Chapter 9
Chloe
I want to get decently drunk, in this dive bar, with you.”
“You got it,” Keyla says, her face lighting up with a huge grin.
“You look like hell,” she says, motioning for me to sit.
Whereas Keyla looks gorgeous. Her braids wound in a bunch on her head, faded Rolling Stones T-shirt falling stylishly off her shoulder, her dark skin positively shimmering under the dim lighting above the bar.
“I’ve just traveled for twenty hours, after Barry locked me in a hot garage with Matt and we had to remove the hinges from the door to escape.”
“Barry locked you in a room?” She drops her voice. “With Matt?”
“Yes, and it gets worse. He’s on his way here.” I look sheepishly at the floor.
“Hold up, what the hell’s going on?” Keyla cackles and slaps me on the arm. “I can’t keep up.”
“He saw me leaving the hotel and asked where I was going, and like the idiot I am, I word-vomited and told him. Then, in the spirit of us getting along and this new arrangement we made in Singapore, I invited him to tag along and he said yes. I’ve officially lost my mind.”
“Oh, girl, you better start at the beginning,” she says as she motions to the bartender for two shots of whiskey to go with our beers.
“Bring them on,” I say, rubbing my palms together.
We clink glasses and both down the whiskey on one, then I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Keyla slams her glass on the bar. “Now. Matt Warner. Sexiest driver in F1. Spill.”
“Yes. Right. Okay. Matt Warner.” I breathe all the stale, boozy air into my lungs and blow a massive, overexaggerated raspberry.
Because what exactly is going on? Was there something there in That Moment, with Matt?
He looked just as rattled as I was, or did I misread it?
I groan into my beer because I’ve been going round on this carousel since we boarded the jet in Singapore.
“Well, we had a rough start. The team noticed. Barry noticed. And there’s no doubt about our history being a little awkward, but we talked.”
“And . . .” Keyla squints at me, as though disbelieving.
“And we both agreed to try to make this work. He needs my help. And I could sure use his support.”
Keyla tips her head to the side, studying me hard. “Are you sure you can put all your past feelings to bed like that? I know how much he meant to you way back when. Those feelings don’t just disappear.”
I feel a rush of emotion sweep through me, and like the mind reader she is, Keyla puts a hand on my arm and squeezes. “Okay. Let’s think positively. You probably just need to get used to being in each other’s orbits as adults. I mean, do you even really know him anymore?”
“I’m not sure,” I say, truthfully.
“Maybe once you get to know him again you’ll think he sucks now,” she suggests, taking a sip of her beer.
Maybe. The Matt I knew could be so unexpectedly sweet.
A surprise lunch on a busy day. Sharing headphones while we waited trackside, when I forgot mine.
And if any of the other guys ever said anything disparaging or, in later years, vaguely sexual to me, Matt could silence them with just one look.
His attention made me feel so special. And so very confused.
Keyla leans in, a little tipsy now, and I realize I’m right there with her. “Maybe, Chloe, after a while you’ll wonder what you ever saw in him.”
Imagine that freeing feeling. No more reading into everything, wanting to believe the feeling is mutual. My chest relaxes just thinking about it, my body takes in the first full breath in a week. I wave to the bartender for more drinks.
“That would be the best scenario for everyone involved,” I say, pushing away the niggling feeling that I’m simply bullshitting myself.
“As long as he feels the same way.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, look at you. You’re hot. You’re a fucking team principal of an F1 team. I’d be more worried he might have feelings for you, these days.”
I slap Keyla on the arm and laugh. “Thanks for the ego boost, but he’s still Matt fucking Warner, GQ cover model.”
She tuts loudly. “You looked in the mirror lately?” She holds a finger up to the bartender for one more shot.
I think about Matt and his struggles on the track, and the promise we made in that locked room.
I think about the incredible strain he must be under.
I force myself to picture him back in training, trying to find his focus again.
I’ve helped him before. I can help him again.
This relationship is for work, not personal.
“Well, anyway, I told him I’d help him get his confidence back.”
“The crash,” she says, the way everyone talks about it.
I nod. “If I can get him back up to speed, we could be vaguely competitive with the upgrades we’ve got coming,” I say, resting my elbows on the sticky countertop. I can feel the booze thrumming in my veins now, the music a little louder, my stress feeling a million miles away.
“That’s your focus,” she says, throwing her arms around me in a surprise hug, which nearly topples me off my stool.
“I just want you to give this everything, Chloe. The job. You have so much potential, and I know this Matt thing is a shock, and there’s feelings to process, but you cannot let it distract you. ”
I pull her a little closer into the hug and squeeze. “Yes. I need to just keep my eyes on the prize.”
The bar is starting to get rowdy already, and as Keyla pulls back, she has that unmistakable look of mischief on her face. She nods toward the pool table.
“Wanna go challenge those frat boys to a game of pool?”
“Can we do it for money?” I ask. “Like old times?”
“You bet, baby,” she says, grinning.
An hour later, Keyla and I are both well on the way to being certified drunk, and have still managed to pocket around a hundred dollars from the group of young men.
On the jukebox, “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon starts playing, and in one of those drunken-bonding-of-the-whole-bar moments, suddenly arms and pints are thrust toward the ceiling and painfully loud wails fill the humid air.
“When’s Matt coming? I promised I’d meet some friends soon and go dancing, which you have to join,” Keyla whines, finishing her beer in one big slug. “You think he bailed?”
“Maybe. I’m too tired for clubbing though, Keyla,” I say. Lining up the white ball, I shoot the black into the corner pocket. “That’s another win.”
“You girls are real fucking hustlers,” says our new friend Micky before handing Keyla a twenty and the last of his pride.
“Not really,” Keyla says casually. “We’re just a couple of gals in town for the F1 race.”
“I love F1,” Brad or maybe Chad says. “I got tickets to the qualifier.”
“Qualify-ing,” I say, wagging a finger. “Not qualifi-er.”
“Whatever,” he says, shrugging. “You going?”
“Might make an appearance,” Keyla says, catching my eye and hiding her laugh with the back of her hand.
“Got to say, nothing better than watching Red Bull.”
Keyla eye-rolls. “Isn’t Red Bull a drink?” she replies in her most girlish voice.
“Chicks say they love F1,” he says, laughing. “But y’all just want to bang the drivers.” He pulls out a packet of cigarettes and pats himself down, looking for a lighter.
“Who wants to bang a driver?”
I’d know that husky voice anywhere, which makes me really bloody angry and excited all at once. I spin around so fast, I nearly impale Matt with the pool cue.
“Whoa, tiger,” he says as he steadies me with his big hands. Were they always that big?
“Matt!” I shout over the music as I fight the tipsy urge to hug him. I have to remind myself that I’m his boss. This is a professional hangout. Well, as much as dive-bar drunken hangouts can be.
But Matt stays cool and casual, one hand in his pocket while the other shakes Keyla’s hand as he introduces himself.
Keyla gives me a sideways look that says exactly what I’m thinking: He unsurprisingly looks hot.
Shower fresh, hair still damp, chocolate hoodie and loose-fit jeans, black baseball cap pulled down low.
It’s infuriating.
“Holy shit, you’re Matt Warner,” Micky says, glancing back at me and Keyla.
Matt lifts his baseball cap a little, grinning. “Yeah, but keep it down, would you?” he says, nodding round the crowded bar.
Micky grins back. “Good luck on Sunday, bro.” Then, shaking his head, he saunters back to his mates with a wide smile.
“I didn’t think you’d show this late,” I shout over the music, steadying myself with one hand on the pool table.
“Sorry, took a minute to get ready and then was stuck in traffic,” he replies, looking sheepish. “Damn, looks like I missed all the fun.”
“I’m afraid so. I’m actually ready for bed,” I yell back. “And I’m hungry.”
“And you look a little drunk,” Matt says, as I attempt three times to stand the pool cue up against the wall, before giving up.
Keyla takes the pool cue from me and, with almost the same lack of coordination, manages to return it to its catch. “I can go meet the team if you want to head back? They’re going clubbing.” She glances between me and Matt and narrows her eyes at me. “If that’s what you want, Chloe?”
I slump down into the seat, waves of tiredness sweeping over me. I’m so exhausted I can’t tell where the jet lag begins and the whiskey ends. “Yes, please.”
“I’ll take her back,” Matt says to Keyla without missing a beat.
“Text me when you get home,” she says to me before squeezing my hand and disappearing to keep the party going.
I watch Matt scan the bar, probably to close out my tab. The whole place is swaying and shouting in unison, engrossed in their own drunken business of off-tune singing and sweaty dancing.
And then, Matt pulls his cap down low and reaches out his hand to pull me up.
“Come on, Bug,” he says, half grinning at me. “Let’s get you to bed.”
I can’t help myself. “I bet you’ve used that line before.”
“Oh, she’s playful tonight,” he says, chuckling as he gives up waiting for my hand and folds his arms across his chest. “You want a water instead? Food?”
“I want all three of those things, but I don’t want to move,” I say, and hearing the slight slur in my voice, I pull a face. “Shit. I am a little drunk.”
“I don’t have a teleporter shoved down the front of my pants, but I can get you back to the hotel with my car,” he says.
“The hotel?” I say, sighing, wishing I was already there.
“Where there is food and there is water,” he says.
“And you have a car?”
“Yes, I drove myself. You know, I have a driver’s license,” he says, grinning. “I passed my test and everything.”
“Fine. Take me home,” I say, lifting up my hand to accept his help. His big hand clasps around mine and jerks me up, and before I lose my footing and catch the side of the pool table he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close.
I immediately feel the electricity between us that sparked in the room back in Singapore.
I slowly trace my eyes from his muscular arm holding me, up to his broad chest, and finally into those piercing hazel eyes.
Am I that drunk, or did I just imagine him leaning in even more?
Or maybe it’s the crowd of people pushing us toward each other.
Fuck. This is so not appropriate. Before I can snap us out of yet another Moment, Matt thankfully does it for me.
“Sorry, let’s get you out of here. It’s too crowded.” He takes a step back toward the bar, handles the bill, then grabs my hand and guides me toward the front entrance.
Matt and I step out into the night, sobered up from whatever that was.
“Oh yes, take me to bed now,” I mumble as I follow him through the virtually empty streets. “I seriously can’t wait.”
“I bet you’ve used that line before,” he says, clicking a set of keys as a green Maserati unlocks on the street next to us.
He looks back with a mischievous smile. I slap him playfully on the shoulder, before realizing we’re still holding hands, so I tug mine free, wiping it inconspicuously on my jeans.
“A Maserati?” I touch the side of the car, its green coat shimmering in the blinking light of the bar.
“I have a soft spot for them,” he whispers, leaning in. And then, as his body moves past mine to get to the passenger door, I get a whiff of his aftershave. His freshly washed hair. I stand back, stumbling a little with the shock of it. This night is pure torture.
Matt goes to grab me, but I jump back. “I’m fine. Sorry. Damn shoes,” I say.
As the door shuts and Matt makes his way around to the other side, I realize I can hear my heart beating hard in my chest.
“You came all this way just to have to take me home,” I say.
“It’s okay. I’m glad I witnessed it, Bug,” he says, starting the car, which roars to life with that deep growl from the V-8 engine.
“Witnessed what?”
“You being a cheeky fucker,” he says, laughing. “I missed it, actually.”
I feel the heat in my cheeks as I reach for my seat belt and yank it across my body, but it jams, and the harder I tug, the more it jams. “Damn it,” I mutter.
Matt reaches over to help, and our hands touch again, sending another shock through my body. I’m in no state for this. I need to get to the safety of my room.
“There you go, Bug. Safety first.”
“Can we go?” I say, hugging myself and shifting my body away from his.
“Sure. How fast do you want to get there?” he asks, sticking his tongue out as he grins.
“The speed limit,” I say dryly.
“Come on, Bug. That’s no fun,” Matt says as he pulls onto the street, then hits the throttle.