Sucks how you can’t tell McCoy about it with her being Peter’s niece and all.”
“I’ve told my agent, but he tells me not to cause waves during a signing year. He wants to make sure I get the best contract deal out of this. So, it’s just me and my right hand, till death do us part.” I wiggle my hand at Jax.
He barks out a laugh as he throws a pillow at me. “Keep that shit to yourself. No one needs to know about your sad masturbation schedule.”
“This is my life now. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Either you’re amazing in bed, or she’s plain crazy.” Jax cracks up at my frustration. Asshole.
“I don’t see why it can’t be both.” I smother my head with a pillow to tune out Jax’s roar of laughter.
The sponsor gala for the Russian Grand Prix keeps the vodka flowing, therefore supplying me with a buzz to make it through the night. Small talk sucks. I schmooze for a good hour before I itch for fresh air.
I walk out onto the venue’s balcony, taking in a panoramic view of the Sochi mountain ranges. My head snaps toward the sound of ice clinking against a glass.
I stroll toward the woman, recognizing whom the blonde head of hair belongs to. The dimly lit patio basks Sophie in a soft glow and emphasizes how her dress clings to her silhouette. Like a beacon of light enticing me with her back displayed, she teases me with the sparkling material dipping low and hugging her ass. My fingers yearn to drag themselves across every bump in her spine. I tuck my hands in my pockets to resist the urge. Lately, I’ve exercised enough self-control to rival a monk.
As if Sophie senses my gaze, she looks over her shoulder, hitting me with an expressionless face. She acts like an ice queen with no readable emotions. I let out a low laugh when she knocks back the remaining contents of her drink—her only fucking tell. She abandons the empty cup on a nearby table before she leans against the balcony’s railing and looks toward the sky.
“What are you doing out here?” I walk over to her, eliminating the space between us. Just because I can’t touch her doesn’t mean I can’t get close.
“One of my favorite things is to stargaze. I love to see the moon and stars, but it’s hard out here with all the light pollution. Did you know some towns are creating lighting restrictions to protect the nighttime environment and prevent the issue?”
“Can’t say I knew that. I would’ve never pegged you as a night lover.”
Her laugh has an airiness to it. I wouldn’t mind making her laugh again, liking the sound almost as much as her voice. “I am, but I’ve made myself into a morning person. I’ve got a schedule to keep and whatnot with school and studying. These events are way past my bedtime.”
“Ah. So, let me guess. You like to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn, follow a tightly bound schedule, and go to sleep before midnight. Like clockwork. Rigid, high-strung, and sex-free. That type of thing,” I half joke.
“Routines aren’t always a bad thing. It’s the unknown we have to watch out for.” She eyes me curiously, as if she wants to get a read on me. “But during the summer, I love staying up late and laying out by the pool in my backyard sometimes. I stare into the dark, thinking about my day, like what went right or wrong. Maybe an occasional wish whispered up to whoever listens.” Her wistfulness stirs up something in me.
My limited attention span focuses on other things she may do under the night sky. I might be suffering from a temporary lapse of judgment.
She shifts her body to face me, giving me a full view of her as her eyes roam over my body. I stand taller at her perusal, my lips lifting at the corners. A beaming smile graces her face when she catches the sneakers I wear with my suit. I tend to be a boy at heart, ditching classic shoes for white sneakers with a snake embossed design on the side.
“They let you wear shoes like that?” Her voice rasps.
“I copied the look from a girl who preferred sneakers with dresses over heels and gowns.” I lean on the railing and stare at her.
She laughs as she pulls up the hem of her long gown to reveal a pair of white leather sneakers with embroidered stars. Fuck me. While all the women inside limp from too-tight shoes, she wears comfortable sneakers hidden from the world. And for the first time, I don’t prefer fuck-me heels. I want a pair of tan legs and silver starred sneakers wrapped around my waist instead.
“I may have traded kid costumes for ball gowns, but I never gave up on the sneaker trend.” She drops the hem of her dress again, my eyes lingering on her hidden legs before meeting her gaze.
Damn, I enjoy her presence way too much. My reaction to her is screwing with me because I can’t remember the last time I had this easygoingness with a girl.
Like a knee-jerk reaction, the memory of Johanna draws a sharp pain straight to my chest. Fuck that. Not going there.
I ignore the sensation, pushing away the idea of Sophie reminding me of Johanna. “Quite the pair, you and I.”
She scoffs. Fucking hell, no charms work on her.
“Are you always such a flirt?” Her eyes twinkle, light reflecting off them like she stole the stars she loves so damn much.
“Usually, but I’ve been keeping myself locked up this season. This is my no-no square. No girls can touch me here.” I gesture toward the lower half of my body while shaking my finger at her.
Sophie drops her head back and laughs. She’s a beautiful sight, her cautiousness abandoned, the curve of her throat gaining my attention. Shame I can’t see more of her out here. I rely on my other senses, breathing in her scent of coconuts. Is it her lotion? Her perfume? And why the fuck does it turn me on?
“You should wear a sign, so everyone knows you’re not up for grabs. It’ll get the message across better for unsuspecting women. You know, because you’re…” She waves over my body like that explains everything.
“Are you trying to hint at how you find me good-looking?”
Her face snaps forward as she shakes her head. “Uh, no. You’re not my type.”
“So, you’re not into handsome men?”
She snorts. Fucking snorts. I can’t believe I find it cute. It’s unlike any other woman who hangs around me, groomed to perfection and putting on a show.
“No, I am. But I also like good guys.” Her hands fidget before she grips the handrail.
I can be a good guy when I want, and compared to Noah, I classify myself as a saint. Well, a saint who sins, but a saint nonetheless.
“You know what they say about nice guys is a lie, right?” I enjoy the look of surprise on her face a little too much.
Her eyes enlarge and her lips part as her ice queen façade melts away. “What do you mean?”
“Unlike nice guys, bad boys always finish last. Every. Single. Time. And there are plenty of repeats.” My hand has a mind of its own, running down her arm and leaving goosebumps behind.
Her breath catches at my words, encouraging me to get more responses from her. Fuck the repercussions. Touching isn’t fucking, so I’m not breaking my deal yet. My skin buzzes when my knuckles graze her face.
A sigh escapes her lips, tempting me to kiss her, to put our connection to the test. Uncertainty bubbles inside of me, not quite sure what to make of my attraction toward her. I’m dancing on a fine line between giving into my desires and holding true to my promise of behaving.
I pull away to avoid kissing her.
“Bad boys are overrated.” She rolls her eyes, clearly ignoring her response toward me.
“But I thought you wanted to branch out. Especially with your list and all.”
Her fucking list. My dick stirs at the thought of some of the items.
Sophie has the innocent look down, all dimples and almond-shaped eyes, but her list tells a different story I want to know better. I want to feed my craving to explore her body. To learn more about the woman who loves the night sky, who stares up at the stars and makes wishes, unfortunately very aware of things lurking in the night. Bastards like me who want to seduce her and bring her to the dark side. I’d fuck her under her precious sky, making sure the only thing she wishes for is my cock and multiple orgasms.
My mind runs faster than my race car. I miss half of whatever comes out of Sophie’s mouth.
“…No one else knows about it, so you need to keep quiet. Do not tell anyone. You weren’t even supposed to find out, but since you’re too damn nosey for your own good, now you know.” She shifts her weight about, showing how flustered she is about her error. What a fantastic mess she made.
A grin crosses my face. “I’m going to enjoy this little secret between us.”
“You really aren’t going to let my list go, are you?”
“Nope. Now tell me, why did you create this dirty list of yours? Did you get tired of fingering yourself at night, hoping for a better tomorrow?”
She laughs and pinches my arm, the throaty sound hitting me straight between the legs. My cock stirring at a modest touch sets off a bunch of alarms I choose to ignore.
“Who says I do that to begin with?” Her dimples pop as she smiles at me.
I give her a pointed look, silently telling her not to insult my intelligence. “A man like me senses these things. You being a single woman in your early twenties with no boyfriend means you gets off somehow.”
“One: how do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”
“I think your list gives you away. If you did have a boyfriend, please dump him because if he can’t make you come from oral sex, he’s not worthy.”
Sophie laughs to the point of coughing. “Okay. Good point. Well, I created my list because I got tired of university boys disappointing me and barely living my life outside of the library. I saw some bucket lists, got drunk while writing mine, and here I am.”
What really sticks out to me and my dick is how she mentions university idiots. “What type of guys did you date in college?”
“None since I wouldn’t count a few dates as ‘dating’ really.” She sighs.
Sounds like a sore subject for Little Miss Perfect over here.
“Please tell me they got the job done, at least?” I clench my hands while I wait for her answer, battling between wanting to know and not all at the same time. What the fuck is going on with me?
Her sudden intake of breath tells me that she knows what I mean. “Nope.”
“I must apologize for men everywhere and make it up to you with multiple orgasms and kisses that leave you breathless. Say the words and I’ll be your humble servant who makes it my job to help you.” I give her a little bow before popping back up again. The ice around my heart chips away at the small smile she sends my way, breathtaking yet cautious, reaching her alluring eyes.
Alluring eyes? Damn, Liam, go get your balls back.
“As enticing as your offer sounds, you need to keep your no-no square to itself. Thanks, though.”
Of course, I should listen and keep to myself, but my brain enjoys the tug-of-war going on inside of me. I battle between not becoming another sleazy gossip headline while wanting to spend more time with Sophie.
Maybe I’m lonelier than I realize. A potentially terrible idea hits me out of nowhere, but it seems like a decent plan.
“I want to add something to your list.” I bet she has it on her, stuffed away in her purse, her dirty secret following her wherever she goes.
Her eyes blink back at me a few times.
“Go on a date with a bad boy.” I shoot her a wide smile.
“No way. We’re not messing up the list. It’s already typed, so no can do. Better luck next time. Maybe with someone else who wants your help.” She shakes her head rather aggressively.
I intertwine my fingers with hers on the handrail. Warmth trails up my arm to my chest, an unrecognizable sensation possibly due to a few too many vodka straights clouding my head and my judgment. My thumb runs over her knuckles in a mindless pattern matching her shallow breathing.
“Seems like you’re scared of going on a date. Are you not sure you’ll be able to control yourself around me?” I want to poke the rebel inside of her. For whatever reason, I’m not sure. Maybe for the fun of it or maybe to see what happens once she finally lets loose.
My hand squeezes hers before letting go. I turn toward her, my hand retreating into my suit’s pocket.
Her eyes narrow. “No, I’m not scared of you. Some people happen to be immune to your charms. Shocker, I know. I should consider myself lucky, unable to be moved by the ultimate heartbreaker.”
Shit, I’d like to kiss the smirk right off her face. Immune, my ass. “Heartbreaker, huh? Are you reading articles about me? Don’t tell me you’ve been obsessed with me since we first met. I’m not into stalkers, but I could make an exception for you.”
She presses a palm against her chest, batting her lashes. “You caught me. I was biding my time, hoping we’d run into each other years later. I thought we’d walk off into the sunset by now, but maybe Disney was off with the timing. Their wooing period for romances usually lasts a weekend, tops.”
Damn, my face hurts from smiling so hard. “Say yes to a date, and maybe our timeline will move up. But let’s skip the romance and go straight to the fantasy suite.”
What the hell am I doing? I wish I could understand my motives, but I tend to be a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy.
“I hope you know the fantasy suite is from The Bachelor, not Walt Disney. And nope, we can’t happen.”
Time to revise and revisit because I don’t take no for an answer. I take yeses breathlessly moaned into my ear as I pound into a woman. My favorite kind of affirmatives.
My lips tip. “Fine, then let’s make a bet. You have nothing to lose if you win.”
It appears that I found Sophie’s weakness, with the look on her face at the word bet telling me she likes to win almost as much as I do. She licks her lips at the notion of getting the upper hand on me.
Un-fucking-likely.
“You go on a date with me if I place on the Russian GP’s podium.” I have a complete crash and burn past with the track, but the one thing I love more than a race is a challenge.
I don’t think things out because I don’t care. At least not when I have an innocent interest in spending more time with her. It’s not a big deal.
She shrugs. “Since you never make it on that podium to begin with, I’ll agree.”
“There you go again making me wonder if you’ve been keeping tabs on me over the past couple of years.”
“More like my dad sends me pictures of the Bandini racers winning every time. Last time I checked, I don’t remember a certain blonde German ever placing in Sochi. But of course, your ego is insufferable.” She fights a smile.
“If you want pictures of me on podiums, all you have to do is ask.”
She waves me away. “One date. No more than that.”
“Give me the list.”
“Can’t we just have a verbal agreement? Why ruin the perfectly typed paper?”
“You’re going on a date with a bad boy, whether it’s me or someone else, so you might as well add it.” Okay, I’m bluffing because her date is definitely going to be with me.
She pulls out the list from her clutch. “I hate that you need to write on it.”
I grunt as I grab the sharpie from her hand and solidify our deal. My handwriting contrasts against the practical font she picked out, marking the bottom of the page.
I smirk at the symbolic evidence of my corruption. It doesn’t take a genius to know Sophie’s history in the bedroom, or lack thereof, is the reason she started this crazy list in the first place. Her life has been plagued with shitty sex and shittier fake orgasms.
I make it my duty to do right by Sophie in the name of orgasms and perfectionists everywhere. The list she holds in her small hand hints at her rebelliousness, and I want to draw it out. Fuck, this racing season will be a hell of a lot more fun with her around.
The next day, I attend all my pre-race meetings with the utmost enthusiasm. I have a bounce in my step, my previous annoyance with the team disregarded as I get ready to take on the Sochi circuit like the Champ I can be. My bet with Sophie pushes me to succeed.
After our agreement, I spent hours reviewing tapes of my practice rounds and team notes of ways to improve. An embarrassing fact I’ll keep to myself.
My car lands a P3 spot after my impressive qualifier on Saturday. I act like a brand-new man in the pit, no longer nervous about impressing the team, choosing to check in with engineers about my demands with the car. There’s no time for my self-conscious shit when I have an end goal in mind.
Unfortunately for the other teams, the better the car, the better you race. McCoy has one of the fastest cars in the whole organization, which means I’m set for success.
On Sunday, I’m pumped and ready to perform my best. I thrum my gloved fingers against the steering wheel of my car as mechanics push me toward the grid, the crowds cheering as they set me up. Energy hums around me while mountain views greet me.
Crew members assist the rest of the racers throughout the grid, creating a crisscross pattern of twenty multicolored cars. Mechanics scatter once they get the all-clear.
Lights illuminate above us before they cut off. The engine roars as my foot presses against the throttle, my gloved hands clicking corresponding buttons on my steering wheel to change gears. My car surges down the runway and hits the first straight in a rush. A buzz runs through my body, unlike any high, adrenaline coursing through me as my heart beats against my chest. It’s a feeling I want to chase for the rest of my life.
The car runs smoothly against the curves of the track. I tend to be a slick asshole on the road, pushing myself to the limit for a win, both physically and mentally.
Jax stays ahead of me by a few seconds. I push my car forward, my front wing inching toward Jax’s rear wing. We turn in a synchronized move before I use the loss of speed to my advantage. My car zooms past his before I cut in front of him, the dirty air messing with his speed, pushing him into third place.
I keep alert as I hold on to my newly secured second-place position. A podium finish never sounded as good as it does today, especially with a bet on the line.
Once I drive into the pit, the team controls my fate with their speed of tire changes. Crew members complete their job in two seconds flat, and I speed down the pit lane, not wanting many drivers to get in front of me.
I catch up to Noah soon after, regaining my second-place spot. Noah and I dance around each other in a messed-up salsa, dangerously close as we hit a straight section in unison before heading toward the next turn. Neither one of us is willing to pull behind the other. His tire clips mine at one of the turns, nearly causing me to spin out. Fucking bastard. I pull my car back as I flip him off with a gloved finger.
“Liam, any damage?” Chris’s voice sounds off in my earpiece.
“Let me pull over and check it out.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
“I don’t know what lit a fire under your ass but keep it up. You may redeem your Sochi shittiness.” Chris mutes himself.
“Fucking better.” Labored breaths escape my mouth. People underestimate the physical exhaustion that comes with driving these cars, with racers sweating worse than a husband filing for a divorce without a prenup.
The crowd screams over the howls of the car engines. By lap fifty-two, I have a podium finish in the bag. The thought of winning the bet makes me grin behind my helmet.
I raise a fist in the air as my car crosses the finish line. Looks like I secured a date with the hottest girl in Bandini and landed myself on the podium—two wins worth chugging champagne.
I take the stage with Santiago and Noah. Maya and Sophie hang out in the VIP area off to the side of the stage, watching us from afar. Podium ceremonies include a few of my favorite things: winners, exploding champagne bottles, and fans. Music booms from the stage speakers, drowning out screams from the crowd.
A few F1 attendants pass us massive bottles of champagne. Noah, Santi, and I shake the bottles before the resounding pop fills the air. We spray the crowds and each other with the contents before we chug any remaining liquid.
From across the event, I point the tip of my bottle at Sophie. My jaw hurts from smiling so damn much. Screw ramifications. Abstinence deserves a small reward, and I’m ready to claim my prize.
