Page 16 of Green Flag
“I don’t,” I laughed and sipped my cocktail. “You’re better than me.”
He levelled me with a concerned look. “What’s he done to piss you off so much?”
I rolled my eyes. “Pissed isn’t the word.”
He gave a teasing grin, dimples deep and his face glowing. The flash of his teeth made my insides melt.
We finished our drinks and ordered more, chatting about tomorrow’s race and the way he knew some of the words to my song.
“For someone who had a hit single this year, I didn’t expect to find you taking a job at your dad’s work.”
When I didn’t respond, only drank my drink, staring straight ahead, he added, “Or drinking alone in a bar.”
“I don’t drink alone,” I told him, shaking my head and fighting a smile over his teasing. Fuck. I looked at the clock hanging above the spirits. God. It was nearly midnight. My plan to head to the track had gone down like the drinks—smooth, fast, and with absolutely no memory of when it disappeared. “I was going to take a bottle back to my room.”
“That would be a waste of your dress.”
“Right?” I asked, unable to hide the excitement that we’d had the same thought.
I laughed and tried to stop it. The more alcohol I drank, the freer my cackle would become.
“Maybe I still will if you annoy me,” I said, shaking my head.
“Alone?”
And that was that. Insides melting, eyes on his. In my short dress, I was 95% sure he saw my thighs clench.
Maybe his morals weren’t that good. Maybe he was corruptible. Lucky for me, I specialised in temptation.
“I’m very particular about who I spend time with, Luca Mendes,” I told him with conviction.
“I’m honoured.”
I grinned. “You’re cocky.”
He leaned closer, his nose brushing my ear as he spoke. “You like it, though.”
My breath caught and I swallowed, hoping he wouldn’t notice. There was a challenge in his words. He wanted me to admit that I liked it… and I did, but I wasn’t going to voice it.
“I heard about the lovely team meeting you all had about me.”
“It was riveting,” he said, sitting straight again and putting on a deep voice to mock my father in a French accent, “If anyone so much as touches my daughter, you’re dead.”
He leaned forward and slowly crawled his fingers over the bar to bash his pinky into mine.
It was a fleeting touch, not even a full second, but warmth rushed to my core at his cocky attitude that, yes, I did like.
I really laughed this time, the alcohol making my self-conscious buzz simmer far below the surface.
“You’re not scared?” I asked, pressing the side of my finger more firmly into his.
“What are they going to do? Fire me after they killed my cousin?”
I swallowed, looking away so he couldn’t see my shocked blinks. The report didn’t say he’d definitely die.
“I’m not scared of Ciclati.”
“Oh, really?” I asked with amusement, trying to shake off the serious conversation. Even Nix had started to toe the line more recently and he was… the face of Motorsport now.
