7. Wilder #3
I’m outside hailing down a cab when I hear a voice call my name, “Wilder,” Prescott shouts, causing me to pause just as the car pulls up beside me. “Do you mind if I hitch a ride back to the hotel with you? I have a bunch of stuff to catch up on ahead of tomorrow.”
Denying him would only fan the flame of his asshole theory, but still I find myself grinding my jaw as I nod in agreement.
Of course he smiles wide as he slides into the backseat of the taxi with me, and I have to ignore his scent as it wraps around me in the enclosed space.
It’s only about ten minutes to get back to the hotel, and I’m hoping we can make the journey in silence, but of course it doesn’t take long for him to have other ideas.
“Matteo seems cool, I like him,” he starts, looking toward me, and when I don’t respond, he continues on.
“I still can’t believe Santiago Rodriguez lets his son be a race car driver.
” Even I can hear the dismissal in his tone, and whether he means it or not, it pisses me the fuck off.
“Did you know him before he came to The Academy?” This time he looks at me expectantly, purposely waiting for me to answer like a dick.
“I thought we weren’t friends, Prescott?” I bite out, glancing toward him and noting his frown.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“We don’t have to do this,” I confirm, gesturing between the two of us.
“Like you said, you’re here to do a job, outside of that we really don’t have to do this whole getting to know one another thing.
” He listens to each of my words aptly, nodding slightly as I speak, but of course he doesn’t drop it.
“So, just to confirm, you can fuck me, but you can’t have a conversation with me?” he asks loudly, cocking his head to the side.
“Seems like you understand perfectly,” I tell him, facing back to the front, and he huffs a laugh.
“Fuck, you really are an asshole.” I can tell from his tone that he’s still smiling while he says it, and for some reason that has me biting back a smirk.
“And still you let me fuck you, so sounds like you’re the problem to me.” The taxi driver meets my stare in the rearview mirror, and I glare at him until he focuses back on the road, pretending he’s not listening.
“We all make mistakes, like you right now, pissing off the person responsible for making you look good,” Prescott muses, just as we pull up in front of the hotel and I climb out of the car, blocking the way before he can do the same.
Leaning down, I bring my face close to his where he is trying to climb out and reply, “Now we both know I don’t need help looking good, it just comes naturally to me.” I pair my words with a wink, before slamming the car door in his face and walking into the hotel.
He’s right, I am an asshole, but I hear his soft chuckle as he follows after me, one that keeps the smirk on my face until I run right into my dad in the lobby.
“Wild, you’re getting home late,” he starts, checking his watch and frowning deeply.
“I thought you’d be preparing for tomorrow, you know you need to take this seriously.
” I hate the insinuation in his tone that I’m not taking this seriously, when it’s all I have dedicated my life to for the last five years.
“It was just at dinner with the guys,” I state blandly, just as I feel Prescott walk up behind us.
“And I see you forced Lamont to go with you, you know he has a job to do, Wilder, you need to stay focused.” It’s the same speech I have been hearing for years, but before I can open my mouth to defend myself, Prescott beats me to it.
“I actually took a bunch of pictures of all four of them, ready to post ahead of the weekend. You know, show the fans some behind the scenes team bonding,” he replies with ease, clearly more than comfortable than going toe to toe with my father.
“Wilder and I left early to ensure we are on track for our PR plans ahead of the weekend.”
My father seems placated with his answer, nodding firmly, before bringing his stare back to mine. “We’ll meet in the morning for breakfast, before training, and discuss final strategies,” he tells me, and I know it’s more of a demand than a suggestion, so all I do is nod.
Seeming happy enough, he storms off to continue whatever he was doing, and I move to make my way to the elevators, feeling Prescott hot on my heels. Neither of us say anything as the elevator arrives and we step on board, the weight of my father’s shadow still cast firmly over me.
The ride up to our floor is awkward at best, and I find myself muttering, “You really didn’t have to have my back like that.” I don’t meet his stare as I speak, but I feel his eyes on me anyway.
He doesn’t respond, not until the doors open and we are about to part ways. “The way I see it, Miles,” he starts, ensuring my gaze is on him before he continues. “You owe me now, and I always collect on my debts.” He winks, before stalking down the hall toward his room.
The pretty boy is going to be more trouble than I thought, and the stupid behind the scenes picture he posts from dinner, when he gets back to his room, gets more than a million likes before I fall asleep.
Stupid pretentious dick.