Page 60 of Kiss & Collide
Inside the nightclub, the room was glass-walled, with low, curved couches on the edges for table service. Groups of people—mostly drivers with their entourages—occupied most of those. The bar opened out onto a wide terrace on three sides, the “prow” and sides of the “ship” that made up the top of the SkyPark, which spanned the tops of three hotel towers. More people were out there, enjoying the stunning three-sixty views of the Singapore skyline at night. A DJ had been set up in one corner of the terrace, surrounded by a dance floor.
“Chase!”
He turned at the sound of his name. René Denis, one of the most famous former Formula One world champions, was sitting at one of the banquets, with a small group of people. René lifted his champagne glass to him. “Come have a drink with us?”
Six months ago René didn’t even know Chase’s name. Now, he wanted to hang with him.
Surreal.
He shook his head. “Maybe later. I’m looking for someone.”
He made his way slowly through the crowd, people stopping him every couple of feet. He finally caught a glimpse of the jet-black swish of Violet’s long hair in the cluster of people dancing. She was with Mira Wentworth. He’d met her once briefly last season in Melbourne. She’d been with Violet, he remembered now with some amusement. It was wild, how much had changed for him since then.
At the edge of the dance floor, he found a spot by the glass half wall ringing the terrace. Violet was in the middle of the crush of people out there, arms over her head, eyes closed, blood-red lips curved in a smile as she danced to the thumping techno beat. Her dress was the same blood-red as her lips. He watched her, smiling to himself. She’d probably groused about dancing, but she looked to be enjoying herself nonetheless.
As much as she tried to hide behind that steel-plated armor of hers, he knew her better than she could guess.
And helikedher.
She kept insisting it was just sex, but that was bullshit. He knew it even if she didn’t. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, to herself or to anyone else.
In his pocket his phone pinged with yet another text. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Madison again.
Really looking forward to seeing you in London. Have a great night.
As much as he liked Madison, he felt no anticipation about seeing her in London. You can’t help who you’re drawn to, who you like, who you want.
And he wanted someone else—he wanted Violet.
He pocketed his phone, leaving Madison on read.
Now he just had to convince Violet to want him back. And not just in bed. That part was easy. Having her for more? Having an actual relationship with her? That was a lot harder. And she was going to fight him like hell.
Why did he always do this to himself, choose the most difficult path out of every option available? But it was definitely a pattern with him. As a racing-obsessed teenager back home in Chicago, he could have set his sights on NASCAR and probably had a successful career in half the time with one-tenth of the struggle. But Formula One had always been his dream, so Formula One was the goal he had set for himself.
He could date Madison Mitchell, beautiful, fun, available, and alegit movie star. Instead he found himself fixated on this prickly, defensive porcupine of a woman, one who guarded her secrets and her heart like a dragon guarding his lair.
Good thing he was determined.
Out on the dance floor, Mira turned and said something in Violet’s ear. Violet nodded and they started weaving their way through the crowd.
“Hi,” he said to them as they approached. Violet was flushed from dancing, pink suffusing her pale skin, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her in the middle of this crowded room.
“Nice to see you again, Mira.”
“Same. Congrats. Nice race today.”
“Thanks.” Chase raised his hand to summon a passing waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. “Take one. We’re celebrating.”
“Thanks, but I have to go find my dad.” Mira waved her phone. “Duty calls. Violet, dinner in London?”
“Absolutely. I’ll text you.”
Mira disappeared into the crowd.
“What are we celebrating?” Violet asked.
“Well, aside from my fucking astounding twelfth-place finish, how about this?”
