Page 23 of Cross the Line
But that can’t continue if I’m consistently outperforming him.
I make my way to parc fermé and shut off the car as my side of the garage rejoices over the radio. Soon enough, I join them. I’m embraced by dozens of arms and slapped on the back by what feels like a million hands. It’s not even a podium finish, but for Argonaut, this is fucking fantastic.
Except, they’re not the ones I want to celebrate with first.
I thank all the team members who made this happen while scanning the people in the cordoned-off section of the garage where friends, family and VIP guests watch the race. I can’t deny it – I’m looking for Willow. But Oakley’s face is the first I see.
‘Solid drive, man,’ he says when I make my way over, grinning wide and pulling me to him. ‘Almost made me miss this shit.’
‘We’re all better with you sitting it out,’ I taunt as he joyfully pounds on my back. That earns me a loud laugh and anotherthumpbefore he releases me.
I push my sweaty hair off my forehead, still searching for Willow. I get what I want when a small hand catches my wrist, and then I’m looking down at her beaming face.
‘That was amazing!’ she shouts over the sounds of the crowd outside cheering for the people on the podium.
I laugh as she jumps around in the limited space she has. She’s still the shortest one in the area, even on tiptoes. I’m not the biggest guy either – being any taller or broader would have hindered my racing – but the way Willow is looking at me right now makes me feel seven feet tall.
I’m tugging her to me without a second thought. I wrap my arms around her shoulders as she squeals and complains about how gross I am, but she hugs me back fiercely. For a moment, I forget where we are and who’s watching when I dip my head and brush my cheek against her hair. Like an addict, I inhale, needing a hit of her vanilla sweetness. Until now, I didn’t realize just how much I’d been craving it.
It’s ridiculous that I’ve been reduced to . . .this. Sniffing a girl’s goddamn hair because that scent drags me back to a time when I had my hands all over her.
I pull back and cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look me in the eye. ‘You still want to do this? You want this craziness for a while?’
‘More than anything.’ The brightness reflected back at me nearly makes me lean in so I can see it up close.
I’m grinning wider than I already was – a fucking feat in itself – and shoot her a wink before letting go and turning to the line of people vying for my attention, ready for another round of hugs and shoulder pats. Because if I’d have stared at her any longer, I’d have done something I shouldn’t even be thinking about, especially with her brother standing right beside us.
But soon enough, Oakley will be gone, and the only thing holding me back from doing anythingill-advisedwill be myself. And I’ve never been known for my self-control.
CHAPTER 9
Willow
I’m still high on the adrenaline rush of the Grand Prix as I climb into bed that night.
The spectacle of Formula 1 is in a class all its own. The passion is unmissable, from the drivers to the fans. Getting swept up in it felt like the ultimate privilege. Even the post-race party, once again hosted by SecDark, was alight with the crackling energy of the day, and it was nowhere close to fading by the time I bailed. I would have stayed longer if I didn’t have an early flight out of Nice tomorrow, and if my legs didn’t ache from standing so much today. But I at least got a taste of the elite world before saying my goodbyes.
I’m hooked, no doubt about it, and now I can’t wait for more.
It still blows my mind that I get to enjoy this, up close and personal, for the next few weeks. The work will be undoubtedly hard and the schedule will be gruelling, but I’m ready for the challenge. So much so that I’m a little upset that I have to go back to the States tomorrow and miss out on the Spanish Grand Prix. The silver lining to this sad storm cloud, though, is that I’m flying straight to Texas to visit the Argonaut Racing headquarters, so I get to see where the magic begins.
Unable to shut my brain off after the whirlwind of a day I’ve had, I toss and turn. It’s not only because of the excitement coursing through me from watching the race from the VIP area, though.Maybeit’s a certain memory that keeps playing over and over and over again in my mind – the one when Dev pulled me to him for the sweatiest, hottest (temperature-wise), tightest hug after the race.
And the way he cupped my face like it was the most natural move? Like he didn’t care who was watching? Like I was the only one in the entire garage? Yeah. That’s definitely part of my problem right now.
It was innocent enough; Oakley didn’t even bat an eye. But it felt like so much more. It felt like the moment in the stairwell a few nights after I made the most embarrassing drunken confession of my life – that I had a crush on Dev all through my childhood and teenage years.
If I’m being honest, Istillhave a crush on him, one that has always lingered in the corners of my heart. It’s been locked away for some time now, but it’s still there. It stayed imprisoned when I was with Jeremy, when I fell in love with a boy I thought would treat me well, but it worked its way back into the light once my heart was shattered.
Oakley was there for me in the aftermath, helping me pick up the broken pieces of myself after being cheated on and gaslit. But Dev was there too. Not as often as my brother and definitely not to the same degree – he wasn’t the one who put Jeremy in the hospital with a broken nose and a few cracked ribs. But in little ways, he made a huge difference.
He would text me just to check in and send photos from wherever he was in the world that week. He would email recipes he found when scrolling online, knowing that baking helps calm me when I’m stressed. He even sent me a custom dartboard with Jeremy’s face on it. It was silly and an absolute waste of time and money, but it made me laugh, especially as I threw darts straight at ‘Jeremy’s’ eyes.
Now that we’ll be working together, it’s time to shove that crush back into the darkness. Maybe even add a padlock for good measure. There can be no distractions. Nothing that might sully my professional reputation. This is my chance to prove myself.
Speaking of work, Chava has already sent me the login information for Dev’s social media accounts, and since I can’t sleep, I might as well use this time to scroll through his content. Imayalready be familiar with it, though. At least, I am with everything he posted up until Oakley’s birthday last year, when I either unfollowed or muted him on every platform out of pure shame. That’s why I didn’t see the IYK Quick Results scandal in real time, but I’m kind of glad I missed it.
I haul my laptop over from the bedside table and plop it on my stomach, squinting against the harsh blue light as it turns on. After pulling up a new browser window, I start with Instagram. I type in Dev’s email and password one-handed and hesitate before I clicklog in. I hold my breath as I wait for the page to load and let it out in a groan when red notification dots appear next to nearly every icon.
