Chapter 7 #2
“Yes. I said everyone likes grapes, but what color, you know? I’m a green grape girl myself, and I was asking everyone what color they prefer.” He looks at me skeptically, and I want to hide, but I need to sell this. I got myself into this idiotic mess; now I need to fake my way through it.
“What color… grape I prefer?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to seem as confident as possible, but it’s terribly clear he is not buying it.
And why would he? I’m asking about fucking grapes.
I sigh, deciding to go a different route.
“Okay. You got me. I was headed into the arena to see if you were practicing, but it looks like I got the time wrong.” He tips his head, that smile turning from adorably confused to thoroughly entertained.
“You keeping tabs on my schedule?”
Not in the way you think, I don’t say. “No, I just—” My words trail off as he steps closer to me.
“I just wanted to watch your practice when you weren’t on display for everyone.
You’re different then, and I thought I might be able to…
get some tips. You know, since you’re so…
” I swallow, trying to push back the discomfort. “Good at this.”
“Bullshit,” he says, crossing his arms on his chest and looking down at me. He’s tall for a driver, six feet, and as a very average 5’4”, I have to look up at him.
“Why else would I come looking for you?” I ask, and his lips tilt as he takes a lock of my hair and brushes it past my shoulder, touching only that strand. Still, somehow I feel the graze everywhere.
With his next smile, a new feeling comes into play, one I almost mistake for that familiar adrenaline before my mind tells me what it really is: butterflies.
Butterflies dancing around my stomach.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
Cocky assholes like Roman DeLuca do not give me butterflies. Not at all.
“I don’t know. You tell me, honey,” he says, and with his word, the butterflies are gone, leaving irritation in their wake.
“My name is Lana.”
“Oh, I’m well aware. Just trying out other pet names, seeing which I like best.”
“God, you’re such a dick,” I say. That cocky grin returns, as do the butterflies. My pulse quickens, and my lips part as I try to draw air into my lungs, a task that suddenly feels difficult.
“And you like it,” he says low, eyes moving from my lips to my eyes.
“I’m not into assholes,” I say, though it’s a lie. He tips his head to the side, a thick curl falling into his face before his hand moves up to push it back. I can’t help but watch the way his muscles flex in his arm, stretching the thin T-shirt.
“Sure, you’re not. Just like I’m not into bossy blondes with an attitude problem who can drive better than half of the men here.”
“Only half?”
“Give it a few weeks for you to get your sea legs, and you’ll be driving better than almost all of us.
” Before I can even ask, he explains. “It’s gonna take a lot to beat me.
Though if you want some private lessons, I’m happy to give them,” he says.
I open my mouth, though for one wild moment I don’t know whether to argue or accept.
But before I can do either, a new voice enters the fray.
“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!
” Demi calls, delighted cheer in her voice.
Instantly, I step back from the man in front of me, snapping back into reality.
I don’t even have to look at her to know there’s a shit-eating grin on her lips.
She loves my misery. “Looks like you found a way to keep yourself busy.”
“No, I—” I start, an embarrassed burn coating my cheeks and moving down my neck.
“I was just offering my services,” Roman says, and I snap my head in his direction, my mouth open and eyes wide.
“That’s not—”
“But I’ve gotta get on my way. I was supposed to meet Courtney,” he checks the time on his phone and cringes. “Ten minutes ago. Later, ladies.” Then he moves on past where Demi and I are standing.
Despite my better judgment, I watch his ass as he goes. He might be a jerk, but the man has a great ass.
“He’s into you,” Demi says, providing me with the distraction I need to regain my bearings once more. I roll my eyes and shake my head at my friend.
“I think he’s into anyone with a pulse.”
“I don’t know about that,” she says, and I turn to her, confused.
She lifts a nonchalant shoulder as she links her arm with mine and starts walking.
“I’ve done some digging on him. In the past two years, there hasn’t been much about him out with women.
Not dating, not hookups. His first couple of years in Indy, there was.
It was splashed everywhere. But it’s stopped. ”
“So he got better at hiding it,” I say, but Demi’s silence tells me she doesn’t necessarily agree.
“If you wanted to fuck him, I would approve,” she says, as we step into the elevator for the hotel.
“Excuse me?”
“If you wanted to fuck him, I would approve,” she repeats as if I didn’t hear her the first time. “Oh, come on. The sexual tension between you is insane.”
“I’m not going to fuck him, Demi. He’s an asshole.”
“Exactly. Just your type.” I stare at her, aghast, for long moments before she breaks character, loud laughter filling the metal elevator.
“God, you look like I told you to go into the gorilla exhibit and try to give one a hug.”
“Basically the same thing. As far as we know, he could be the mastermind behind this whole thing.” She tips her head and gives me a look.
“What? If he wants to guilt his dad into bringing him back…” My words fall short, and even my own ears, they sound flimsy.
It’s a theory, of course, but not a strong one.
“All I’m saying is it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get close to him. Use that to find out more information. That’s what we’re here for anyway.”
“I’d rather chew on glass. He’s so annoying,” I grumble. She lifts an eyebrow, looking at me like a mother might at a child dragging their feet to clean up their room.
“Well then, you should have picked a different career. He’s our biggest clue, and you’re in the perfect position to find out what he knows.”
And even though I know it’s true and that it’s what I have to do, those pesky butterflies have me wondering if getting close to Roman DeLuca wouldn’t be the absolute worst idea ever.