Throttled (Dirty Air 1)

Sophie’s eyes narrow at me when I settle back in my seat, making me feel even worse about what happened.

I ignore her side glances throughout the night because we can have story time later.

My stomach twists in knots as Sophie stares at me from across the room, her sneaker tapping against the carpet. She reads my body language while she sits on the sectional couch in Santi’s suite. My eyes gaze around at the plain hotel room in a struggle to find anything interesting to look at. Basically, anything but her face would do.

“What did we say about him?” She won’t let me off easy, her voice laced with disappointment.

“Well, I didn’t exactly fall for his rough yet sweet personality, kissable lips, fuckable body, or rock-hard abs. Honestly, he cornered me in the hallway. I didn’t even know he was there. It’s not like I chose the restaurant.” I may or may not have practiced that line in the bathroom earlier.

“And what, he tripped and his lips fell on yours?” She waves her hands around. Yup. Definitely ticked off. My silence doesn’t bode well with her because she paces the room, agitated and grumbling about how all her plans fail.

“Don’t you dare try to play it off in your pretty head. That’s a ridiculous idea. You came back to the table a mess and your lips looked like you sucked his dick in the bathroom. Did you? Or did he suck on them like a Hoover vacuum?”

I have no clue how she says the most ridiculous things as seriously as she does, not even cracking a smile.

My chest and face feel fifty shades of pink. I dramatically throw myself face first onto the couch in front of us, grabbing a pillow to drone her out. She means well and all, but it doesn’t make it easier.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I learned my lesson.” Cushions muffle my voice.

“I sure hope so. Daniel is a nice guy who’s hesitant about giving you another chance.” She plucks the pillow from my face and stares at me, green eyes glittering under the dim lighting.

“You talked to him about it?” I cringe at my whininess.

She shakes her head. “Not exactly. But I can read these things. Call it intuition.”

“Next one will go better. Maybe we shouldn’t go somewhere public.” I get her hopes up, pretending to agree to another date I have no intention of following through on. No need to lead a poor guy on when my mind is on someone else.

“I don’t think it’ll happen because we are engaging in stage two of the plan.”

Sophie’s second phase fills me with uncertainty.

I glance up from my pity corner on the couch. She taps away at her phone, ignoring me.

“I’m bringing in reinforcements.” Tap. Tap. Tap. Her fingers moving against her phone fills the quiet.

“Should I be worried?”

She shoots me a mischievous smile.

Well, that answers my question.

24

Noah

I try to pinpoint the exact moment my friends started ditching me. Was it after Germany? Or France?

I can’t exactly place it, but ever since the summer break, I barely hang with Liam and Jax. Every week, they come up with excuses about being busy. By the time we show up in Singapore for the Grand Prix, they’re nowhere to be found. Yet again.

The only time I see them is during a press conference after Saturday’s qualifier. I ended up driving well and have pole position for tomorrow, securing the best spot at one of the few night races we have. At least things with racing look promising.

Do they not want to hang out with me because I win a lot? The Championship gets competitive after all. Maybe they keep their distance for the brand’s sake since teams don’t encourage us to hang out and play nice. But when I think back on times in the past, they never got this way, which means it has to be something else.

I hang out all alone in my hotel room, overlooking the city, checking out the view of the famous trees and Marina Bay Sands buildings. Singapore bustles with activity before the race. People flood the sidewalks, looking like ants from my suite’s balcony.

Despite all the action, for the first time, I feel lonely.

I’m putting it out there. My therapist would be proud.