“I didn’t say no,” he interrupts.
I sit back down.
“If this university can deal with the hellfire we caught in the 1970s when we created the first test-tube baby, we can certainly fiddle with some tires. Off the books, of course.”
“Of course,” I smile.
He reaches back in the bag and starts examining the hunk of hacked up rubber. “These are totally different from mass-produced tires, I’m sort of curious, myself.”
“We’ll have to separate all the components into their raw materials.”
“Change the predictive model software,” he adds.
“Anionic living polymerization.”
“We’ll have to bring in a chemist for that,” he starts tapping his fingers on his desk. “I know someone.”
“They’re meant to fall apart, deliberately, to make the races more interesting. But the way they’re breaking down, something is failing. I just don’t know what.”
“Well, let’s see what’s inside and start there. It could be nothing, you know.”
“I know.” Logically, I know this. But part of getting to an answer is eliminating other possible options, and I’m looking in every nook and cranny yet coming up empty-handed.
“It’ll take time. I’ll call when I learn anything. And I expect tickets to the Silverstone race,” he laughs.
“Complete with paddock passes,” I agree.
On my walk back home, I can barely keep my eyes, open but I want to tell Cole the good news.
If I’m honest with myself, I don’t like being home anymore. In Cambridge, he isn’t across the hotel hallway from me. He isn’t prowling around the paddock or motorhome where I
can ogle him, smell him, sneak into a corner office and taste him.
It’s gotten to be fun, exotic, whimsical, almost—seeing all these cities with Cole. I don’t know what this means for us, and I don’t know how I feel about it, but I’m doing my best to live in the moment. Be casual. Be smart.
Emily: The eagle has landed. I miss you.
Cole: Good job, baby. Get that sweet ass over here.
Emily: I’m exhausted. Zzzz. What are you doing today?
Cole: I ate all the chocolate we made and Liam’s making me run an extra 15 miles.
Emily: That’s what you get.
Cole: I’ve got something to give you.
Emily: More chocolate?
Cole: Even sweeter on my tongue.
I’m blushing when I get home and throw on pajamas, Cole still sending me more and more graphic messages. At some point, I succumb to my heavy eyelids and fall asleep on him.
“Emily?”
I wake, in a daze, to knocking on my bedroom door. It takes me a few minutes for my head to stop spinning and figure out where I am. Nope, not a hotel today, I’m home. It’s dark out.
“Emily,” Klara sing-songs at me from outside the door.