Page 14 of Green Flag
I needed mental distance from the whispers about why I had left before. And I needed to forget the idea that my last shot at fucking up my dad wasn’t in reach anymore. Because I had nothing left at this point. No career, no money, no degree.
No one to count on.
Mum had moved back to America to live with her brother when her lupus flared and there was no support in England once Dad moved on so quickly.
Maybe I should take the bottle to my room. I wasn’t good company for anyone.
But what a waste of this dress.
The broad back on that barstool didn’t have to turn for me to recognise him. I’d seen his face on TV more times than I could count. He’d been everywhere in the last few months — a shaving advert, a cameo, countless interviews. He’d even been on the BBC for his wholesome shenanigans. Always with a humorous grin and ‘fuck me’ eyes. He was becoming a new sex symbol across motorsport.
Those dark blonde curls, that muscular back, the jawline and the rugged fight in him — because he wasn’t just a racer, but a boxer — made people drool.
The way he’d spoken so gracefully about his cousin after taking his position on the Ciclati team, how he was all smiles and good boy politeness, made him the perfect fresh meat for the press.
This was probably his last night of freedom before the report turned his life upside down.
I doubted he wanted to be alone any more than I did tonight.
But I also doubted he wanted Cris Bacque’s daughter beside him.
I didn’t want to be Cris Bacque’s daughter tonight.
When he looked at me as I sat down, eyes hovering over my dress, I froze.
He was so similar to Alvaro Mendes. The calm confidence in his posture. From the dimples in the soft, meaningless smile he gave me to the thick brows, the nose, though this guy seemed to have had a few breakages.
He was hot as shit. Lickable. Fuckable.
Stay for one drink, Everly. Just one. You’ve got plans.
The trailer clock was ticking. I should be making my way to the paddock now.
I ran through my excuse to go to the trailer again and again.I left my medication in the pit box. I need to be let through.
To search those trailers for proof my dad was the drug trafficker.
“A pina colada, please,” I said to the bartender with a polite smile, feeling Luca’s eyes still on me as he put down his glass. I wanted his attention. “Put it on room 314, please.”
“Sure, I’ll need your room card,” he said before turning and getting out the cocktail shaker.
Luca leaned over the seat between us to stage-whisper, “I know that’s not your room.”
I shrugged, avoiding eye contact with him, because I knew I’d give myself away. “How do you know that?”
“Because it’s Cris Bacque’s.”
“He owes me,” I said with another shrug. Nonchalant.
“Hmm,” he grumbled and took another gulp.
“Are you going to tell on me?” I asked him sweetly, crossing my legs on the stool and facing him.
He cocked his head to the side and looked me over again, eyes slightly narrowed with humour. “It will only go on the Ciclati account anyway.”
“Not so sure about that,” I told him. “Not when they see the bill I can rack up.”
He grinned and really showed me the dimples that had been the same as Alv’s.Werethe same as Alv’s.
