CHAPTER 9
Willow
I’m still high on the adrenaline rush of the Grand Prix as I climb into bed that night.
The spectacle of Formula 1 is in a class all its own. The passion is unmissable, from the drivers to the fans. Getting swept up in it felt like the ultimate privilege. Even the post-race party, once again hosted by SecDark, was alight with the crackling energy of the day, and it was nowhere close to fading by the time I bailed. I would have stayed longer if I didn’t have an early flight out of Nice tomorrow, and if my legs didn’t ache from standing so much today. But I at least got a taste of the elite world before saying my goodbyes.
I’m hooked, no doubt about it, and now I can’t wait for more.
It still blows my mind that I get to enjoy this, up close and personal, for the next few weeks. The work will be undoubtedly hard and the schedule will be gruelling, but I’m ready for the challenge. So much so that I’m a little upset that I have to go back to the States tomorrow and miss out on the Spanish Grand Prix. The silver lining to this sad storm cloud, though, is that I’m flying straight to Texas to visit the Argonaut Racing headquarters, so I get to see where the magic begins.
Unable to shut my brain off after the whirlwind of a day I’ve had, I toss and turn. It’s not only because of the excitement coursing through me from watching the race from the VIP area, though. Maybe it’s a certain memory that keeps playing over and over and over again in my mind – the one when Dev pulled me to him for the sweatiest, hottest (temperature-wise), tightest hug after the race.
And the way he cupped my face like it was the most natural move? Like he didn’t care who was watching? Like I was the only one in the entire garage? Yeah. That’s definitely part of my problem right now.
It was innocent enough; Oakley didn’t even bat an eye. But it felt like so much more. It felt like the moment in the stairwell a few nights after I made the most embarrassing drunken confession of my life – that I had a crush on Dev all through my childhood and teenage years.
If I’m being honest, I still have a crush on him, one that has always lingered in the corners of my heart. It’s been locked away for some time now, but it’s still there. It stayed imprisoned when I was with Jeremy, when I fell in love with a boy I thought would treat me well, but it worked its way back into the light once my heart was shattered.
Oakley was there for me in the aftermath, helping me pick up the broken pieces of myself after being cheated on and gaslit. But Dev was there too. Not as often as my brother and definitely not to the same degree – he wasn’t the one who put Jeremy in the hospital with a broken nose and a few cracked ribs. But in little ways, he made a huge difference.
He would text me just to check in and send photos from wherever he was in the world that week. He would email recipes he found when scrolling online, knowing that baking helps calm me when I’m stressed. He even sent me a custom dartboard with Jeremy’s face on it. It was silly and an absolute waste of time and money, but it made me laugh, especially as I threw darts straight at ‘Jeremy’s’ eyes.
Now that we’ll be working together, it’s time to shove that crush back into the darkness. Maybe even add a padlock for good measure. There can be no distractions. Nothing that might sully my professional reputation. This is my chance to prove myself.
Speaking of work, Chava has already sent me the login information for Dev’s social media accounts, and since I can’t sleep, I might as well use this time to scroll through his content. I may already be familiar with it, though. At least, I am with everything he posted up until Oakley’s birthday last year, when I either unfollowed or muted him on every platform out of pure shame. That’s why I didn’t see the IYK Quick Results scandal in real time, but I’m kind of glad I missed it.
I haul my laptop over from the bedside table and plop it on my stomach, squinting against the harsh blue light as it turns on. After pulling up a new browser window, I start with Instagram. I type in Dev’s email and password one-handed and hesitate before I click log in. I hold my breath as I wait for the page to load and let it out in a groan when red notification dots appear next to nearly every icon.
His Instagram grid, however, is empty. He must have taken everything down after Jani’s infamous post. That alone will save me hours. It means I won’t have to wade through thousands of likely wild or horrific comments. His DMs, on the other hand, are probably a circus.
Before tackling them, I navigate to his archive. Jani’s parting gift is there, like it was the night Dev showed me. So are hundreds of old posts. Since they’re not published, there’s no reason for me to scroll through them, and yet I find myself perusing one after another, pausing longer than I should on images of him grinning at the camera. His laughter is so infectious that a still photo has me fighting a giggle and a flutter in my chest.
There’s no way around it – Dev is hotter than hell, and the pictures of him shirtless in his driver room with sweat glistening on his aggressively defined abs aren’t helping me get a handle on this crush. I should be looking at his account through a professional lens. I should be considering how to incorporate elements of his old feed into something new and deciding on a creative direction for future posts. And I should be taking notes about how to make that all come together.
Instead, I’m fantasizing about running my fingers through the loose curls of his hair and pressing my lips to his stubbled jaw, then trailing lower and lower and—
I snap my laptop shut, plunging the room into darkness.
It’s the shock to the system I need. From here on out, those thoughts are banned. Forbidden. Verboten. I don’t need the complications of a crush, and I won’t let it interfere with what Dev hired me to do.
Besides, we agreed to move on after the incident last year. And we’re managing it fine so far.
As long as I stay away from tequila shots or anything else that has the potential to make me loose-lipped, it’ll be fine.
I have absolutely nothing to worry about.
——
Chantal is waiting for me when I step into our apartment on Wednesday afternoon, quick to help with my suitcases. Plural. I had to buy a second one after leaving Argonaut’s headquarters with my new team swag.
‘You better have brought a gift for me,’ she warns, shooting me a lopsided smile over her shoulder as she drags both bags into my bedroom.
I hike my overstuffed purse higher on my shoulder, shuffling behind her. ‘I made a special trip to a Starbucks in Monaco to pick up a mug, as requested.’
She makes a little sound of happiness as she leads me into my room, then plops onto my bed and watches me expectantly. I drop my purse beside the luggage and collapse on the floor, achy and exhausted after sleeping in hotel rooms for a week and so many flights. I’m desperate to sleep in my own bed for at least a couple of nights. Soon enough, it’ll be exclusively planes and hotel rooms for a while. Even the summer break won’t bring much of a reprieve since I’ll have to fly out to California for Alisha’s wedding. It’s going to be a lot for my body to handle.
‘So,’ Chantal prompts, pulling me out of my thoughts.
She looms over me as she lies on her stomach with her elbows planted on the mattress and her chin resting in her hands. ‘Tell me everything. Actually, wait.’ She rolls onto her side to pull her phone out of the pocket of her shorts. ‘Let me get Grace on FaceTime first. She’ll kill me if she doesn’t hear this too.’
‘It’s three a.m. in Hong Kong,’ I remind her, unzipping my first suitcase. If I don’t unpack and sort through my stuff now, it won’t get done, and I’ll be scrambling to get things washed and repacked when it’s time to join Dev on the road.
‘She said she didn’t care.’ Chantal waves it off, the familiar ringtone already echoing through my room. ‘You know our girl’s a night owl anyway.’
That she is. When I’m not wildly jet-lagged like I was this weekend, I’m a morning person. On more than one occasion, Grace and I have crossed paths at five a.m. when I’m getting up to head to the gym, and she’s about to go to bed. On those days, we sit together in the kitchen with steaming mugs – strong coffee for me and Sleepy Time tea for Grace. My heart tugs a little at the thought. I won’t see her or Chantal for the next couple of months.
Grace answers as if it’s not the middle of the night, demanding that Chantal turn the camera so she can see me.
‘Spill it, bitch,’ she commands, holding the phone close to her face. Her dark eyes are bright with the need for gossip. ‘And don’t forget a single detail.’
With the order given, I launch into a rundown of the past few hectic days, trying to keep it brief, even with the girls’ interjections. My dirty laundry has been sorted into colour-specific piles by the time I’ve caught them up, and Grace’s excitement is practically oozing through the phone.
‘You are literally the luckiest girl on the planet,’ she says, bouncing so violently her image shakes on the screen. ‘I would kill to go to those races, and you just get to waltz right in.’
‘Yeah, because I’m working,’ I emphasize, reaching for the suitcase full of Argonaut gear. ‘And I’m going to have to wear this’ – I pull out a red-and-white striped polo embroidered with the names of the various sponsors, brandishing it for Chantal and the camera – ‘every day I’m there.’
Both girls grimace, Chantal going so far as to gag. ‘Okay, that is . . . not cute.’
‘Those colours have no business together unless they’re on a flag or a popsicle,’ Grace agrees. ‘But whatever. You’ll make it work. And Dev is going to think you’re hot as shit no matter what.’
I shoot a weak glare at the screen, but I do kind of hope Dev likes what he sees. Of course, nothing is going to happen between us. Still, there’s no harm in wanting him to think I’m attractive . . . right? ‘We’re not going there,’ I say instead.
Chantal turns the phone so she and Grace can share a pointed look before shifting it back to me.
‘Guess you shouldn’t have told us all about your drunken confession and the kiss last year if you didn’t want us shipping you together,’ Grace says breezily. ‘Because from where I’m sitting, you two are kind of the perfect pair.’
‘Stop it,’ I scold, tossing the polo into the suitcase again. I would agree, except there are too many obstacles standing in the way of Dev and me. My brother, for one. And really, I don’t even know if Dev would want to be more than friends. Let’s not forget the newest roadblock either: Dev officially becoming my boss. ‘I plan to keep things professional.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Chantal murmurs, clearly not believing a word coming out of my mouth. ‘Gracie, babe, how long do you give it before they’re fucking?’
‘Three weeks, tops,’ she answers without hesitation.
Heat rushes up my neck as I flash them twin middle fingers. The move earns a surround-sound cackle in response. Ducking my head, I snatch various shirts, skirts and pants from the bag and toss them into a pile of patriotism I hope won’t run in the wash.
‘Did you tell your brother what happened with Dev last year?’ Grace asks. ‘Is that why you’re so hell-bent on keeping this platonic? Did he warn you off the guy?’
My head snaps up again. ‘I absolutely did not tell him. And I never will because there’s nothing to tell. It was a one-time mistake, and I’ve moved on from it.’ Mostly. Kind of. Okay, not really at all, but whatever.
Chantal sucks in air through her teeth. ‘Girl, please. You’re about to travel the world with a guy you’ve been obsessed with for ever. Do you really think this is going to stay professional?’
I heave a breath, nervously sweeping my curls over one shoulder. ‘It has to. I won’t ruin my career – one that hasn’t even started yet, by the way – by hooking up with a man who is technically my boss. I’m not that irresponsible.’
‘I’d be irresponsible a hundred times over for a man as hot as Dev,’ Grace titters, fanning herself. ‘He knows you have a crush on him; you might as well go for it, see if he feels the same way.’
‘I used to have a crush on him,’ I correct, my face going even hotter at the lie. ‘Past tense. Not any more.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Chantal dismisses. ‘You’re still into that boy. Can’t blame you either. He’s a dream.’
‘Fine, let’s say that I am into him.’ I throw my hands up. It doesn’t matter how adamantly I deny it, they’ll see straight through me. ‘Let’s say that I still have a big, silly crush. It’s not like I can do anything about it. Plus . . .’ I blow out a breath and drop my chin. ‘Remember the Jeremy situation?’
The girls go quiet at that. This they understand. I can’t and won’t jeopardize more of my brother’s friendships. Not once did he question me when I told him what happened with Jeremy. He just jumped to defend me the second I needed him to. I’ll never be able to thank him enough for his loyalty and his faith in me. I can’t throw that back in his face by hooking up with another one of his friends, no matter how deep my feelings are or how long I’ve had them. I won’t run the risk of making another mess.
‘All right,’ Chantal concedes. ‘Maybe not your best option as far as boyfriends go. But I don’t see anything wrong with a secret hookup.’
‘Chantal.’
‘Come on, it’s perfect! You’ll be travelling together and staying in the same hotels. It would be so easy to slip into each other’s rooms and—’
‘Not happening.’
She tosses her braids over her shoulder and scrutinizes me. ‘Maybe it should. Maybe a few orgasms you didn’t give yourself will make you a little less snippy.’
I suck in a sharp breath, but before I can tell her to mind her business – and that I can’t even remember the last time I gave myself one – Grace sighs dreamily.
‘Summer is for falling in love, Willow,’ she says, drawing my attention to the phone again. ‘Why not open yourself up to it?’
‘Not with him.’ I have to shut this down before they get any other wild ideas. ‘Listen to me: nothing is going to happen. It can’t.’
Chantal turns the phone to face her again. I don’t need to see Grace to know she’s mirroring Chantal’s eye roll.
‘You guys don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I grumble.
Grace’s laugh carries through my bedroom like she’s right here with us. ‘You can say that all you want, honey. But no one knows you better than us.’
——
Feeling much more rested after a few days at home, I stream the Spanish Grand Prix pre-show on my laptop while I sift through my clothes and consider what I’ll actually need for the months away. For race weekends, I’ll be stuck wearing the hideous uniform, but most weekdays, I should be able to wear whatever I want. Still, it’s proving to be a challenge to narrow it down.
Other than one in Montreal, all the upcoming races are in Europe, so at least I won’t have to worry about dramatic climate differences from one place to the next. But first, according to Chava, Dev wants me to join him in San Diego for the break before the Canadian Grand Prix in two weeks.
I don’t really want to go home. I saw my parents when they came to New York for my graduation, and I’m not particularly interested in sleeping in my childhood bedroom, but in Chava’s words, this trip isn’t optional. So I guess I’m heading back to California.
‘You good?’ Chantal asks from where she’s propped up against my doorframe. ‘You’ve been staring at that pile of flag knockoffs for a while.’
I turn down the volume on the commentators predicting the outcome of the race and blow out a breath. ‘I’m trying to figure out what to pack,’ I admit. ‘I want to make sure I have what I need for all of the countries we’re hitting.’
‘Rack up those passport stamps, baby.’ She sighs wistfully. ‘I’m so jealous. I have to stay here and work in an office. Ew.’
‘You should be jealous,’ I tease. ‘But maybe – Oh, crap, my passport.’
Chantal laughs as I scramble to my feet and snatch the purse I took to Monaco off the dresser. When I get my hands on the blue booklet, my shoulders sag in relief. I won’t be going anywhere without it.
‘You sure you want to do this?’ she asks me as I carefully set my passport on my dresser so it’ll be in plain sight at all times. ‘It’s an amazing opportunity, don’t get me wrong. But it does seem kind of . . . chaotic.’
‘It is chaotic,’ I agree, returning to my spot on the floor. Once I’m settled, I flip my little notebook open to my packing checklist. ‘But yeah, I’m sure. I want this.’
A concerning smirk breaks out on her face. ‘You mean you want to ride Dev’s—’
‘Don’t say it!’ I screech, tossing my pen at her.
She dodges with ease, rocking back on her heels. ‘We both know you want to,’ she coos, stepping further into my bedroom and nudging my toiletry bag closer to me with her pink-painted toes. ‘But fine, I’ll drop it. For now.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ I grumble, grabbing the box sitting to my left. ‘So kind of you.’
Chantal squats beside me, ignoring my sarcasm. ‘That the Big Box O’Pills?’
Holding up the glitter-labelled shoe box, I give it a shake. All of the bottles of anti-inflammatories, joint supplements and in-case-of-emergency pain pills rattle around. I used to be embarrassed to travel with an arsenal of drugs, as well as several rolls of joint strapping tape, but I’ve come to accept that if I want to stay comfortable and mobile, this Big Box O’Pills, as we affectionately call it, is a fact of life. Why be ashamed of something I can’t change about myself?
‘Locked and loaded,’ I tell her, shoving it into my carry-on suitcase. There’s no way I’m letting that precious cargo out of my sight.
‘Do these hotels all have gyms?’
I hold up my elastic workout bands before dropping them into my carry-on as well. ‘Pretty sure, but I’ll be prepared no matter what.’
‘Keep those joints strong. And be careful, okay?’
‘Don’t know how careful you expect me to be if you also want me out there riding dick,’ I shoot back.
Chantal squawks in surprise at my comment, falling back on her ample backside. I roll my eyes and fight a smile as she clutches at her stomach and cackles.
‘God, I love this side of you,’ she finally gasps. ‘You were so sweet when we met, and now you’re a monster!’
Snickering, I slap her arm with the back of my hand. ‘That was your doing.’
And I won’t admit it to her, but Dev’s influenced me recently too. It’s hard not to let these things loose when I’m faced with his crude humour. Besides, I want him to know I’m not some passive, blushing little girl any more. Maybe I was when I was with Jeremy, and even for a while afterward while my heart healed, but I’m about to walk into a brand-new stage of life. I don’t want that reputation following me.
‘I corrupted you.’ Chantal wipes away an invisible tear before throwing her arms around me and rocking me in her embrace as she fake-cries. ‘My baby’s all grown up. God, I’m gonna miss you so stinkin’ much.’
‘I’m leaving in a couple days, not right this second,’ I complain, but I let her continue to tilt us from side to side. ‘You could at least make me want to miss you.’
‘Evil little thing,’ she babbles, clutching my head to her chest. ‘My sweet, pocket-sized demon.’
‘You’re the worst,’ I mumble as the opening strain of the Formula 1 theme song plays in the background. It’s a reminder of where I’ll be for the next few months – swept up in the world of racing, miles outside my usual comfort zone and far from my friends.
So I let Chantal hold me like a doll as the faces of the drivers flash across the screen. My breath catches when Dev appears, staring into the camera with an undeniable smoulder. It doesn’t matter that all of the other men have also looked directly into the camera. They didn’t make me feel like this. Like they were staring straight at me.
But Dev is. And I’m suddenly no longer confident in my abilities to keep things platonic.