Cross the Line

CHAPTER 4

Dev

I’m in trouble. Big fucking trouble.

It feels impossible to be in even more trouble than I was five minutes ago, but it’s the truth.

Because with Willow here, I’m utterly screwed.

Sadly, not literally.

I have to leave the party. That’s my only option, because if she spots me before I can find my composure, I’m going to . . . Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but it definitely won’t be anything good or smart or helpful to the recovery of my image.

Despite knowing I need to turn and power-walk the fuck out of here, I can’t seem to drag my attention away from her.

Across the room, she glances around, her delicate shoulders tensing as she looks for a familiar face in the sea of guests. If I were a braver man – funny, since I drive a car around a track at two hundred miles per hour for a living – I’d go over and greet her, tell her how great it is to see her again and offer to get her a drink. Only, in my current state, there’s a strong chance that greeting might come out as ‘What in the fresh fuck are you doing here?’

Thankfully, I’m a coward, so I stay rooted to the spot, and my focus stays trained on her.

She’s wearing a dress that sweeps the floor and is held up by straps so thin I could rip them off with the slightest tug. It drapes a little in the centre, emphasizing the soft slope of her chest, and while she’s not the most endowed in that department, it didn’t stop my hands from liking what they felt when I had the privilege of touching her. I examine the rippling blue silk, following it down to the soft curve of her hips, envisioning what it would be like to bunch it up to her waist like I did the last time we—

Shit. Fucking shit. I can’t think of her like that right now. Correction, I can’t think of her like that ever. I know better. We all know better, because we saw what happened the last time one of Oakley’s friends got involved with Willow. And it wasn’t pretty.

I’ve almost convinced myself to turn away when, suddenly, her face lights up. A smile blooms across it, giving me the same adrenaline rush that climbing into my car before a race does. But instead of spurring me to move, it keeps me frozen as I take in the full force of her joy.

She has dimples in both cheeks, deep ones that reveal themselves when she’s smiling or laughing – or trying not to smile or laugh. They pop when she folds her lips in or scrunches them to the side. Even when she frowns, there’s a hint of that dip in at least one side of her face. If there’s a moment where they’re completely hidden, it means she’s sleeping or bored out of her mind.

And man, do I hate that I know that.

A rock of dread drops deep in my stomach as I catch sight of the recipient of her smile.

Oakley sweeps his sister into a hug, and finally – finally – I drag my gaze away, because I know better than to repeat mistakes.

And kissing Willow Williams was the biggest mistake of my life.

‘Earth to Dev. Anybody home? Hello? Did you die?’

When I blink and turn back, Chava’s face is inches from mine. Mark is standing beside him, having returned from his great escape and looking at me like he’s tempted to call the team doctor.

‘You good?’ Mark asks, leaning in and squinting, probably checking my pupil dilation.

I swat him away as Chava cackles. The two of them are ganging up on me as usual. It’s like they’ve forgotten who signs their paycheques.

‘I’m fine,’ I mumble as I drag a hand through my hair, but I find myself glancing around again in search of Willow.

I’m lucky she never told her brother about our little . . . incident. For weeks after it happened, I was convinced Oakley was going to show up and assassinate me himself. Considering he nearly killed Jeremy for what he did to Willow, I don’t think my fears were unjustified.

Jeremy absolutely deserved what he got, though, and his crimes were far greater than a stolen kiss in a hotel stairwell. I’m practically innocent in comparison. But the guilt still weighs heavy in my gut.

‘We were talking about trying to get him laid tonight, and then he zoned out,’ Chava explains. ‘He’s probably praying he’ll be more than a one-pump chump after this long.’

His comment cracks me, and I’m grinning before I can stop it. I can’t resist a joke at my expense. ‘Come on, I’ve got at least two pumps in me.’

‘There he is,’ Chava coos, pinching my cheek. If this guy wasn’t one of my closest friends and the only reason I show up where I’m supposed to on time, I would have fired him by now. ‘Are we gonna find you a girl or what?’

‘That’s the plan,’ I reply. I can only hope it’ll help take my mind off Willow. ‘First, I need another—’

But I’m cut off when Howard once again appears by my side, this time with a glass of champagne extended to me. Based on his scowl, it’s not a peace offering.

‘What you’re going to do is take this glass and follow me,’ he instructs. ‘You’ve wasted enough time, and you’ve got a hell of a lot of ground to make up.’

Sure, I wanted another drink, but this is not how I wanted to go about getting it. ‘Can you give me like a half hour?’ I ask, holding back my exasperation. I’m sick of this guy breathing down my neck and ruining the vibe. ‘There are some people I need to say hi to first, then I promise I’ll chat up whoever you want me to.’

Howard shoves the glass against my chest with enough force that a few drops of the pale liquid spill onto my shirt. ‘Fifteen minutes,’ he concedes, and it’s enough to keep me from wanting to sock him in the jaw. ‘But I’ll be watching.’

Again, the urge to mock him is strong, because the man is a walking villain cliché. I know he’s only trying to ensure I get the best deals – and getting all he can from his cut of those deals – but he should really work on his bedside manner.

When he shuffles off again, I down the (possibly poisoned) champagne and hand the empty glass off to a passing waiter before glancing between Mark and Chava. ‘Think I could get away with sneaking out the back exit?’

Mark snorts. ‘No chance. Besides, Oakley will be pissed if you run away before he makes it over here.’

My whole body tenses, and my eyes snap to where I spotted Willow and Oakley in the crowd, but they’re gone. Instead, a familiar deep vanilla perfume surrounds me, and I know it’s too late to run.

I don’t immediately join in when the greetings start. There’s cheerful shouting and back-slapping and good-natured cursing, but I’m coming to terms with being mere steps from Willow for the first time in over half a year. Apparently, I have no idea how to behave around her any more.

C’mon, man. Just play it cool. Act normal. Easy as pie.

When it’s my turn to face Oakley, I force a smile and let him tug me into his arms, hoping he hasn’t suddenly developed the ability to read minds.

‘It’s good to see you, asshole,’ he says in my ear, thumping me so hard on the back that I swear it knocks my heart out of rhythm. Shit, maybe he does know what I did.

But there’s nothing but warmth in Oakley’s eyes when he pulls back, gripping me by the shoulders. He’s still my best friend. The guy I came up with through karting, attached at the hip all the way to Formula 3. If he hadn’t decided that racing was no longer his dream, I’m sure he would still be with me these days.

In some ways, I’m glad he’s not. I’ve seen friendships destroyed by competition, and most of the drivers I know aren’t particularly close with each other, no more than professional acquaintances. We’re co-workers, really. They aren’t people I’d share my deepest, darkest secrets with. But Oakley? He’s my guy.

Or, well, he was, until I did the one thing I could never tell him about.

Chava knows my secret though, and he shoots me a knowing glance when Oakley pulls back and shifts to my side, leaving me with an unobstructed view of Willow. Mark’s just hugged her, and now it’s my turn, but I’m having a hard time getting my feet to move.

I don’t know how I manage it, but I’m stepping closer, opening my arms, and folding her into them, all while my brain is still buffering.

The top of her head barely comes to my shoulder, and she’s so slight that I’m surprised again and again by how tight her hugs are. She’s always been delicate in my mind, soft and gentle. But while she might look fragile, I’ve seen her killing it in the gym. If she was determined to, the girl could probably bench press me. And she’s always determined.

It isn’t to say she’s unbreakable. Her condition means she’s got a few more limitations than the average person, but underestimating her would be a mistake. She’s stronger than most people think.

I only let the hug linger long enough to inhale her sweet scent and remind myself that my feelings for her are purely platonic, which is why that kiss was inappropriate on so many levels.

At least, that’s what I keep trying to tell myself.

I’m met with a tentative smile as she drops her arms from around my waist, but she’s watching me with those dark eyes, telegraphing a clear message: Don’t make this weird.

Well, she doesn’t have to worry about me making it weird because it already is. But I won’t give us away, even if that means ignoring her for the rest of the night.

Is that rude? Yeah, for sure, but a man’s gotta do what he can to keep from being murdered by his best friend.

Speaking of the guy, Oakley roughly curls his arm around my neck and asks how the season’s been so far, saving me from having to strike up a conversation with Willow. I have no doubt that he’s been keeping up with my career, which means he knows about my eighth-place finish in Azerbaijan and my DNF in Miami – the high and lowlights so far – so I drop my voice and say, ‘I gotta tell you what really happened with Nathaniel in Italy last week.’ He’ll appreciate the gossip about my teammate, plus I can’t pass up a chance to chat shit about the guy. ‘Spoiler: there was nothing wrong with the car when he crashed.’

I turn my back to Willow as Oakley presses me for the full story. It’s a solid distraction, even though Willow’s melodic laughter floats in the air around us as she talks to Chava and Mark. I do my best to ignore it and press on until Oakley’s practically crying from laughing so hard. I did the same when I heard the truth – Nathaniel puked in his helmet thanks to the stomach bug he promised the team he’d recovered from. The surprise of it caused him to lose control for a split second, leading him to hit the barriers.

Oakley’s still wiping at his eyes when something over my shoulder catches his attention and his smile drops.

‘Shit, my bosses are beckoning,’ he says, lifting a hand to wave at them. ‘Hopefully this won’t take long.’ With that, he turns to his sister. ‘You good here, Wills?’

My back is to her, but I’m far too aware of Willow’s presence behind me. ‘Yeah, totally fine,’ she reassures. ‘Go on.’

Oakley nods and slaps my shoulder. ‘Don’t have too much fun without me.’

As he walks off, I have no choice but to turn back around to face Chava and Mark and Willow. I’m almost tempted to run off and find Howard, but that’s a step too far, no matter how much I’d like to avoid this interaction.

‘So,’ I prompt, glancing between the three of them, wanting to wipe my suddenly slick palms on my tuxedo pants. ‘What’s the—’

‘You know what? I need another drink,’ Chava interrupts, disregarding my attempt to join their conversation. ‘Mark, come with me. We’ll bring drinks back for Willow and Dev so they don’t have to fight through the crowd.’

Mark frowns at his half-full drink, a step behind Chava’s scheming. ‘I don’t need—’

‘Let’s go.’ Despite the daggers I shoot him, Chava grabs Mark’s bulging bicep and drags him in the direction of the bar.

As much as I want to excuse myself and go talk to literally anyone else, I can’t ignore Willow. Partially because Oakley would yell at me for being mean to his sister, but mostly because the second I look down at her, I once again find myself frozen in place.

I never used to be like this around her. So stilted and tongue-tied and . . . uncomfortable. And it’s not like this is the first time I’ve ever been stuck with her one-on-one. Far from it. When we were kids, it felt like she and I were together more than we weren’t. I wouldn’t have called us friends, but we were a constant presence in each other’s lives.

We would hang out and chat while I waited for Oakley to get ready to go out. We’d sit in my kitchen when my mom made jalebi, scarfing down each fresh batch. We’d throw popcorn at each other when our families went to the movies together. Hell, she once sat with me for hours when I had a concussion and no one else was around to keep an eye on me. Things between us have never been awkward.

Until now.

She’s looking anywhere but at me, both hands clutching her nearly full champagne glass so tight her knuckles have gone pale. Knowing that she feels as weird about this as I do makes me feel a little better, but I need to stop being such a scared little baby and fix this surreal situation.

So, determined to make the best of things, I clear my throat, wishing I still had a drink in my hand, both to wet my desert-dry mouth and for the liquid courage. ‘So, Willow,’ I begin, internally cringing when my attempt at nonchalance sounds more like disgust. I scrap it, knowing it won’t work. Not with her. ‘How are things?’

Her big brown eyes finally swing up to me, and the grip on her glass loosens slightly. ‘Things are good,’ she answers, her breathy tone stirring something in me that should not be stirring. ‘You?’

The last thing I want to do is talk about myself, so I redirect the conversation. ‘You just graduated, right? Sorry for not sending a gift. It was the least I could have done.’

‘You’ve been busy,’ she says, waving off my apology. ‘And this trip to Monaco is my gift from Oakley. You can tack your name onto it and call it a day.’

I relax some at her joke and the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her full lips, pleased that while this interaction is definitely strange, we can still find some sense of normality.

I snicker. ‘I’ll happily take credit for someone else’s work.’

She smiles at that, and I can tell she’s just as glad as I am that we’ve found our footing again.

‘Call your boss and ask if you can take an extra week off,’ I go on. ‘Oakley and I can charter a yacht.’

I’m playing around – though maybe not; the yacht does sound like a fun time – but I must have said something wrong, because the smile disappears from her face.

Shit. What did I do this time?

‘No need to make any calls, seeing as I don’t have a job,’ she says, her chin dropping a fraction. ‘I’ve applied for more than I can count, but I’ve heard nothing from most of them. I might have to look outside of sports marketing.’

Great, I’ve made her feel bad about her unsuccessful job search. It’s only been, what, a couple of weeks since she graduated? Not many people are lucky enough to get hired that quickly, anyway. At least I don’t think so. Not that I’ve ever been part of the real working world.

I know I can be a dick, and it’s usually on purpose, but not this time. ‘I’m sure you’ll find something,’ I reassure her, wanting to kick myself. ‘Don’t even worry about it.’

‘Mm, yeah. Right.’

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I follow her fingertips, remembering how she did the same thing right before I—

‘Enough about me,’ she says, interrupting my thoughts before I can be dragged back into the memory. ‘You’ve certainly been making headlines lately. Everything okay?’

It’s my turn to grimace, hating that she’s the latest person to press on the bruise of my reputation. I hate that she even knows about it in the first place. ‘Ah, yeah. Things could definitely be better.’

We’re on equal footing now that we’ve made each other feel like shit, but Willow has always tried to find the lightness in heavy situations, so it’s no surprise that she grins and says, ‘So you’re telling me IYK Quick Results isn’t paying you millions of dollars to promote them? What a scam.’

That drags a laugh out of me, loud and genuine. ‘Upsetting, right? I’ve given them so much publicity that they should be paying me. And honestly, it’s a great product.’

Her grin remains, but there’s a glimmer of worry in her eyes. ‘You’ve used it before?’

Ah, shit. Now she thinks the STD rumour is true. Am I cursed not to say anything right tonight?

‘I’m just saying in general,’ I rush to reply. I do not need the rumour to spread any further, just like a—Nope. Not gonna make the joke. ‘Quick and easy testing could never be a bad thing. The product is good to have on hand, especially in a place like this, where people aren’t as cautious as they should be.’ I hold an arm out, motioning to the crowd around us. It’s full of new money and social climbers. ‘Better safe than that burning sensation when you pee.’

She closes her eyes like she can’t believe what I’ve just said, head shaking almost imperceptibly. ‘Oh . . . my god.’

I shrug. It’s true. Condoms only go so far, and not every use is perfect, so what’s so wrong with being cautious? I’ve always thought STD shaming was shitty anyway, but now that I’m a victim of it without even having one, those feelings are even stronger. Maybe they would be the perfect sponsor.

Willow takes a deep breath and pulls her shoulders back, her eyes settling on me again, this time with a knowing sparkle behind them. It’s been a while since she got a true taste of my sense of humour, but she’s handling it the way she always has – with resignation and a refusal to laugh, no matter how hard it is for her to hold back. She finds me funny. She just won’t admit it.

‘What’s the story behind those posts anyway?’ she asks once she composes herself. ‘Were you hacked?’

I blow out a breath and tug at my bow tie. ‘The gist of it is that my social media manager Jani got sick of my shit, so she quit. And that was her parting gift.’

‘I’ll be honest, I haven’t seen everything. Just snippets that people I follow have shared.’ She smirks, and I try my best to ignore how much I like the sight. ‘You’re kind of a celebrity, I guess.’

‘I am. Thanks for finally noticing.’ I pull out my phone and navigate to my Instagram archive. ‘And you’re in for a treat.’

My calloused fingers brush against her pink-painted nails as I pass the device over. She slowly scrolls through, reading the multi-paragraph caption Jani took the time to type up, and I can’t look away. Willow’s expression goes from passive to grimacing in a split second. At least I get to see a glimpse of her dimples when it does.

‘Wow, you really pissed this woman off,’ she says, her eyes full of a mix of pity and humour.

I take my phone back, letting our fingers brush again. ‘I’ll admit it. I did antagonize her.’

Willow scans my face, the hint of amusement in her expression instantly eclipsed by dread. ‘Dev, what did you do?’

I have a laundry list of minor misdeeds, but I’ll go with the worst of them all. ‘I . . . cancelled her flight from Australia after the Grand Prix and left her stranded.’

‘No.’

I put my hands up, palms out. ‘In my defence, she’d been hounding me all day about making some video using that sexy baby filter – you know the one going around everywhere – and then she snuck up on me after a bad practice session, and . . . yeah. Cancelled it then and there. And didn’t tell her.’

The back of Willow’s hand connects with my chest. ‘You’re such a dick!’

‘Never said I wasn’t.’

She lets out an exasperated breath, but then she studies me silently, like she’s searching for something. Finally, she tentatively asks, ‘You haven’t posted anything else since this happened?’

I shake my head. ‘I have no interest in handling social media myself. I’ve got a million other things to do.’ Like drive a fast car without crashing.

‘You’re wasting an incredibly valuable opportunity to recover your image,’ she says with a frown. She’s clearly looking at this from a marketing perspective, which makes sense considering her degree. ‘This post obviously did a lot of damage. Why not get Argonaut’s media team to handle things, at least for now? Or hire a full-service PR firm?’

I wince. ‘Because you can always tell the guys who hire firms. All their posts come off so bland. Zero personality, you know?’ I don’t need to get into my deeper reasons for it. ‘And I don’t trust Argonaut not to make me look bad.’

‘Come on, that can’t be true,’ she argues. ‘Their whole purpose is to help you.’

I snort. ‘Yeah, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. They’re so far up my teammate’s ass that I’m not even on their radar. All I got for this incident was a five-minute lecture from the team principal. That was it. Ever since my teammate and his father swooped in with a bunch of money, they just . . . ignore me.’

Her lips part in surprise, and my gaze drops to them. They’re plump and pillowy, the bottom one just a little fuller than the top, like she’s perpetually pouting. It’s sexy as hell. And that’s something I am not allowed to think.

‘Seriously?’ she asks.

‘Seriously,’ I confirm, forcing my eyes back up to meet hers. ‘They’re not looking out for me. They’re biding their time until my contract is up since they’re too cheap to buy me out.’

‘That’s awful.’

It really is, especially because I should be their number-one driver. I came up through their driver academy. I’m the one consistently scoring points while my teammate is red-flagging every other race. I’m thirteenth in the Drivers’ Championship and the only reason we’re not dead last in the Constructors’. But if my stats aren’t enough to earn their support, then I don’t know what is. Considering there’s so much time left on my contract, I’m stuck twiddling my thumbs for now. Eventually, I’ll have the opportunity to move to another team.

Maybe. God, I fucking hope so.

But who’s going to want me if I can’t prove my worth?

Instead of telling her any of that, I shrug and play it off like I always do when something bothers me. ‘It is what it is.’

But Willow’s not about to shrug anything off. The cogs in her head are already turning. ‘It doesn’t have to be like that,’ she says, passion behind the statement. She’s holding back, though, because when she’s really invested, her voice shakes a little. She hates it, claiming it makes her come across as too emotional, but I disagree. It shows how much she cares.

And that once again proves that I know this girl too well.

‘You can get their attention, Dev,’ she pushes on, both hands back to clutching her champagne glass. This time, the movement is one of excitement, not nerves. ‘You need to put yourself out there in other spheres. Pull in new sponsors and fans who will drop cash on your team’s merch. We both know money talks. If you show up to the table with a fat cheque, they can’t ignore you.’

I cross my arms, impressed – and a little intimidated – by Willow’s ability to throw a game plan together in five seconds flat. How she doesn’t have a job yet beats me. Clearly, she’s bullheaded and solutions-oriented, the perfect kind of employee.

Honestly, if I could, I’d hire her to fix this for me.

She’s still talking, eyes alight as she outlines a plan. But I’m no longer listening, because an idea has struck me, one I should have thought of sooner.

I could hire Willow to fix my dumpster fire of a reputation.

It’s brilliant. I mean, Oakley might not love the idea, but this would be a strictly professional arrangement. He has no reason to think anything less than appropriate would happen between Willow and me anyway. And we both know better than to let it. With her help, I could be on the road to becoming Argonaut’s number-one driver. Maybe even on the road to a better team.

Willow could get me there. She obviously knows her shit, and she’s got the degree to back it up. And, more importantly, she actually wants to see me succeed. This girl cheered for me and Oakley from the tiny stands at our karting races, and she’s still cheering for me now. What else could I possibly want out of a fixer?

She’s still talking, but the words leave my mouth before I can stop them. ‘I think I know how to fix this. All of this.’

She stops, scrunching her brow. ‘And how’s that?’

I take a deep breath. It’s now or never. ‘You, Willow. I need you.’