Page 46 of Adrenalina (The Rush World)

Why is she so goddamn cute?

It should be illegal.

“What’s it like playing a full match at a grand slam?” I ask her. She started this conversation, and I want her to be just as involved. Besides, I’m interested in anything she does, so my question is as genuine as they come.

“It’s thrilling!” Her face turns into a huge smile that makes my heart jump out of my chest. “For us tennis players it’s like our Monaco, even though we have four of them. The crowds, the prestige, and everything. It all makes me feel as if I’m on top of the world.” Her eyes twinkle with excitement.

“What’s your favorite grand slam?”

“Wimbledon.” She doesn’t even hesitate; her answer is firm. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s one of those places that makes you feel privileged to be a tennis player.”

“I mean, all the celebrities help.” I raise my eyebrows at her.

She laughs softly. “I’ve been obsessed with it since I was little. It was the only time my dad ever wanted to converse with me about something.” Her smile fades away, and she turns her head to the sunset.

The colors are fading together, and I’ve never seen quite a sunset. Acapulco will always have the best sunsets I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been all around the world.

I get the appeal of the location.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to trauma dump.” Her voice is soft in apology.

An apology she doesn’t need to give me. I want to know everything about her. Her dreams, fears, and what makes her who she is.

“Don’t apologize. I like hearing you talk.” I try to reassure her. “Since you shared something with me, do you want to know why I became a Formula One driver?” I ask.

She nods in response.

“My dream of becoming a Formula One driver was because it was the one thing that I could do for myself when I was a kid.”

Her expression is understanding. “I get that. My dad wanted me to take over his company when I was younger, but I knew that tennis was my end all be all. It was my escape from my parents and myself.” A soft smile graces her lips again. Her arms are swinging at her sides as her feet hit the wet sand.

She is trying to relate to me, and I can’t help but grin at the attempt.

We may have vastly different situations, but I understand what it feels like to have an escape when you have nothing else.

“My mom got me into go-carts when I was younger so that she could travel to see my dad in Rio De Janeiro. I loved every second of it. I didn’t think about my father abandoning me.” I gaze at the sky; Vio may have quickly become one of my favorite people. But opening up to anyone has become a task that is increasingly difficult for me.

Even so, I feel the need to share.

“The beautiful thing about finding a passion within the pain is that even in the most difficult times, it saves you,” Vio tells me.

“Look at you becoming a poet.” I have to lighten up the mood; in a way, it’s my coping mechanism.

She just smiles at me while sharing more of her past as I listen to every word intently. “My parents married because of me. They’re both from influential families and my father had created his empire at the age of thirty. He was the bachelor of Mexico City, and my mom couldn’t help her curiosity.” She swallows before continuing, “When I was little, my parents always fought about the beginning of their relationship. They hated each other so much at first glance. Apparently, the attraction took over and they decided to have sex when they were angry. Then boom, my mom was pregnant with me.”

“They told you that?” It grosses me out that her parents would ever tell her about their sex in general; let alone hate sex.

“Not directly. They fight a lot and throw things like that night in each other’s faces.” Her gaze moves from me to her fingers. It’s something I’ve noticed she does when she’s nervous, along with biting her lip.

“My parents met because she was the housekeeper’s daughter. My biological father was the son of the people who hired them. For years, I would ask her who he was, and she always told me they had a wild love affair. When she found out she was pregnant, my mother was fifteen and he was twenty-three.” I leave out a few details that I’ve discovered over the years. The feeling of my hands clenching becomes apparent as I hold in my rage. My life before Formula One is something I don’t share with the public because every time I talk about it, I want to fly to Brazil and beat the fuck out of my biological father.

As if he even deserves that name.

She turns to me with worry in her eyes. “That’s not legal.” Her mouth opens a little in shock and I don’t blame her.

“Their love affair didn’t last long, though. When my mom told him she was pregnant, his parents sent her to Sao Paulo with a non-disclosure agreement in hand, and me in her stomach. My mother had no money and nothing to call hers except me.”

“I don’t want to offend you, but your father sounds like a mother-forking bastard.” Her comment should offend me, but it doesn’t in the slightest. The only thing I can focus on is the fact that she can’t curse. As soon as the alternative curse word comes out of her mouth, I am toppled over in laughter.

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