Throttled (Dirty Air 1) - Page 72
“Exactly why we better get going.” He pulls me off the couch and toward the bedroom to get ready.
I smack his hands away when he tries to help me take off my pajamas. “Hands off or else we’ll never make it.”
He chuckles to himself.
“Does this date involve breakfast food?” Please say yes.
“Nope. But afterwards we can get something to eat.” He won’t share information. Suspicious.
Noah’s eyes gleam. I should be concerned because that look usually leads to hours in the bedroom. Take my word for it because we’ve bounced around each other’s hotel rooms for the past week at all hours of the day.
But I go along with his plan because it’s nice of him to set up a date. Noah claims he’s changed. Who am I to rain on his parade?
I still can’t deny my apprehension about the whole thing. Not the sex part. That part is banging. Okay, I know that pun is bad. I blame all the Instagram captions I have to come up with because being punny is basically a full-time job.
But everything else between Noah and me still remains questionable. It’s brand-spanking new with us being in the relationship honeymoon stage. Ask me again once the going gets tough. Like when my lies to my brother about my whereabouts blow up in my face.
Positive energy flows right out of me the moment he pulls up to the location of our first real date. An odd choice for a one on one. I drag my body out of the car and take a step apart from him the moment we get within range of the video cameras in the Bandini pit. We still have to keep up appearances in front of my brother and everyone else that can spill our secret. Only Sophie can be trusted.
“Our date is at the racetrack?”
My eyes assess the crowd in front of us. Not sure why he wants to visit the location for the Malaysian Grand Prix. Should I be worried about future dates if he thinks this is a good spot for our official one as a new couple?
I’ll have to take charge of the next one.
Noah rubs his hands together. “Think of this as a trust exercise. You know how people do trust falls?”
“Uh. Sure?” I nod along. Uncertainty creeps up my spine when he smiles down at me.
“So, I don’t want to worry about how you might not trust me yet. I want to make sure you do. Because that’s the foundation of relationships.” He sounds confident about all of this.
What podcasts does he listen to? I don’t know whether I should be concerned or impressed.
“Your smile makes me a little nervous,” I blurt out. Nothing good comes from his shit-eating grin, the same look I give my parents when I’m hiding something.
He walks toward Bandini’s pit area, a silent command to follow him. I wish I had stayed in the car. Distant sounds of tires squealing across pavement alert my senses.
A group of people rallies around the pit area. Camera crews film people getting inside of neon-colored Bandini cars, perfectly lined, making up the entire rainbow.
I make the mistake of reading the banner above our heads. Bandini Race Day Experience. Drive like an F1 racer.
Oh, no.
His hand gives mine a reassuring squeeze before he drops it.
“Please tell me we’re doing a press appearance.” My voice sounds stronger than I feel.
Hope surges through me at the idea of coming to watch and cheer fans on. Noah can take them for a spin while I stand behind the barriers, a few fist pumps in the air to sell my enthusiasm while he careens down the track.
“We are.” He reveals nothing more. My heart rate slows down, confident the date is what I expect. Safety barrier here I come.
He speaks again. “But we’re filming from inside that car.”
Oh, shit. Please tell me he means I’m going to look inside the car for two seconds. Slap the hands of the nerds who design the cars, take a quick photo, throw a thumbs up. A girl can dream.
My eyes follow his pointing finger. They land directly on a neon green Bandini car with open scissor doors. It looks like a car from the future, estimated at about 500,000 dollars.
“I am not setting a foot behind a steering wheel.” Over my dead body. Hard no.
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