Page 103 of Boost

“Of course, sir.” He waited while I grabbed a tip, then nodded politely before leaving.

Forgoing the dining table, I rolled the cart to the bed and sat on the corner of the mattress. Under the stainless steel dome an exquisite cooked breakfast lay in wait—one I immediately realized I couldn’t stomach. My gut turned and my mouth watered with nausea. I needed to sweat this hangover out before trying to eat.

After tugging on clothes, I shuffled my way through the hotel until I stood barefoot on the beach. The sun’s rays warmed my skin and danced over my tattoos as I shucked out of my t-shirt and jeans, coming to stand on the soft sand shamelessly wearing nothing more than black boxer briefs.

Knowing that I had a body worth showing off, I strode down to the water’s edge where the sand was firmer and began to jog parallel to the shore.

Barely fifty yards in, nausea struck again. Another fifty yards and I was searching for a private-ish spot along the cliffs. Luckily for me, most of the beach was sheltered from view from the resort, so no one witnessed me brace my hands on my knees and purge the alcohol I consumed last night.

With my throat on fire and my legs as stable as jello, I forced myself to jog again, having to pause a second time to vomit before making my way back to the suite.

The bathroom spun less the second time around, and I could handle the shower spray a little harder too.

Pulling on my jeans, sans the underwear that I binned, I sat on the edge of the bed again and lifted the dome on breakfast. Instead of causing my stomach to revolt, the savory smells made it rumble in hunger.

I even drank the cold coffee—that was how hungry I was. With food now easing the burn on my stomach lining, I picked up my phone and bit the bullet. I needed to ring Colton. He and I needed a conversation. I couldn’t keep going like this. Something had to give, and right now, that something was me before I fucking snapped completely.

Colton answered on the third ring. “Raf.”

“Hey.”

“All good?”

I scoffed. “Depends on your definition ofgood.”

“Well, according toyourdefinition?”

“I’m out, brother.”

A beat of silence came before a huff from Colt. “Level with me, Raffie. Spell it the fuck out.”

“I’m done with the program, and this is my official resignation.”

“Dude, you’re being a little fucking hasty, don’t you think?”

I was, but I neededout.“I gave you Arlo, and I’ll give you another contact so the foundation can keep running, but it won’t be with me involved.”

“Is this about the bomb the press dropped?”

Frustration rose, and I took it out on him. “It’s about fucking everything, Colton. The past, the trying to keep my nose clean, the wanting what I can’t goddamn have.”

“I figured it involved voodoo pussy,” he drawled, then chuckled.

“Damn right it involves voodoo pussy!” I yelled and scrubbed a hand over my head. “I just can’t fucking do it anymore.”

“Is that your final decision?”

“It is.”

A curse hissed through the phone and papers shuffled. Colton then sounded as if he was on the move. “You want to go back to street racing?”

My heart kicked at the thought. “It’s in my blood, brother.”

“Fuckin’ A it is.” There was a pause before he added, “If you do get back into the scene, you know you owe me the inside scoop, right?”

A half-smile cocked my mouth. “As long as it remains anonymous. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves here.”

In other words, my hopes were soaring, and I feared they would be dashed by reality. I would turn back time to return to street racing. The only thing stopping me—aside from it being physically impossible—is having met Greer that fateful night.

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