I tune in again when the reporters decide to move their attention to Noah.
“Noah, tell us your thoughts on the situation.”
These reporters decide today is the day for such open-ended inquiries.
“It’s a shitty situation that should have never happened. Santi’s apologized and we are sorry. Our racing team has to fix our mistake and we’re appreciative of their efforts to get our cars up and running for the next race. We love this sport, bad accidents aside. We’re not in it to retire early from the race and go home empty-handed. This is the worst-case example of teamwork, but we’ll work on it.”
He handles questions like a professional. Not bad.
My brother visibly relaxes in his seat, relief evident in his eyes.
My expectations for today didn’t include Noah acting like such a pro. He pushes aside his earlier bad mood in front of the cameras, presenting himself as the ultimate teammate. I can see why Bandini keeps him around besides his talent behind the wheel. His appearance makes it obvious why women gravitate toward him, with him being such a smooth talker, willing to put on a show.
The rest of the conference is dull. I sneak glances at Noah because what is a girl to do during the rest of a boring meeting. He catches me staring at him, making my cheeks flush.
And that wicked smile he sends me when the cameras stop rolling? The one promising more? Yup. I see it.
Oh man, I’m in trouble.
10
Noah
Maya totally tries to hide how she checks me out. I no longer think its mild curiosity, chalking up her initial reactions as her way of sizing up her brother’s new teammate. But we’ve danced around each other for a month—ever since the season started, glancing at each other and avoiding physical contact. She fills me with a different excitement—because of her and the reactions she thinks go unnoticed.
My new relationship with Santi is already off to a bad start. No need to fuck it up more with a quick hookup, no matter how hot his sister is. And I mean she is a drop-dead gorgeous woman. Thoughts plague me about ways I would defile her like wrapping her ponytail around my arm while her lush lips wrap around my cock, pump after pump until I finish. I’m a dirty bastard, but I can’t do that to my teammate—no matter how much I want to. So I lock up my fantasies for another time with another girl.
I don’t shit where I sleep. Period. End of story.
My dick retaliates against my brain though because I peek glances at her across the Bandini garage. I could lie to myself and say its sheer curiosity. Based on the way my cock hardens around her, it’s more than that, and frustration runs through me at denying myself.
I’m ashamed to admit I jerk off in the bathroom sometimes after seeing Maya. No use denying my terrible habit. It happens mainly after races, with all the pent-up adrenaline begging for release. But she always hangs around, so lately I’ve been taking a lot of cold showers, trying to rid the images of her from my head. She wears these tight shorts that show off her tan legs, plus she looks fucking fantastic in Bandini shirts. It brings out a possessive side of me, happy to see her in my team’s colors, bobbing around the pit garage with her camera.
Can I ask the chief to ban attire like hers altogether from Bandini’s motorhome? May solve half of my problems.
She bends over the cockpit of Santi’s car, checking out the inside with one of the engine mechanics.
The mechanic darts his eyes everywhere except on Maya’s jean-clad ass hanging in the air. Thank God she didn’t wear her scrappy shorts that look shredded and two washes away from breaking apart. I can only take so much. She doesn’t even notice how the pit barely buzzes with noise as she busies herself with filming the inside of Santi’s car for her vlog.
I shift my jeans because my aching cock is pulsing uncomfortably against my zipper. My eyes glance around the rest of the room, catching how the pit crew steals glances at her perky ass. And I don’t like it one bit. Where the fuck is Santiago when you need him?
Santiago, please come collect your sister. She fucks up everyone’s work schedule.
Thank God Maya finally pops her head out. Her hair lacks her usual ponytail with wavy brown strands flowing down her back and framing her face. I’d consider her angelic-looking, except her body is meant for sin—to fuck hard and long. My type of damnation. I suppress a laugh at the comical display of many heads snapping back to their jobs. A hum of drills and the beeps of computers start back up again, heads no longer facing in Maya’s direction.
Her smile beams at me once I catch her attention, filling my chest with a kind of warmth I don’t recognize often. I return her smile with one of my own because I’m not a total asshole. My eyes snap toward the small black camera and tripod she grips in her tiny hand, the lens taunting me as she inches toward me.