Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

I place a kiss on each of her cheeks, eliciting a sigh from her.

“I thought you being mean was going to be the death of me, but I’ve changed my mind. You being caring and sweet is absolutely frightening.”

“Oh, love. If only people’s nightmares looked this good.” I twirl on the heels of my boots.

Her laugh shoots straight through my heart, hitting me with the best feeling. One I know I’ll grow addicted to, despite fearing if it’s only temporary.

We spend the better part of the late afternoon visiting every touristy part of London. Elena invites me to a teatime, and I let her pay because gratitude seems important to her.

I realize I enjoy time away from the F1 circuit. The anxiety that usually eats away at me isn’t making a presence over the summer break. I find the experience rather refreshing. For the first time, I’m hesitant about returning back to race. This unusual uncertainty makes me wonder if I’m enjoying myself enough with racing to sacrifice the good years my mum has left.

Elena thrusts her phone in my hand, prompting me to table my inner dilemma for another time.

She walks away, leaving me behind as she enters a telephone booth. “Could you take a picture of me? I want to send it to Elías.”

Elena poses like an influencer. I snap a few pictures of her like that before I crack a joke. The photo I take of her laughing is my favorite, and like a wanker, I send it to myself before she has a chance to take her phone back.

“Any other wishes before we go back to my parents’ house?”

“Can we go in that?” She points to the London Eye: the ultimate tourist attraction and an eyesore.

I think up a plan quicker than the blood in my brain can relocate itself to my dick. See, I may be acting like more of a gentleman, but I’m not that much of a gentleman.

“Sure. Let’s wait for nighttime. It’ll be better—I swear.” I steer us toward a local pub. We sit in the corner, away from prying eyes, with my back facing the bar.

These moments make me hate being a celebrity. Today alone, twenty people have asked for my autograph. The attention stifles me at times, especially when I want to blend in like a normal arsehole taking his girl out in the city.

Shit. My girl? Damn.

Our waitress’s eyes rake over me before they flare with recognition. She pretends otherwise as she asks for our drink orders. Thank fuck.

Elena’s nose scrunches as her eyes scan the menu. “What do I get?”

The simple trust she offers me fills me with a sense of pride I’m unaccustomed to.

“Two pints of Guinness, please.” I smile at the waitress. She takes off before returning with the drinks.

Elena gives me free rein to order our food too, so I ask for two orders of fish and chips. Her reaction to the first sip of her drink has me nearly spitting out my own.

“This is disgusting.” She coughs before chugging from her water glass.

“You said the same thing about swallowing my cum the first time. Look how far you’ve come.”

The look she sends my way has me dropping my head back and laughing.

“Can you go back to being less likeable?”

“You like me? You really, really like me?” I bat my lashes.

She throws a wadded-up napkin at me. “Nope. Not at all.”

“Bet you liked me last night when I was between—”

“Two orders of fish and chips!” Our waitress blushes as she drops off the food.

“That’s totally going to end up on Twitter. Thanks a lot.” Elena pops a chip into her mouth.

“Would that bother you?”