Page 23 of Tipping Point

I nod.

“Why’d you leave Velocity?”

“My contract ended. They opted not to renew.” I can hear how dead my voice is. She looks at me earnestly.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“For what?”

“Oh. Nothing.” She blanches and looks down at her notes. “And after Peakstone, you got the contract at Delta Victor?”

I nod again.

“It says you had a massive crash in your fourth year of racing.”

I nod again. Set down my glass. Look down the aisle towards the front of the plane. Anywhere but at her.

“You’re a solid driver.” She states it. It’s not a question.

I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

I take another sip.

“Never married?”

I shake my head.

“No supermodel arm candy?”

It makes me smile, almost.

“No. No supermodel arm candy.”

“Guy like you earning what you do shouldn’t be too hard to find someone to hang around.”

“I’m earning a tenth of what I used to earn, racing for Velocity. Besides…” I take another sip, then drain the glass. “I couldn’t ask that from someone.”

It’s either having a family, or racing.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “I don’t mean to pry.”

She’s a journalist. Of course she means to pry. I shrug her off.

I would never ask that of a woman, much less a woman like her.

How enthralled she is with mundane life; how different her perspective is on everyday things. I wonder if she loves like that, effortlessly and freely. Suddenly, I’m angry again. My hands on the glass are steady, not a tremor in sight.

I’m furious.

I want her furious, too.

“I like to fuck.” I place the crystal champagne glass neatly on the food tray and turn my shoulders, so that I’m squaring off against her. “But I have nothing to offer women, long term.”

Her eyes go from a merry brook to a stormy sea.

Her hair looks like a halo around her head, and I watch as a glorious, furious red blush blooms up her neck, over her cheeks.

She’s angry all right.

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