Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
UNITED STATES GRAND PRIX | MONDAY
Nico wakes to the unfamiliar sensations of Petra’s hair tickling his chest and her breath warming his neck.
Morning light paints faint patterns across the floor and sheets.
They’d talked until exhaustion took over, making plans and jokes and love again.
But it’s Monday, and they don’t have the luxury of time.
El Gran Premio de la Ciudad de México is next weekend and they both have to fly this afternoon.
She stirs, yawns, and stretches like a cat. “Time is it?”
“Early.” He checks his phone. “Though not early enough to avoid decisions.”
“Mm.” She blinks, rotates her hands on her wrists, then gazes up at him. “The great escape question. Pretend last night didn’t happen?”
“Or walk out together and own it.” He arches a brow. “Unless you have regrets and need an excuse to run away?”
Petra sits up, the sheet pooling in her lap and revealing her breasts, but she’s unbothered. “I regret nothing and I don’t run from anything.”
He grins. “I didn’t think so.”
She cocks her head and looks askance at him. “You just tricked me.”
“Posiblemente.” He brushes hair from her face. “Let’s get breakfast and start the show.”
She considers him. “What do we want the world to see?”
“Whatever you want. I’ll follow your lead, Petra, just like I always have.”
“You have not, and I don’t suggest starting now. I have no idea where this is going. But I know everyone else will have opinions.”
“Sí, pero no importan.” He pulls her down for a kiss. “Right?”
She resists for a moment, considering. He sees it on her face, the decision she’s making. “You’re right.” She continues forward until their lips meet, then her smile blooms against his mouth. “Their opinions aren’t important.”
A few more kisses, then Nico sits her up. “Vamos.” But he already misses the feel of her body and her lips. “Let’s give the fans something to post about.”
Petra flashes that cheeky smile he loves. “Might as well.”
She rolls out of bed, and he marvels at the beauty and power of her thin, muscular body.
This isn’t the gum-cracking little girl he had a crush on.
Every muscle is honed. Every unnecessary ounce of fat removed.
She’s thin, like they all are, but he knows the toll maintaining a driver’s physique took on her mental health.
He knows why Jacintha monitors Petra’s meals and weight and macronutrients maybe even more obsessively than most other physios do for their drivers.
“The Honey Bunnies will lose their shit either way.” She retrieves her phone from the desk and mutters, “Speaking of people who’ll lose their shit.”
Nico finds his boxers and pulls them on, then gathers their scattered clothes. “Coy?”
“Mm.”
“He already knows.” Her brows lift as he pulls a note from the pocket of his jeans. “Who do you think told me which room was yours?”
“Seriously?”
He unfolds the note and reads aloud: “‘Room thirty-two oh three. Break her heart and I’ll cut off your cojones.’ It’s signed ‘69’.”
That was Dad’s racing number—the year he was born—and now it’s Petra’s.
She laughs. “Yeah, that’s Dad.” She retrieves a set of clean clothes from the chair by the window, but freezes when a knock comes at the door.
Nico will never forget the sight of Petra Hayter, naked as the day she was born, peering through the door’s peephole. Her ass is amazing.
“Go away, Cin.” She doesn’t open the door.
“No,” comes the muffled reply.
Petra motions for Nico to step out of sight of the door, then she opens it just until the security latch catches. She stands behind the door, but Cin has enough view of her shoulder to know she’s naked and to see a rumpled bed.
“You have a flight in four hours, but there’s time for cryotherapy and a swim first. If you get your lazy arse out of bed and get some brekkie with me.”
“No.”
Cin’s sigh is impressive. “Get dressed and get your arse down to the dining room.”
“Fine. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Fifteen.”
“I need a shower.” Petra closes the door and faces Nico. “This’ll be interesting.”
They race each other to get clean and dressed, because of course they do, then head down to the dining room, sneaking glances and kisses and generally acting exactly like two idiots who screwed each other’s brains out last night.
The hotel restaurant, Revue, is sleepier today now that the race weekend is over. Still, heads turn when they enter together, and tongues start wagging, but they’ve both handled worse pressure.
Cin’s chosen a table with decent sight lines to all exits, a habit from years of covering Petra’s retreats when the press or fans get too enthusiastic.
“Very tactical positioning,” Petra teases, settling into her chair as Nico pulls it out for her.
He joins them at the table, and Cin looks from him to Petra, brows practically part of her hair line. “Oh. I see.” She sips her orange juice, then rests her elbow on the table. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were working out all night, Pet?”
Nico nearly snorts his ice water.
Petra matches her cousin’s indolent pose. “Because you’re my physio, not my sexpert.”
Nico puts the water down before he’s wearing it and is saved by the arrival of the waiter with a carafe and a smile. “Coffee?”
Petra turns over two cups and taps one. “Café con leche.” She indicates the other. “Black.” The waiter fills the one, leaves menus, and says, “I’ll be right back with the café con leche.”
Cin’s eyeing her and points at Nico. “How do you know what he drinks?”
Petra’s already blowing steam from the black coffee. “Because he’s been drinking the same shit since he was fifteen.”
Nico’s just as surprised as Jacintha. He’s known Petra takes her coffee black, but he never expected she’s paid any attention to what he drinks twice daily.
“Quite a few Honey Bunnies dining with us and snapping photos,” Petra notes. “The fan club’s dedicated.”
Jacintha closes her menu. “Two drivers are giving them plenty of food for thought this morning.”
Ordering and eating and discussing the next race at Mexico’s Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez feels normal. Nico could get used to this.
When they’re finished, Cin sends Petra back to pack her bags. They’ve decided go to the cryo facility, then the lap pool, then straight to the FBO.
Nico accompanies Petra to her room, pulling her close in the lift after two women step off at the nineteenth floor—race fans judging by the looks they kept throwing at him and Pet.
“So.”
“So.” She tilts back her head and meets his gaze dead-on. “Mexico.”
“Mm.” He kisses her, savoring the feel of her lips, then he shifts his mouth to her ear. “Going to bury you there.”
She gives him a look. “That a threat, Bunny Boy?”
“A promise.” His lips brush her ear. “Going to bury you on track, then bury myself in you after.”
The low sexy laugh that escapes her does devastating things to his heart and his cock.
“Smooth talker.” The lift stops at her floor.
“Telling it like it is.” One more kiss when they reach her room, then he forces himself to step back. “See you in México, Hayter.”
Her laugh chases him back to the lift.
The pre-flight activities aboard the WolfBett jet are normal. Heinrich is reviewing data, Victoria’s fielding press inquiries, Marcus is is on his phone. No one mentions breakfast photos or hotel exits or anything else about Nico’s personal life.
Papá catches his eye briefly, but his slight smile says he gets it. He’s never been one to pry, and his concerns are the racing and Nico’s happiness. The way it should be.
Nico’s phone buzzes. He pulls it from his pocket and smiles when he sees the message from Nicolina.
Just saw the breakfast pics. Very cozy, Conejo. Also Seb says the Honey Bunnies are planning your wedding.
He glances at the time and types back:
Shouldn’t you be teaching?
The kids are eating lunch. Does my future sister-in-law prefer pink streaks or rabbit ears for the ceremony?
No me jodas.
Too late. Already happened. Several times, according to your expression in the pics.
He considers his response, but she texts again:
For real tho? U look happy. Both of u.
Warmth unfurls in him. He loves his twin and her approval means everything. Before he can reply, the pilot announces takeoff.
Departing for México. Text u later, Tortuga.
Chau-chau
“This seat taken?”
Nico looks up, surprised it’s Wyn who’s asking. He usually sits with Graham, enduring lectures about proving himself.
“All yours.” He gestures to the empty seat across from him.
“Thanks.” Wyn settles in and sits back. He cracks his knuckles and fiddles with a braided leather cuff he always wears.
It’s a gift from his mother, Nico knows.
He also knows Wyn and Reece rarely see her, but not for the same reasons Petra avoids her mother or Nico doesn’t often see his own mom.
There was a bitter divorce and Graham manipulated full custody of his sons.
Nico decides to break the awkward silence. “Thank you for yesterday. Following team orders couldn’t have been comfortable with your father riding your ass.”
Wyn shrugs. “You’re the stronger driver this year.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I can admit that, even if that asshole can’t.”
Nico tips his head. “Doesn’t make it easier to swallow when Gael makes that call. The things we’re supposed to do versus what we want to do often conflict.”
He doesn’t just mean following team orders. Managing Graham’s expectations has hung between them for three years, since Wyn joined WolfBett Racing.
Wyn nods slowly, still fiddling with the cuff. “Must be nice having a dad who lets you race your way and supports you without judging every fucking thing you do.”
“And turns everything into a test?”
“Yeah.” Wyn stops fidgeting and meets Nico’s gaze. “You know he had me fighting Reece before I could even walk? Fucker was always pitting us against each other and making sure we knew only one of us could be on top.”
“That’s shitty, chico.”