Page 12 of Hook Up

What if all he wants is to love me?

Or what if I’m absolutely off my rocker for considering his proposition?

“Does he belong to you?” Turning my head, I groan at the sight of Austin, barely upright, with vomit down his shirt. At his elbow is Patrick, this evening’s host.

Judging by the grimace on Patrick’s face, he’s none too pleased. With either of us.

With a sigh, I nod. “For tonight, at least. Let me call a cab.”

I search the crowd, but there’s no sign of Ryder. Looks like our private soiree will have to wait until I get Austin home. Nothing like babysitting a thirty-three-year-old man.

This is absolutely the last time I’m going anywhere with this lech.

Grabbing a pen and paper from my bag, I jot down my number, pressing it into Patrick’s hand. “Will you make sure Ryder Gray gets my number?”

Patrick scoffs at my request. “Sure, because you’re the first woman to use that segue.”

“I’m not a fan. I’m a friend.” At his cocked brow, I add, “I’ve known him since he was ten.”

A curt nod. The man doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.

With an exasperated huff, I throw up my hands. “Just give him the number, please. If he doesn’t want it, tell him to chuck it.”

I figure the last line will drive home my point because IknowRyder wants to see me again. Hell, he wants to show me Paris.

Patrick shoves the paper into his pocket, motioning toward Austin. “No problem. Just get this guy out of here. He’s already puked on my rug.”

Austin, you are such an unbelievable pain in the ass.

I scope the penthouse crowd a final time, desperate to find the man who gave me the greatest kisses in all of my thirty years. A man who awakened feelings in me I didn’t know I possessed.

A man I want to know much, much better.

Ryder made me tingle. No one has ever done that before.

But luck isn’t on my side. Ryder is nowhere to be seen, and Austin looks like he’s ready to hurl again. With a sigh, I lead him to the cab, casting one glance over my shoulder as we pull away into the night.

The ball is in Ryder’s court now. I left my number with his friend. It’s up to him to use it.

Chapter 2

Ryder

Eight Years Later…

“Ryder Gray! Ryder Gray!” Fans clamor around me as I exit the restaurant, and I can’t help but wonder about the absurdity of it all. They think I’m a big deal, something more than human.

Maybe it’s because I’m an F1 driver, or because I win—a lot. My female fans claim it’s because of my model good looks and reported prowess in the bedroom.

I’m not denying any of it, but I still don’t understand the adulation.

What I do know is to the outside world, I’m the luckiest guy on the planet. I make a living—a damn fine living—doing what I love. Racing consumes me, which is a good thing, because when you strip away the tours, tracks, and endorsements, there isn’t much left.

The track has been my home since I was a kid; the bleachers and asphalt kept me company when my dad got sick. After he died, it was the only place I found solace.

I guess the women are a perk, too. Don’t get me wrong. It’s fun as hell having my choice of beautiful bodies to warm my bed, but it never gets further than that.

How can it? I still carry a torch for the one that got away.

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