Chapter 12
JACK
IMOLA
And don’t get me started on a certain blonde who won’t leave my head.
The gym door opens and closes behind me, and the cross-trainer rumbles to life. It’s a pitiful set-up even for a hotel gym, with only one of each machine. If another person joins us, the term ‘three’s a crowd’ will never be truer. I turn my music up and break into a run.
Drivers do most of their press with their teammate, but not me. When Micah joined, his dad negotiated some sort of press exemption clause in his contract – god knows how he did it – and lucky Micah gets Thursdays off.
Not that I want him by my side; he’s a conniving prick.
Still, crushing him on a reflex test in front of four million German viewers would make sockgate sting a little less.
I also take heart from him getting an extra day to walk the track and talk strategy with his mechanics, and I still manage to beat him in every race. Lol.
A woman with a swingy blonde ponytail, her long legs covered by tight, tight yoga pants, walks past me and grabs a mat at the front. I’d know that perfectly round arse anywhere.
My music cuts as I take my earphones out. ‘Morning, Roberts.’
What’s she doing here?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad about it, but press never stay in driver hotels. Networks are way too cheap.
She whips round to look at me, seeming even more shocked than I am. ‘W-what are you doing here?’
I slow the treadmill to a stop. ‘I don’t know if you know this, but there’s a big race in three days.’
Her lips twitch. ‘That completely passed me by.’
‘Easily done.’ I smile, wiping my face with a towel. ‘I’m training. What are you doing here?’
‘I’m…’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Stretching.’
She really is something. Her little crop top is straining against her chest like it might pop open if she does a back bend, and I could write an essay on how magnificent her butt looks in those lilac pants. She bows to unroll her mat and it’s nothing short of holy. Hot damn I want to fuck her.
‘I can see that,’ I mutter. I take a swig of water and remember I’d never forgive myself if I savaged my hero’s daughter. Also she’s a journalist. Though principles and logic mean more when I’m not inside a gym that’s too small and too hot.
‘Are you excited for Pagari’s home race?
’ she asks as she arches her back in a cat-cow, arse facing me, and I’m seized by a violent craving to bury my face deep inside it.
Her tiny top is struggling on all sides, like she’s too much for it, like it’s weak and inadequate, and honestly, that makes two of us.
‘Sure,’ I say, grateful to sound semi-normal and not like I’m at war with my dick. ‘I love Imola. The fans are insane, and I moved to Modena when I was twelve so—’
She brings her leg forward into pigeon pose and holy Jesus fuck. Her flexibility will be the death of me. Oh the things I’d do to—
Get a grip, lad. If she looks in the side mirror, she’ll see a roaring semi a couple of metres behind her, which isn’t how any guy wants to introduce their prized possession.
And she’s never going to meet him because…
Because? I can’t remember right now, but I know there’s a solid reason. Maybe even two.
‘—um, it, um… feels like… home,’ I finish at last, my mouth parched. This conversation’s taking years off my life. I can feel my hairline receding.
‘Is that so?’
I slug more water. ‘Moved for the Young Driver Academy.’ I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
As Minnie switches to the other leg, before I can marvel at this pleasing new angle, I catch her pursing her lips in the side mirror.
It takes my overheated brain a second to get there, but it does.
Oh you wicked, wicked woman.
‘Can you speak Italian?’ she asks, all fluttery eyelashes and fake innocence.
Funny thing about me? I never back down from a challenge.
I give up the pretence of looking anywhere but her arse – like I was that convincing to begin with. ‘Abbastanza bene.’ Her dad drove with Martinelli for two years. She knows what I said.
Something mischievous glints in her eyes as she holds mine in the mirror. She opens her legs wide and folds forward, elbows resting on the floor.
I manage to catch myself right before my brain fogs over.
Two can play this game, Roberts.
She pretends to be absorbed in her stretch. ‘And how was—’
‘Need a hand?’ I whisper in her ear.
She jolts at my unexpected proximity. ‘I—’
‘If I apply a little pressure here,’ my hands find the bare skin between her crop top and trousers, and press lightly, ‘you’ll feel a deeper stretch in your abductors and lower back.’
My dick is directly behind her open butt, which is doing nothing to dampen anything. Only two layers of nylon separate us. Her deep, steadying breaths ripple through me, and I let myself imagine her panting in my ear, forehead nuzzled into my neck, riding my cock like we’re in a Ginuwine song.
‘Does that feel good?’ I murmur, a hairsbreadth from her.
Her swallow might as well be playing through the speakers. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘You’re pretty fucking flexible.’ Too flexible. It’s rude. Some might say cruel.
She peels up and I reluctantly let go.
‘Thanks,’ she tosses over her shoulder.
A few damp strands have broken free from her ponytail and stick against the base of her neck. It would be nothing to move them with my finger and chase it with my lips.
‘Welcome,’ I murmur.
The door lurches open and we jump. The intruder halts at the sight of us, of this insanely fit woman and her unbelievably tight yoga pants, but pulls it together and makes for the treadmill, blushing from scalp to chin.
In all honesty, I’m relieved the moment’s gone.
A couple of weeks ago I swore Minnie off, only to fall down at the first test. It’s like she’s a drug or something.
I’m not sure my junk could’ve taken much more of her closeness and her scent and her softness and her rounded peach without some form of release.
I don’t get it; I’ve shagged plenty of gorgeous women before.
I could head into Bologna and bang someone tonight, if I wanted. What makes her so special?
I pick up my water bottle and sling my towel over my shoulder. ‘See you at the track?’
She smiles cheekily. ‘See you at the track.’
After calmly shutting the gym door behind me, I hurl myself towards the lift.