Page 31 of Rear View
The Civic Centre was packed. The rumble of engines and buzz of voices filled the place, echoing off the rafters a hundred feet overhead. Our car sat on a purple velvet platform, set above everything else. Lights angled up, showing off the sleek lines. Alec and I stood beside it, taking pictures with fans, and answering questions. It was strange; people looking at me like I was someone who mattered.
I checked my phone. Ryah might be here soon. Shit, I hoped she was.
Trina’s heels clacked when she sashayed over, her pink dress tight, little and way too much. A camera crew trailed twenty feet behind her, the red Edgewater Sports Network logo on their lanyards.
“Alec, Xavier,” she said. “ESN has requested an interview.”
Straightening, I grinned.
Trina might’ve been a lot, but I couldn’t deny, she was good at gettin’ us attention.
The questions were rapid-fire: What’s your favorite track? Favorite car? Drivers who inspired you? Goals? Training regimen? Are you excited for your first race in the WRC?
Alec and I took turns answering. It sounded good and felt weird as hell.
“And last question,” the interviewer said. “What’s the top skill needed for a race car driver?”
That one was easy. “Stayin’ calm. There’s no room for panic. When stuff happens, your head’s gotta be clear.”
The guy clicked the mic off. “Great job!”
With that, they left, and Trina followed while something pulled my focus. My stare pushed through the crowd until it landed on her—the prettiest woman in the building. In the goddamn city. Country. Christ, ever!
Ryah walked toward me, those copper eyes bright when they locked with mine, cheeks turning a wicked shade of pink the longer I held her gaze. She tugged the sleeves of her hoodie, her head tilting down as she smiled at me through her lashes.
I dragged in a deep breath and flicked my arm out, thumping Alec’s chest with the back of my hand. “Cover for me for a bit?”
He followed my line of sight. “Go. I’ve got this.”
Clearing my throat, my booted feet pounded against the diamond tread of the steel steps as I headed for ground level, then aimed for my dream girl. Zoya andMiles walked on her one side—my gut dropped—and that blond-haired preppy guy on her other.
Was he a friend? More? Ryah’d only asked for three tickets. Was he the invite? Or the tagalong?
His hair was styled to the side. He wore an expensive gray wool coat and black dress shoes. He stood out, the tight set of his shoulders and downturn of his mouth making it clear what he thought of me.
Big-feelin’ prick.
I took a steadying breath, ’cause something more important walked my way. “Hey, darlin’.”
Preppy boy tensed.
“Hey,” Ryah said, then smiled just for me and it felt good. A drug. I wanted more, needed it.
I gave Zoya a nod before I turned to Ryah’s brother and stuck my fist out. “Miles.”
He bumped it. “Hey, man.” He gestured at my suit. “The new gear’s wicked!”
“Thanks.” I peered down and flicked the patch over my right pec. “Signed a new sponsor.”
“I’m not surprised. You guys are killing it!”
My lips tugged up and I glanced at my dream girl.
She pointed to blondie. “Xavier, this is Christian.”
Damn, I loved my name on her tongue. Would’ve loved it better if it wasn’t followed by his, but I’d take what I could get.
“Christian,” I said, and was about to offer a shake but he shoved his hands in his pockets like he was above it all.
