Cross the Line

CHAPTER 6

Dev

After an hour of kissing ass with Howard by my side, I bail on hitting the clubs with Mark, Chava and Oakley, pleading a headache. Mark sends me back to my apartment with two acetaminophen, an electrolyte drink, an ice pack and a recommendation for a guided meditation programme. It took a hell of a lot of convincing to get him to even go out, ever the dedicated trainer and mother hen, but now I’m alone, and I can properly think about what I’ve done.

Positive: I hired someone to fix my damaged image. Negative: that someone is my best friend’s little sister.

Willow’s not beholden to her brother, but Oakley would never let her walk into a situation where she could get hurt, physically or otherwise. And after some of the things she’s been through, I wouldn’t be surprised if he wholeheartedly disapproved of my idea.

If that happens, I’ll rescind the offer. No arguments. It’s the best thing I could do, because Willow will fight Oakley on it if he says no and she still thinks it’s an option. I won’t come between the siblings. That’ll just result in more drama that none of us want.

I probably shouldn’t have asked her in the first place, but I really do believe she can pull this revival off. Not only does she know what she’s doing professionally, she knows me. She knows my boundaries. Plus, she knows the sport, thanks to being raised around it. And I don’t have to explain shit about my backstory because she was there for almost all of it. It’s the perfect solution.

I kick off my uncomfortable dress shoes in the entryway of my apartment, not bothering with the lights. I make my way to my bedroom, guided by the soft glow of the city outside my windows, determined not to dwell on this more than I already have. My best bet is to sleep on it and see where my head’s at in the morning. I’ve never made the greatest decisions with a belly full of champagne.

In the morning, when my mind is clear, I’ll think it through again. But this already feels more right than anything has in a long time.

Willow can fix me. I know she can.

——

I’m dreaming of that night again, the one last year that led to my worst decision. Maybe it’s a nightmare. I still don’t know.

I’m shit-faced and so is Willow. She’s leaning against the wall next to me as Oakley pukes his guts out behind the door to our left. He’s retching and groaning, swearing off alcohol for the rest of his life even though he’ll be drinking again tomorrow.

Willow and I barely got him to the club’s bathroom before he spewed, but we drew the line at going in with him. Instead, we’re out here waiting for him to finish so we can drag him back to the hotel where he can spend the rest of his birthday in bed. I could handle it myself, but Willow, the good sister she is, wants to make sure he’s okay.

‘Only because our mom would kill me if something happens to him,’ she takes care to remind me.

She can say that all she wants, but I know the truth. She’d never admit it, but she actually cares about her brother. It’s crazy. Absolutely unhinged behaviour. I’d never confess to the same about my sister (even though it’s also the truth).

Alisha’s somewhere out in the main part of the club with her fiancé and the rest of our friends, all celebrating Oakley. By some stroke of luck, I got them all to come out to Texas for the festivities, since my race schedule dictated that I had to be in Austin for the week. But getting all of us together always results in the best kind of chaos, no matter where we are.

I lean back against the cool cinderblock wall and close my eyes as the world spins. I may not be losing my dinner right now, but I matched Oakley shot for shot tonight. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes again until Willow stammers, ‘No thanks. I’m – I’m actually here with my boyfriend.’

It takes a moment to understand what’s happening in front of me: Willow is pressed to the wall, shoulders tight and half turned away from the frat douche who’s hovering in her personal space. The guy spares me a glassy-eyed once-over like he’s sizing me up, hesitating for a beat before turning his attention back to her.

Boyfriend.Willow mentioned a boyfriend. It hits me then that she’s referring to me. It’s a ploy to get this dickhead to leave her alone, because, as far as I know, she’s not dating anyone – and if she is, they’re certainly not here. It’s bullshit that she can’t say no or I’m not interested and expect this fucker to listen, all because guys like him don’t hold the same respect for women as they do for other men.

Seems like this guy doesn’t respect anybody though, because the mention of a boyfriend doesn’t faze him. Neither does my proximity, apparently. He leans closer and whispers something in her ear that makes her turn her head and cringe in disgust. And that’s all I need to see.

I’m really not interested in a fight tonight. I need to have all my faculties in order to drive this upcoming weekend, but I can easily take this guy and his fucking popped collar if I have to.

I don’t waste another second before clutching Willow by the elbow and pulling her behind me. I smile widely to cover my rage as I’m left face to face with Popped Collar. ‘I’m the boyfriend,’ I tell him, fire burning just below the surface of my skin. ‘And you need to back the fuck off my girl.’

Willow’s hands are on my waist, pushing against me, trying to move me out of the way so she can handle this herself. But Oakley would have my head if I didn’t step in and protect her, and I’d rather face Willow’s wrath than her brother’s. Besides, I wouldn’t have stood by and let Popped Collar practically assault anyone, let alone someone I care about. Fuck that.

The guy has the decency to take a step back. He’s not exactly steady on his feet, but his hands are fisted at his sides. ‘Who the hell do you think you—’ But then his jaw drops open and his eyes go wide. And there it is. The recognition that’s about to bring this all to a close. ‘Oh shit! You’re Dev Anderson!’ he slurs, throwing his hands up in excitement. Asshole. But at least he’s not throwing a punch. ‘Dude, for real, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was your—’

‘It’s fine,’ I grit out, even though it’s not. But I know better than to make a scene. If I do, it’ll end up in the media. And that means I have to get him out of here before I do something unwise, like bruise my hand as I break his nose. ‘Enjoy the rest of your night, man.’

After a few more seconds of open-mouthed staring, he finally stumbles off. Willow hasn’t stopped poking my back since I pulled her behind me, so with a deep breath, I turn around to face her.

I dive in before she has a chance to give me hell, because there’s no way she won’t. ‘Before you yell at me’ – I hold up both hands – ‘I know it’s not fine, and if I didn’t have to be careful about getting caught doing stupid stuff, I would have beat that motherfucker’s face in.’

But instead of verbally handing my ass to me, Willow grins. ‘Actually,’ she says, deep dimples popping in her cheeks, ‘I was going to say thank you, but I guess that’s good to know.’

I blink. Once, again, two more times. I’m too wasted to process the answer. ‘You’re . . . not mad?’ There’s no way she’s not mad. She has to be mad. Doesn’t she hate when other people fight her battles for her? Has the real Willow been abducted by aliens and replaced with this mysterious, understanding angel?

She giggles. ‘Nah, not mad.’

It’s only then that I realize how close we’re standing. We’re practically chest to chest. The scent of her perfume surrounds me. If I wasn’t already drunk, it would be intoxicating.

‘That guy wasn’t gonna leave me alone, no matter what. And, like, honestly? What you did was kinda hot.’ A silent beat passes, and then she presses her hand against her mouth, like she’s trying to shove the secret back in.

I’ve heard it, though. And so has my dick, apparently, because it’s twitching behind my zipper, just like it did when I first saw her tonight.

She’s wearing the world’s tiniest dress, a curve-hugging thing that leaves just enough to the imagination to be legal. It’s black and slinky and ties around her neck in a pretty little bow that’s been begging all night to be tugged open. Oakley tried to make her go back to the hotel and change. He even looked at me for backup, but I kept my mouth shut and turned to the rest of our friends instead. How could I say anything when I was already envisioning what it would look like on my floor?

Willow’s a beautiful girl, I can admit that. I can also admit that I’ve thought it for a long time.

But neither of those details matter because she’s off-limits. Always has been. And the only boundaries I push are in a race car. Doesn’t mean I’m not tempted, though.

‘Oh, crap,’ she says between more uncontrolled giggles. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not trying to make things weird, I swear.’

I shake my head, mostly to clear away the thoughts I shouldn’t be having. ‘No, you’re good. Happy to play the fake boyfriend any time you need me to.’ I might even be happy to play a real one.

Still laughing, she tilts her head back so it rests against the wall, her corkscrew curls falling around her bare shoulders. Yeah, she’s drunk, and so am I, because all I can think is how pretty she looks under these shitty fluorescent lights.

‘God, I’m glad you never told me anything like that years ago,’ she murmurs, eyes swinging toward the ceiling.

My brow furrows at her throwaway comment. ‘Why?’

She shakes her head, still not looking in my direction, wanting to let it slide.

‘Seriously, tell me,’ I press. ‘Did I do something wrong back then?’

It’s only then that she lifts her head to lock eyes with me. Hers are so dark I can practically see myself reflected in them. But there’s a sliver, a quarter of her right iris, that’s melted caramel. It’s golden and deep. Some might call it an imperfection, an abnormality, but it’s just . . . Willow.

‘You don’t know?’ she asks.

‘Know what?’

And then she makes a confession that changes the course of the evening. Maybe even my life. ‘That I had a huge crush on you.’

The world around me spins, and I can’t completely blame it on the seven tequila shots I downed tonight. ‘You did?’

‘Yeah, but that’s, like, so far in the past,’ she brushes off, waving a hand and nearly smacking herself in the face. ‘Like a kid thing. It’s nothing. I really thought you knew.’ She giggles again, so sweet and so innocent. ‘I was so embarrassingly obvious.’

‘I didn’t know,’ I say, but I’m already analysing every interaction she and I have ever had. What the hell did I miss? How did I miss it? And if I hadn’t, would things be different now? ‘Why didn’t you – why didn’t you tell me?’

She scoffs, but her lopsided grin remains. ‘It was a stupid teenage crush. Not like you were ever interested. And then Jeremy asked me out, so . . .’

Jeremy. Fucking Jeremy. The human embodiment of a piece of shit. A cheater, a liar and an all-around terrible person. It kills me that we considered him a friend for so long, all because we grew up together. The warning signs were always there, and yet we just . . . ignored them. Put blinders on. Told ourselves that the jokes, the borderline misogynistic comments and the way he talked to girls was fine – that it didn’t mean anything. He was a good guy. We all were.

Except none of us were, because we sheltered him from the consequences. We took him at his word when he swore the girls he dated and broke up with were psychotic bitches who expected too much of him. We defended him when he was accused of cheating. Clearly, the girl didn’t understand the meaning of casual. We even laughed along when he told us outrageous stories of the things these obsessive stalkers would do to get his attention.

When he started dating Willow, everyone was fine with it, even Oakley. They were both in college in New York, Jeremy a senior and Willow a freshman. It was perfect, honestly. He could look out for her, be a familiar face in the chaos of a new city. We even teased them that it was fate. That they were meant to end up together.

‘We all know how that ended,’ Willow finishes with a shrug, her smile a little less bright.

Yeah, it ended with her calling her brother in tears and Oakley getting on a plane to New York. It ended with Jeremy in the hospital, threatening to press charges, and our group of friends split down the middle. Thankfully, the case never went anywhere, but none of us were the same afterward.

But now I’m left to wonder what would have happened if I’d have made a move before Jeremy did. How different could things have been if I’d been the one to ask her out instead of him?

‘If I had known, I would have—’ I cut short, not even sure what I would have done if she’d told me about her feelings.

Have I been fighting my attraction to her for a while? Hell, yeah, I have, especially since I tagged along with Oakley to visit her at college a couple of years ago. But I always thought dating her would cross a line, one I never wanted to venture over. Oakley might have been okay with it, just like he had been with Jeremy in the beginning, but it still seemed . . . wrong. Like a betrayal to my best friend, no matter how much I wanted it. How much I wanted her.

‘What would you have done, Dev?’ Willow presses when I don’t complete the thought. She’s watching me intently, her red-painted lips parted ever so slightly.

I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what I would have done back then. But right now, I’m tempted to make up for lost time, consequences be damned.

I don’t realize my hands are on her hips until she covers them with her own, soft and warm. I’m convinced she’s going to pull mine away, but then she runs her fingertips up my arms, slowly, gingerly, until her hands rest on my elbows. She squeezes, an invitation for me to pull her closer, and I don’t think twice before starting to – until a door slams open beside us.

I jump back as Oakley stumbles out of the bathroom, still looking a little green around the gills. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he groans, his eyes landing on me, then Willow. I may have put a little distance between us, but not enough. Based on the way his eyes narrow, Oakley probably sees the guilt written on my face. ‘Wait . . . What the fuck are you two doing?’

‘Nothing,’ Willow says quickly. While my sins are reflected in my expression, hers shine through in her voice. She steps forward to grab her brother’s arm, keeping her head down. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘No, stop.’ Oakley holds up a hand, his unfocused gaze dragging between us. Being drunk off his ass isn’t going to prevent him from connecting the dots. ‘Don’t fucking lie to me. What were you doing?’

Willow takes a step forward and tugs on his arm, trying to convince him to start walking. ‘Seriously, it was nothing, Oak. We were just waiting for you.’

But he doesn’t budge. His expression darkens, and he rips his arm from Willow’s grasp. With his attention focused solely on me, he pokes my chest with one finger. ‘Were you just kissing my sister?’

‘What?’ I splutter, the reaction not helping my plight. ‘No. Fuck no. Of course not.’ Was I about to, though? One-thousand-goddamn-per-cent.

I don’t dare look over at Willow. I only hope she doesn’t take it the wrong way. She seems to get it, though, because she grabs Oakley’s arm again and forces him to look at her.

‘I’m literally wearing red lipstick,’ she points out, motioning dramatically to her perfect mouth. ‘If we were kissing, it would be all over Dev’s face, dumbass.’

‘Yeah, I’d be in full clown mode right now, man,’ I add to the defence. ‘And no offence to Wills, but that’s not my shade of red.’

A step behind her brother, she rolls her eyes, but he deflates in response.

‘Oh,’ he mumbles. His anger quickly fades, replaced by the blank, wasted stare I much prefer. ‘All right. Good. Yeah.’ He drags the back of his hand across his forehead before it falls limply to his side. ‘But don’t ever fucking try.’

——

I wake in a cold sweat with my sheets tangled around my legs. Shoving them back, I wrench myself out of bed and grab my phone, heading straight into the kitchen before blindly fumbling in the cabinet for a glass. I fill it with water from the fridge with one hand while I use the other to pull up Mark’s contact on my phone. Both of them shake.

‘If you’re calling to see if I got back safely,’ he says upon answering the call, ‘then yes, Mom, I did. You can go to bed now.’

Ignoring him, I put the phone on speaker and drop it onto the counter. ‘Mark, I think I fucked up.’

He groans. ‘I swear, if you hurt yourself doing something stupid, I’m going to be so pissed. I can’t let you out of my sight for one—’

‘It’s not bodily damage.’

‘Okay . . .’ He trails off. ‘Then what did you do?’

I drag my fingers through my hair, still rattled from the dream and Oakley’s warning – a warning I ignored later that weekend. ‘I hired a new social media manager.’

Mark’s quiet for a beat before he finally asks, ‘How is that bad? You need one. Unless . . . Oh shit, don’t tell me you rehired Jani.’

‘It’s worse than that.’ I drop onto one of the barstools in front of the marble island. ‘I hired Willow.’

The silence that stretches across the line this time practically crackles with tension. Mark’s shock and horror are coming through loud and clear. ‘No, you fucking didn’t.’

I close my eyes, chin dipping to my chest. ‘Oh, but I did.’

‘Fire her,’ he demands. ‘Right now.’

‘I can’t do that.’ I sigh. ‘I’m the one who offered her the job. I need her help.’

‘Then you really fucked up. Do you need me to remind you of what happened the last time you got too close to her?’

He definitely doesn’t. I’ll never forget how I found myself in the barriers on lap thirty-seven in Austin because I couldn’t get Willow and our kiss out of my head. When I finally made it back to the pit lane after riding on the scooter of shame behind a chatty marshal, I told my team principal that I just made a stupid rookie mistake and locked up the rear wheels, but all it took was one firm look from Mark to spill my guts.

‘You crashed in your home race, Dev,’ he scolds. ‘Your home race!’

‘Yes, thank you. I’m well aware,’ I mumble, rubbing my eyes as if that will get the images of Willow’s face and my ruined car out of my head. ‘And technically, Vegas is my—’

‘Shut up,’ he cuts in. ‘This is a bad idea and you know it. She’s a distraction. Not only that, but we both know Oakley will cut your balls clear off if you ever make a move on her. You remember how he threatened me when I had the nerve to say she looked nice?’

Oh yeah, Oakley was touchy in the aftermath of Jeremy-gate. We could hardly even look at Willow without finding ourselves on the receiving end of his glare. With time, he eased up, but his warning last October was a reminder of the lengths he’d go to for his sister.

‘Yeah, that’s because he knows what a whore you are,’ I joke, trying to lighten a quickly soured mood.

Mark scoffs. ‘As if you’re any better. Need I remind you of Monza two years ago?’

‘That was a one-time thing,’ I point out. ‘How can you not expect me to end up in bed with five women after making it onto my first F1 podium?’

‘You barely got third, and that’s because four other drivers got penalties.’

‘A podium is a podium, baby. Gotta celebrate what you can.’

‘You’re ignoring the point,’ Mark huffs. ‘Oakley is never going to let any of us even get near Willow after—’

‘I know,’ I interrupt softly, deflating. I hold the glass to my forehead, hoping the cold will shock some sense into me.

‘And can you blame him? Jeremy wrecked her.’ He lets out a long breath. ‘And she’s the reason you wrecked.’

‘Oh, fuck off. That was a terrible joke. I’m throwing tomatoes at you in my head. Boo, hiss, get off the stage!’

‘I’m not kidding around.’ Mark’s tone makes that abundantly clear. ‘You cannot let this girl get to you again, Dev. If you’re really going to do this, you have to keep it strictly professional – for your sake and the sake of your friendship with Oakley.’

Guilt simmers in my chest. He’s right. I need to keep my distance from Willow whether she ends up working for me or not.

But after seeing her tonight – after dreaming of the words she said to me that drunken night last year – it’ll be easier said than done.

Because Willow already has a hold on me, and I have no idea how to shake her off.