I bite my lip to suppress a groan as she tips her head back and laughs, the move exposing her golden skin. My eyes run down her body, checking out her legs on show for everyone with her jean skirt, paired with white Nike Air Force Ones. I fidget in my seat, thinking of her shoes on my bedroom floor while she lies in my bed.
Shit, Liam, it’s not going to happen.
Sophie catches me staring at her. She grins as she wiggles her fingers at me. Only she could make that ridiculous hello look cute, her two dimples popping, making me want to kiss each of them. This is the exact reason I know I’m screwed right up the ass. I find things Sophie does adorable, a new idea to my own ears. But right there, gawking at her across the room, I concede to her ridiculous demand of staying friends. I won’t pursue her sexually. For now, at least.
Searing pain shoots through my chest, a bizarre sensation I can’t put my finger on. Either I had a bad lunch or I’m becoming weak for dimples and green eyes.
The reporters carry on, but my mind remains elsewhere, wrapped up in the idea of staying friends. I’ll do it for her as much as I’ll do it for my precarious position with McCoy. The team deserves me staying out of trouble, including the good kind I could have with Sophie in my bed.
My eyes drift away from her and solidify the need to keep things casual between us. I can do it without losing my shit, shoving away the guilt sitting heavy in my gut about becoming friends with another woman besides Johanna. Sophie doesn’t seem like she’ll settle for being held at arm’s length, so I ignore the weird sense of foreboding because I want my past to remain where it belongs.
Reporters wrap up their questions soon after. I say my goodbyes to the guys before walking toward Sophie and Maya, my eyes narrowing when I find two “best of the rest” drivers talking to them. It’s not like I want to sound like a total douche right now, but that’s what they call themselves because it’s hard to compete with the top teams of Bandini and McCoy. These two racers drive for a French-based company called Sauvage. The assholes stand there, all their bravado jam-packed into their race suits, as they make a pass at Maya and Sophie.
My skin prickles as the sight. I’m on a new task to interrupt their exchange, with Sophie playing into my hand without knowing it.
“Oh, hey, you guys know Liam, right?” Sophie’s eyes find mine.
I have no fucking clue what to make of this new wave of protectiveness. Sophie pinches my side, silently demanding me to behave when I smile smugly at the two racers. My skin craves more contact from her because a simple squeeze makes my dick stir.
I close the distance, wanting to stake my claim at the same time as wanting to take a deep breath of Sophie’s shampoo. Like everything related to her, I can’t help myself.
Maya tugs on her ponytail. “So Ricardo and Max invited us to a boat party tonight.”
Sophie’s list pops up in my head. Does she want to try some items out with these guys? They look like their balls dropped a month ago—a sad display of manhood. They barely fill out their race suits as their arms flex enough to pop a vein. They’ll sure as fuck not know what to do with half of the things she wants.
I interrupt their conversation. “Actually, you forgot we have plans tonight.”
Sophie and Maya look at me confused. Hell, I’m not sure what I’m pulling out of my ass. But I don’t want them to go out with these guys.
“We’re going to the casino. It’s a classic thing you have to do when you’re in Monaco. But maybe next time, guys.” I wrap my arms around Maya and Sophie’s shoulders and pull them away from the two racers. I grin at the drivers over my shoulder, catching their glares before completing my “fuck off” message with two middle fingers behind the girls’ backs.
It looks like I’m about to give Sophie and Maya the full Monte Carlo experience. I text Jax to meet us at a casino while we walk down the line of motorhomes, and he agrees without question.
I feel like a man on death row, unable to do anything with Sophie because she gave me the ultimate capital punishment—friends or nothing. Plus my scheduled programming of a drama-free lifestyle puts a damper on things. I haven’t hooked up with anyone, and my two-month break makes my head crazy and my dick angry.
If it weren’t for my body’s reaction to Sophie, I’d wonder if my dick still works. But whenever she gets near me, half the blood rushes from my brain to my cock like a fucked-up cycle.
I find myself totally screwed, the idea of being just friends seeming like a foreign concept. Google Translate can’t help me for shit with this one.