Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
TESSA
Silly me to think there wouldn’t be any drama because Pierce Racing wasn’t on the invite for this particular brand sponsorship, but leave it to Walsh racers to prove me wrong.
Jericho’s comment about Vinny hums beneath my skin, silently brimming the surface. My arms break out in goosebumps, my gaze winding around the large area to spot him before he spots me.
Vinny crossed my mind while I was getting ready, and I should have taken it as a warning. Like the universe’s way of throwing me a bone to mentally prepare for the testy run-in, as if my nerves haven’t already been fried all week from the bane of my existence: Rome.
My neck still tingles from his hot whisper against my skin.
I’m apparently starved for a man’s touch if Rome Pierce gets me going.
I growl quietly into my glass cup, the ice clinking together with the bitter taste of vodka on my tongue.
Rome did not get me going.
It was the action itself.
Not Rome.
“Is it time to go yet?” Beck whines.
I place my glass down on the cocktail table and look at him flatly. “We’ve been here for less than an hour.”
He bristles, the curl of his lip showing his frustration. “I’m not even sure why I’m here. I’m not the one they want to see.”
“You’re a part of Vanstone too,” I say. “Your time will come.”
“Easy for you to say,” he argues. “You’ve reached your goal.”
I laugh bitterly. “My goal is to win a race as top engineer, and I’m not sure if you noticed or not, but Rome and I aren’t exactly meshing well.”
Beck follows my line of sight.
Rome and Noah stand side by side, a sponsor rep opposite of them. She says something, and Rome flashes her a grin—one I never see. Instead, I get arrogant smirks after he lands an insult or a scowl.
The woman touches his arm, her long, red fingernails stark against his black suit.
I curl my fingers around the glass cup.
“I’m stepping out for air,” Beck says, leaving me alone at the cocktail table.
The last time he did this, I ended up in a position that sits like a secret in the back of my head.
I scan the room.
It’s always nice to know where the threat is, and for once, I’m not referring to Rome.
Jericho stands tall in his suit and runs a hand through his hair as he checks the same watch the rest of the racers are wearing tonight. They’ve already taken a photo of Rome and Noah with theirs, which means we don’t have much longer until we can head out for the evening.
“Looking for someone?”
I turn quickly, my movements jerky. I knock my drink over simultaneously and gasp.
Rome catches it with a cat-like reflex, placing it back on the table. “Too much to drink?”
I scowl. “Not nearly enough to deal with you.”
His chuckle is gruff.
I pull my drink out of his grasp, and just to prove a point, I press the glass against my lips. Rome peers at me from his tall stance, his dark lashes outlining those stupid blue eyes. I sip the vodka into my mouth with ease, although the liquor burns my tongue.
Rome surveys my wet lips. His pupils grow when my tongue jolts out to lick the rest.
“See something you like?” I ask.
He snaps out of it before I manage a cheeky smile.
Our heated glares mimic each other. From the outside, I guarantee we look like we’re going head to head, just like rivals do.
“And what if I said yes?”
He’s toying with me.
I know he doesn’t see something he likes. In fact, he can’t stand me–especially when he’s in a sim and I’m barking out demands.
Still, the question lands like a threat. It hits a little too close, sparking heat down my spine before I can stop it. I hate the way my body reacts before I’m able to shove the reaction aside.
But I do.
I bury it.
There is absolutely no way I'm letting him have the upper hand–not at some sponsor gala, or at the office, and especially not at our first Grand Prix.
The sooner Rome gives in to my authority, the better.
My elbows press into the table. “Two can play this game, Rome. Don’t even try to win.”
He leans back, my glass now in his large grip. My lipstick stain on the edge touches his lips, and the rest of my drink goes down the hatch.
The glass clinks onto the table, and I’m both stunned and annoyed.
Rome’s devilish glint drives into me in the tight space we’ve found ourselves in. “I don’t have to try,” he says with arrogance. “I’m a natural when it comes to winning, Tess.”
I roll my eyes so hard I get dizzy.
I refuse to look at him any longer, fearful if I keep up this little back and forth we’ve found ourselves in, people will get the wrong idea.
We’re too close.
Our faces a breath away.
If only everyone in this room knew that we were at each other’s throats instead of the opposite.
“I told you that only friends and family call me Tess–”
“And I’m neither,” he finishes for me. “I just can’t help but call you that, though. Your angry face is my favorite.”
I scowl and turn away, only to grow rooted in place.
My stomach curls into a ball of nausea with my gaze locked across the room.
Look at me! Letting my guard down because of Rome. I allowed him to distract me and rile me up to the point that I missed the moment Vinny walked into the room.
It’s not that I long to see him.
Instead, it’s out of protection.
“I’m ready to go,” I announce.
“Already?” Rome tilts his head. “We just started having fun.”
“If getting on my last nerve is fun, then sure.”
I glance back to Vinny, who stands next to Jericho.
“Winning is fun,” Rome drags out. “And it looks like I won this one, Princess.”
Maybe, but only because I’m distracted by something worse than him.
I move away from the cocktail table and put my back to the gala. I long for the door like it’s my savior. My ears ring, and the back of my neck prickles with the thought of everyone’s eyes on me–especially Vinny’s.
I want to poke his eyes out so he can’t look at me and cut his hands off so he can’t touch me. But more than both of those things, I want to beat him on the track just as badly as I wanted to beat Rome before he signed a contract with my father to join our team.