Throttled (Dirty Air 1)

The doorknob rattles, guilt replacing the pride I felt seconds ago. Santi would kill me if he found me in here with Noah.

“Carajo. How is my room locked? Who has the key?” My brother’s voice fades away with the sound of his footsteps.

“You need to go now. I’ll make sure he left.” I push past him.

He grabs my elbow and pulls me back toward him. A quick peck silences me. My brain hasn’t caught up to my body yet, leaning back into him like we can continue what happened.

“Relax. He doesn’t have to know.” His wicked eyes graze over me one more time before he exits the room.

I plop myself down on the couch, running a hand down my face. What the hell did I do? I can’t do this to Santi. Can I?

Why did one kiss feel like it opened me up for anything?

Two weeks have passed since The Kiss. I needed to take a temporary leave of absence from the race schedule, which meant I skipped out on the Canadian Grand Prix. Santi begged me to come, but I made up an excuse about wanting to go home. Lying to him made me feel worse, my stomach in endless knots as I packed my bags and purchased a ticket to Spain. I told him the traveling exhausts me. Which isn’t far from the truth; I can’t help how the man we travel with tires me emotionally and physically. Life’s all about semantics.

Sophie pled with me too, but my mind was made up. I needed to clear my head.

Jax took home the trophy for the race with Liam being runner-up, and my brother placing third. For the first time this season, Noah didn’t make it to the podium.

Sophie must have given Noah my number because he sent me multiple texts last week. I made an incognito contact name for him, just in case Santi gets a hold of my phone. Blame reading Harry Potter during my race hiatus for the contact name.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/10 5:00 p.m.): Are you flying in late? Santiago is here but you aren’t.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/11 2:37 p.m.): Found out from your brother that you’re not coming. Isn’t he superstitious? You’ve been to every race so far.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/13 4:56 p.m.): Didn’t place on the podium. Maybe I’m the superstitious one.

My stomach dipped at the last one. I didn’t want Noah to do poorly since he is my brother’s teammate, but he didn’t lose because I wasn’t there.

I pulled up a YouTube interview of Noah after the race, telling myself I did it to ease my curiosity.

Noah looked good in his red race suit with his sweaty hair plastered to his head. He rocked the messy look.

The reporter jammed the foam microphone in Noah’s face.

“What happened today out there on the track?”

“Just an off day. It happens. I’m happy for my teammate and my friends who did place.” His tight smile begged to differ.

“Have anything different planned for the next Prix?”

Noah glanced at the camera. His deep blue eyes looked hazy, blocking off any readable emotions.

“I think I need to change up my pre-race ritual. A couple things might not be working for me anymore. But more on that later. Don’t want to reveal my secrets.” He ended the interview with a lazy smile.

After watching his interview yesterday, I ignored his texts for a whole day. I lasted twenty-four hours before giving in to answering him, the image of him frowning into the camera plaguing my thoughts. Three thousand miles do nothing to ease the pull he has on me.

Maya (06/14 1:14 p.m.): I’m sure you’ll place next time. You’re one of the best.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/14 1:16 p.m.): Are you coming to that one? Did you get my earlier messages? I didn’t get a response.

I would never peg someone like him to question if I got his messages. Has he ever sent that to a woman before? The notion makes me take pity on him and answer quicker than usual.

Maya (06/14 1:30 p.m.): I’ll be there. Needed a vacation from all the traveling.

I choose to ignore his second message because he crosses lines I’m not ready for yet.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/14 1:43 p.m.): Good. See you then.