Page 42 of Green Flag
There were other riders in StormSprint I was friendly with, but none close enough to call a friend.
Sometimes, I really needed a friend. In the last few weeks, I’d really considered just going off the rails and losing everything — if I got caught with drugs, no doubt they’d have to replace me.
But I’d disappoint my family and become someone I wasn’t. They were the ones I was trying to leave for.
Because, in the fleeting moments I could switch off from the pressure and the turmoil my family were going through, I loved my life. I adored StormSprint. I hadn’t lied to the press; Ciclati had been my dream.
On nights like this, I needed that reminder.
We started with drinks in the hotel bar, but it didn’t take long for us to move on to the strip of bars in Valencia.
Ces was chasing down his third shot with a beer when the bartender gave him a look of disgust, suggesting he was cuttinghim off by shaking his head. He gave me a knowing look, casting judgment up through his brows.
Ces leaned against the bar with a satisfied sigh, his eyes half-crossed. Going back home was hard for him.
Yeah, he should be cut off.
“I’m going to sit,” he said in Italian. “You’ll bring me more, ok?”
“Ok,” I agreed, half-shooing him.
As he shoved his entire body into one of the tables that the grid girls sat beside, Everly and Arabella walked in.
And I stopped lifting my shot to my mouth.
She was inescapable.
I’d been around beautiful women before, but I’d never gravitated to one as strongly as Everly Bacque. She was laughing as she came in, her tiny skirt showing even more skin with the slit in it. So damn high. I despised the tights she wore for getting to hug her skin.
Her hair was back in loose curls that were so shiny in the low lights of the bar that I wanted to thread my fingers through the strands, tug her head back and kiss up her neck. I would cover her neck in pretty bruises. And her chest.
Her dress had similar straps to the one I’d brushed off her shoulders just those weeks ago, exposing so much more skin for me to stroke and salivate over.
Damn, Everly Bacque.
Despite the loud bass thudding in the bar, her cowgirl boots were loud enough to reach me on the other side of the room, a call for me to come forward and follow.
The real noise I craved was her laugh—unmuted, unleashed, mine—but the music swallowed it.
She sat at the table Ces had just barged his way through and gave a polite smile to the other girls.
Her lips were painted a dark red.
I wanted that colour all over my cock.
Since when did I only think with my cock?
If Cris got his way, this was her final day on the job.
It might be the last night I’d get to see her like this. The last night we could raise a little hell. The last night I could prove I lasted longer than a cuddle.
Tonight, I’d let her come to me.
I might just give a nudge first.
The bartender didn’t even look up when I ordered shots of tequila for her table. They were whisked away on a tray and when they were plopped down before them, they all looked up and cheersed me with their tiny glasses.
As they were distracted by taking theirs, Everly dipped her fingertip in the shot glass and sucked it clean, winking at me across the room before necking hers too.
