Page 44 of Red Flag
My breath became harsher in the dry air. The water from the shower had long dried up and I was left with a sheen of sweat across my body. I tried to refuse to look at him, but my eyes couldn’t help but wander down to his chest.
He was bigger than the other riders. Taller, wider. Whichshould have held him back, not made him a three-time champion. But, fuck, those abs. And his hair was wet like in the picture.
“Like what you see?” he asked again. “My eyes are up here, Livid.”
I swallowed and blinked away the image of his chiselled, beautiful body. “I’m sober now.”
He turned to face me, lifting a leg onto his bench. His foot touched mine. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” I snapped, stretching my back with a sigh. “You did well at the domestic abuse charity — and the dirt tracks you’re funding look good.”
“I enjoyed it,” he said and he started to run his finger up my calf. It didn’t feel good, not the way my thighs clenched or how I nearly let the words ‘don’t stop’ slip from my lips. It didnotfeel good. “There was no press.”
“I know,” I told him, not completely focused on our conversation.
“That made it better. I don’t want to only do these things for that.”
I nodded. “Good.”
“How was London?”
I shrugged, letting myself enjoy his touch. “London hasn’t changed much. It was okay. I probably have to go back this month.”
“Why?”
“More details to share with the lawyers,” I said as his touch heightened, an inch below the crease of my knee. “And I like spending time with my brother.”
His head cocked towards me, a frown growing. But looking down at him again, I couldn’t help but see the glimmer ofsweat across his body.
“Your brother,” he repeated and sighed. He finally got it. “You stayed with your brother.”
“Yeah,” I said, distracted by how his muscles moved as he turned to face me fully.
“Take off the towel, Livid.”
I looked up. “What?”
He knelt on the bench, hands on either side of my hips. “I told you to take off the towel. You can’t ogle me if I can’t ogle you.”
“Nix,” I warned, eyes darting to the door. “That night on the phone… that was a mistake.”
“And yet the way you’re looking at me says it wasn’t,” he said and gestured down to himself.
Asurefireway of getting him angry, to ignore me and hate me again, was bringing up his schedule. “You’ve won the last seven races at theBuddhCircuit, yet your manager said you can’t stay for a single interview?”
His eyes narrowed at my change of topic. “What game are you playing?”
I shrugged. “No game.”
“Then let’s play one,” he said. “I’ll answer a question: you take off an item of clothing.”
I snorted, unable to control it. “Nix, I have three pieces of clothing on me.”
“Three?” he asked, sitting back on his heels. “So, there’s a bikini under there?”
“Why aren’t you available for any interviews?”
“The towel.”
