Throttled (Dirty Air 1) - Page 26
The best thing about this next Grand Prix is that we get to go back home to Spain. I can practically taste the sangria and paella, along with the shores of Barcelona, calling my name. Our parents will visit us and watch Santi race. We look forward to returning to our home country after being gone for two months because time flies by while on the road.
Hence why my resolve slips around Noah. We’ve played around each other for months, with me putting in extra effort to resist his sex appeal. Hard stuff when he wears his race suit.
Our driver drops us off at the F1 paddock area. My eyes widen with surprise as I take in all the different style buildings made out of motorhomes. A distinct setup compared to previous races.
No words pass my lips as we walk down the row of uniquely colored buildings. Each team has their own motorhome with dining halls, meeting rooms, and larger suites. The building allows for a place of relaxation during the hustle and bustle of the busy race week. We still have our hotel rooms to sleep in, but this is where Santi and Noah spend a lot of their downtime.
We stop next to Bandini’s motorhome. Red paint gleams under the sun, looking sleek and modern while still carrying the classic feel of the brand.
The motorhome has a luxurious feel when compared to pit suites from the flyaway races. People hang by the bar and restaurant on the bottom floor. Santi shows me the upper levels, including private suites and an outdoor patio where I see myself setting up my laptop to edit videos and content.
Bandini’s motorhome shows how much funding the brand has from sponsors, including Noah’s dad, who invests heavily in the team. Supposedly it looks good to have a previous race legend backing a brand.
I get tugged to the side before I can enter the suite.
“I need your help,” Sophie whispers despite us standing in an empty hall. Her wide green eyes and heavy breathing make me hesitant.
“With what? And why are you whispering?”
“I was invited on a date.” She chews on her cheek.
“That’s great! Do you need help picking out an outfit?” Her glare makes me stop clapping my hands together. “Or not?”
“Not. This is the worst thing. Liam bet if he placed on the podium in Russia, we would have to go on a date. I stupidly agreed because I was buzzed at a sponsor event. Plus, his previous track history in Sochi was awful so I didn’t think he would actually make it.”
My eyes widen. “Oh, you didn’t.” Bets never ever end well.
“Tragic, I know. So I’m going to go because I don’t rescind bets. But…he never specified the type of date.” Her smug grin sets off a few alarms.
“Am I missing out on different types?” Not exactly connecting the dots here.
“I’m going on a double date. And you’re coming with me.” Her small hands grip my arms.
“What! No way,” I sputter.
She’s crazy. The last thing I want to do is go on a double date with them. Talk about awkward. Sophie and Liam have enough sexual tension between the two of them to make me sweat. And I highly doubt Liam wants a double date to start with, seeing as he salivates when Sophie gets close.
“It’ll be us, Liam, and Jax. You remember him, right? British, hot, looks like he wants you to call him daddy in bed. It’s a win-win for us.” She gives me a sickly-sweet smile.
I burst out laughing. “Where do you even come up with this stuff?”
“I’m full of ideas. Will you do it for me? Your only friend here?” Sophie clasps her hands together and rocks back and forth on her feet. She plays the innocent card well. I grimace at how it works on me, a sucker for helping others no matter how bad the idea sounds.
“I’m game. But I’m only doing this for you. When is it?”
“Tonight! Before they get busy with the pre-racing stuff.” Sophie rubs her necklace. She throws this on me in the same day, how thoughtful.
Lovely. I’m bursting with excitement here.
“My brother is going to kill me,” I mutter.
“Oh, nonsense. He hooks up with a few ladies on the side anyway. He gets it.”
Who the hell says things like that? She should count herself lucky that I like her and she’s one of my only friends here.
“Ugh, come on. Get a filter. Gross.” I stick my tongue out at her. That’s absolutely the last thing I want to hear about, like ever. Right up there with hearing how my parents still have sex together.
“We better go pick out our outfits. We should look our best.” She grips my hand in hers, demonstrating a shocking amount of strength for a tiny person.
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