We continue the conversation like Noah didn’t act extremely out of character. I choose to overlook what he said, preferring my usual ignoring techniques with anything related to Noah. If it makes my heart race and my thighs clench, I pretend it never happened. Works like a charm. At least so far during our time at different Prix stops, except we never find ourselves this close together.
A muscular thigh brushes against mine under the table, his existence made known as a hum of energy courses up my leg. His proximity muddles my brain. I push my thighs together, half to avoid him, half to ease any aches that happen whenever he gets near me.
Every day I convince myself that I don’t need someone like him in my life—a guy who breaks hearts as a side gig. I prefer to keep things simple and avoid problems. Label it a sixth sense, or an in-depth Google search. I still regret that one because nothing good ever comes from checking out famous people online.
We carry on with our dinner. Noah orders something to eat when our appetizers come out. Jax and Liam give up on the double-date idea at this point, filling me with relief.
Liam covers the check at the end of the night. I can only imagine how expensive this place is, even though I ordered something cheap on the menu. Hanging around guys who make more money in a year than I expect to make in a lifetime makes me uncomfortable.
Noah unexpectedly wraps his arm around my waist while we wait for the driver to pick us up at the valet area. My body jolts at the contact of our bodies pressing together. What has gotten into him today? The moment I think I have him all figured out, he does something like this, switching up the game on me.
“Maya and I can ride back together since we’re staying at the same hotel.” His hand possessively splays across my stomach, holding me hostage. I like it as much as I hate it. My body tries to wiggle away from him, but I stop once my ass rubs against his front.
I choose to ignore the bulge I feel pressing against me.
Nope. Not today, Satan. Stop tempting me.
“What a great idea. Can I tag along? I’m staying there too.” Sophie shimmies on over to us, her green eyes humorously gazing at me.
Noah’s arms squeeze me before he lets go. Sophie winks at me, and I’d give her a hug if it didn’t draw attention to us.
Liam chuckles. “Trying to run away from me? This doesn’t count as a date, thanks to Noah and his love for messing shit up. A bet’s a bet. Unless…you want to back out? What did we say was the price for whoever quits? I can’t remember. Maybe we can check your list.”
Uh-oh. Liam doesn’t seem like he will let Sophie off easily. Jax and Noah look confused at the mention of a list, but Sophie’s nostrils flare as she glosses over the information.
“Mm hmm, I don’t need money to keep me honest. I’m no quitter.” She says a quick goodbye before walking toward the street.
“Thanks for dinner. We will have to do this another time.” I give Liam and Jax quick hugs.
“Un-fucking-likely,” Noah says the word low enough for only me to hear. I shake my head and walk away to join Sophie in the car.
This night did not go exactly how I thought it would.
12
Noah
I spend time relaxing on Bandini’s deck after a successful qualifier. Barcelona’s afternoon sun warms my skin as I lounge on a couch overlooking the ocean, blue waves rolling against the sandy coast while birds fly above.
It’s purely coincidental when the Alatorre family shows up on the deck. I take the opportunity to watch Maya and Santiago hang out with their parents, curious to see what their dynamic is like with the people who raised them. Something heavy presses against my lungs at the idea of not having a family supporting me at a race. Must be nice to share the weekend with people you love.
I never had that. My dad usually shows up for the Sunday race and ditches after I place on the podium. He doesn’t care to join me at different events, forgoing a post-race dinner unless he wants something. Manipulative motherfucker. My mother equally disappoints, recently contacting me to hook her up with tickets for her and her friends to see a Prix. The usual shit from them both.
Maya’s mom looks like an older version of her daughter, making it easy to see where Maya gets her good looks from. Her dad rocks Bandini’s gear and a permanent smile while his gray hair peeks out from underneath a scarlet cap. Their parents seem to be loving the F1 experience.
I find it difficult to ignore the pang of jealousy swirling around in my chest, mixing in with sadness and wistfulness—an unwelcome feeling I want to push away. Maya’s family seems simple yet extremely happy, making it hard to overlook how I grew up with a crappy dad and an absentee mom. And it annoys me because I never wanted for anything except attention, something fundamental yet robbed from me. The Alatorres’ ordinariness and my shitty thoughts put me in a negative mental space.