5. ELLY
5
ELLY
I ’ve thought about Jack a lot since our interaction last week. Not deliberately, but I’ve caught myself zoning out, only to realise a few minutes later that my thoughts have wandered to him again . So when Kate asked me if I wanted to accompany her to watch rich men drive ridiculously expensive race cars around a track with the caveat, ‘you might find it boring, but I’m going to support Jack and I’d love you to come’, I had to rein in the urge that nearly blindsided me to yell, ‘Yes please, I’d love that. I’ve been secretly hoping to see your brother again’. Because watching men battle for dominance in luxury cars in the bitter cold is something I’d never have normally agreed to, and Kate would have known it.
I played it cool, allowing her to badger me into it, feigning reluctance at every step. But here I am, exactly where I wanted to be, on the side of a racetrack outside London. Kate grabs my arm and tugs me against her. “I’m so glad you came.”
I give her a tepid smile, still intent on concealing my enthusiasm for the event. I can’t have her getting ideas that anything— however insignificant —might have occurred between me and Jack, and the fact that I sang for him, and it left me aroused and confused, is a guilty secret that burns in the pit of my gut. I am telling no one .
I ease out of Kate’s hold and cup my hands to blow into them, warming my fingers. It’s bloody freezing, but Nico keeps plying us with beers to stave off the chill, seeing as it was him who dragged us out of the Director’s box so he could ‘hear the roar of the engines’. I don’t like beer, and it’s so much liquid that I keep having to pee, but I’m not one to say no to free booze.
“Look, there’s Jack,” Kate says, pointing.
My heart leaps into my throat at the mention of his name.
Damn it. Why am I having these irrational reactions to the mere mention of him? After knowing him, or of him, for nearly half my life, we spend one evening together and now I’m all messed up over it. Ridiculous . Absolutely ridiculous, because I don’t even like him.
I. Don’t. Like. Him.
I watch as Jack steps out, ridiculously handsome even in his driving kit. He waves, and an answering roar fills the stands. I’m pretty sure I can hear screaming. He’s peacocking, and the crowd loves him for it. I want to be disgusted by how confident he is, but I can’t quite manage it. I’m a mess of nerves at the thought that he’s about to race a bullet-like car around the track.
“He’s crazy about these cars, and this is the only place he can actually put his foot down. Can’t be driving around central London at 200 miles an hour.” Kate presses her hands into prayer, brings them to her mouth, and stares down at Jack. She’s always worshipped him. “Do you see him? There.” Kate points again.
“Yeah.” I squint down at the track, as though I haven’t been tracing his every movement. Dark hair flops over his forehead, and he’s flashing that handsome smile at everyone nearby. He’s in his element, and it’s hard to look away from him. “I see him.”
The truth is, I’ve spent the entire afternoon trying to be subtle about ogling him. He’s been wandering around down there with his racing team, wearing one of those all in one suits that stretches over his broad shoulders and displays his arse perfectly. It’s a very different look from his tailored suits and cashmere overcoats, and it’s one I can definitely appreciate. When someone in his team wins, he roars like an animal. It’s hot, in a weird, primal kind of way, as though he’s the kind of guy who could put me over his shoulder and carry me back to his cave, whilst warding off wild animals (or other men) with a giant club. The idea amuses me, and I can’t help grinning as I watch, while simultaneously trying to ignore the fact that the idea might turn me on.
I’d never actually hook up with Jack, but admiring him from afar… that can’t do any harm, can it?
We sit in silence, watching as he fits his helmet and gets into his car, the engines revving as the racers wait on the starting positions.
I wring my hands, my heart thumping. I’m way more emotionally involved in this race than I ought to be.
The gun fires and the cars burst from the start line, roaring off at top speed. I watch Jack’s car weave through the others. I didn’t know he was into this stuff. It doesn’t take long before he’s near the front, his car edging up behind two ahead of him. I had no idea he was this good. Watching him race feels like I’ve unearthed some crazy, unexpected fact that only makes him more attractive. I have a sudden impulse to start telling everyone nearby that I know the man driving that car, as though I want to claim his ability as mine. To claim him as mine.
“Are you feeling prepared for your interview?” Kate asks, her question a shock that draws my attention from Jack and has my heart jackknifing, as if I’ve just been caught doing something really, really bad. What if she knows? What if she can tell I’m thinking about her brother?
“Yeah, I guess,” I say casually. After Robert Lloyd left his card for me at the Marchmont, I called to book my interview and scheduled it for a couple of week’s time. “Robert Lloyd’s a big deal. He represents Amy Moritz.”
“Amy Moritz. Wow.” Kate leans forwards, seeming genuinely excited by this news. “She’s huge. I’m thrilled for you. A real step forward. We’ll get you out of that dive bar in no time.”
I force a smile. There’s an edge of condescension to Kate’s enthusiasm, and although I know she would never deliberately mean it like that, her final comment about the bar reminds me of Jack, calling me a late-night basement singer . I can’t let them dismiss my place of work like that. “I like the Marchmont.”
Kate peers at me, frowning as though she suspects I can’t really mean it. “You don’t want to be there forever though, do you?”
I look at her blankly. Of course, I don’t want to be there forever, but it’s safe and small and contained. It’s familiar. What’s wrong with that?
Nico offers us more drinks, distracting Kate, and saving me from having to respond, and we watch the cars on the track. The race takes longer than I ever imagined it would. If I’d known how long Jack was going to spend out there, I might have thought twice about coming.
Actually, I’d still have come, but I might have worn something more weather-appropriate. Jeans, maybe. As it is, I’m tugging my tiny skirt down over my thighs in a pathetic attempt to stay warm.
As we watch, Kate and I share all our news, have more drinks, and eat a multitude of snacks, but after a while, she turns away, focusing her attention on Nico and his friends who surround us in the stands, leaving me with only her mother to talk to. Mrs Lansen is awful… I’m pretty sure she’s never liked me.
“How’s the waitressing going, Eleanor?” she asks, not taking her eyes off Jack’s car.
Of all our group, she’s the only one whose appreciation of Jack can rival mine. Kate’s always banging on about how their mum only has eyes for Jack, and she never got a look in. I can see that now, in the way Mrs Lansen nearly explodes whenever Jack’s car comes into view.
“I’m a musician,” I say.
She flaps a hand as though my statement is an inconsequential irritation, like a buzzing mosquito. “Oh, sure. But that doesn’t pay your bills, does it? I thought you’d have given up on that dream by now. How long has it been?”
Inside my chest, something starts shrinking. She’s so judgmental. I’ve no idea how Kate turned out to be such a lovely person with this woman for a mother. Then again, my own parents aren’t much better. They hated me choosing to focus on music, constantly urging me to train to be a lawyer or something more stable. Where Mrs Lansen bothers to ask, they ignore it entirely, as though my choices are unspeakable. I’m on my own out here.
“I’m never giving up,” I state, and Mrs Lansen’s eyebrows shoot up in disapproval before she takes a tight sip of her drink. Her lips are squeezed together so hard I’m not sure how she can get any liquid through them. Awkward silence passes between us, swallowed up by the roar of the cars and the people roundabout.
Down on the track, Jack overtakes on the inside in a nifty manoeuvre that has my heart galloping. Those cars are moving so fast, how could anyone survive if something went wrong? I can’t imagine how brave you must be to get behind the wheel and race like that. It’s insane. This is the craziest hobby ever.
Kate and Nico are both leaning forward in their seats, staring down at the track. I know Nico’s brothers are racing too, but I wasn’t paying attention to them or their cars. I have no idea how they’re getting on. I’ve been absorbed with Jack.
Mrs Lansen sets her drink down on the ground to clap her hands. “What a man my son is,” she says, eyes pinned to his car as he slips into first place. “A champion in every way.”
I feel oddly nauseous that watching Jack has me experiencing a similar sensation to the one it clearly ignites in Mrs Lansen, except her claim on him is a real blood tie. Whereas mine is… nothing . A surreal evening of flirtation.
I absolutely won’t indulge these bizarre feelings I’m having. I’m already here on account of them, but I certainly won’t give Mrs Lansen the satisfaction of knowing I agree with her.
“Excuse me, but I really have to pee.” I deliberately emphasize the word ‘pee’ for shock value. I get up abruptly, intending to push my way along the row of seats to the aisle. Mrs Lansen widens her eyes as if to say ‘ how rude ’ and I wonder who the gesture is for. Me? Or anyone who might be watching her? All her actions seem like that… as though she thinks people are paying attention to her every movement.
Her gaze shifts from me to the racetrack. “Oh,” she squeaks, jumping from her seat. “Go on, Jack.” She screams, and everyone starts yelling as Jack moves into the the final lap.
My heart begins to race as Jack’s car zooms across the line so fast it’s nearly a blur. Everyone goes wild. Nico is on his feet, punching the air and Kate’s jumping up and down, hugging him.
Jack’s won the whole bloody race, and I have no one to celebrate with. I’m damned if I’m going to start hugging Mrs Lansen, even if her darling son did seal the win.
We watch as the rest of the cars cross the line, and I keep my eyes on Jack until the moment it’s all over and he starts spraying champagne like it’s as inconsequential as water from a tap. He’s elated, and the energy coming off him is so strong I find myself grinning down at him, wishing I was standing right next to him to celebrate the win.
But I really do need to pee, and now that the race is over, I’ll have to run to miss the queues for the bathrooms. As much as I’d like to stay and watch Jack, I have to go. I push my way through and dash to the bathrooms.
By the time I come out, the audience is filtering from the seats, and the corridors back here are filling up with rowdy spectators.
I hear another roar of applause and male voices yelling. More people. How will I find my way back to Kate and Nico? I should have told them where I was going. I start to jog, easing my way through the crowds, back to the doorway I left from. I swing round a corner and there, coming towards me at speed, is Jack Lansen, all wrapped up in that padded suit, sweat-slicked dark hair plastered to his head.
He’s not looking where he’s going, staring over his shoulder at something behind him. At the last second, he turns to face me, an agitated expression carving up his handsome features. But he doesn’t stop before—
Slam .
Pain thumps through me as his hot, hard body crashes into me.
“Shit,” he grunts, grabbing my upper arms and pushing me off. His expression is still distracted, and he appears harassed; not at all like the cocksure Jack I know. He looks down at me, recognition flaring in his gaze. “El. Shit. Are you okay? Fuck. Sorry.”
I step back out of his hold and rub at my arms. “Ow. Watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry, I didn’t see you. I was…” His words fade, and time seems to slow as we stare at one another. A fizzing sensation bursts to life in my chest, and heat rolls out slowly across my body. Jack’s face is red, and he’s breathing hard, but he’s just finished racing, so it must be that, right?
Whatever it is, it’s intense enough to set a fire blazing beneath my skin.
Jack is the first to collect himself. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Last minute decision,” I mutter. “I came for the beer.”
He must see the lie on my face because his blue eyes go all twinkly, like there’s a fireworks display happening inside his skull. “Oh yeah?” He breaks into a sly smile, his gaze intense with innuendo. “It’s a long way to come for a pint of beer.”
He’s staring at me like the cat that got the cream, and it riles me. “You can wipe that delighted look off your face. I didn’t come to watch you.”
“Whatever you say, El.” The deep, seductive timbre of his voice slides under my skin, boiling me from the inside. A gasp sticks in my throat, and Jack’s gaze settles on my lips for a second before he winks, which nearly finishes me off. He’s doing this deliberately, I’m sure of it. And as annoying as it is to see him so satisfied with himself, I’m basking in his attention. I take him in, piece by delicious piece. The handsome face, the eyes bright with exertion, the muscles on his thighs I can make out through the suit… I bet this man has stamina …
He smirks, as though he knows exactly what I’m thinking. The expression is an easy resting place for his features, making me wonder if he gets looked at this way all the time and knows it. But of course, he knows it… there’s no way Jack Lansen isn’t aware of exactly how attractive he is.
A raucous chanting from further down the corridor interrupts us, and I tune into the repeated sound until I can make out the words.
Jack Lansen,
Hottest man on the track.
I’d eat him for a snack.
It’s a dreadful rhyme. Who came up with that? A burgeoning giggle expands in my chest, but I bite my lip to hold it in because Jack’s cocky expression dissolves, and he squeezes his eyes tight shut as though the sound causes some catastrophic internal agony.
Was this what he was running from when he crashed into me?
He throws an uneasy glance over his shoulder before turning back to me, one hand threading its way into his thick, dark hair. “Fuck,” he mutters.
I lean past his bulk to see who’s responsible for the disruption, only to catch sight of Lydia from the bar last week marching through the crowd, leading a team of women all wearing masks with Jack’s face printed on them. They’re waving a banner with ‘ JACK LANSEN WE LOVE YOU’ painted on it. It’s absolutely, certifiably bonkers, and I cannot hold back the burst of horrified laughter that pops out of my mouth.
“You have superfans.” I nod at the oncoming army, and in response, Jack gives a tiny shudder.
“Jack,” comes Lydia’s high-pitched squeal.
He braces as though he expects her to launch herself at him like a cannonball, propelled all the way from the other end of the corridor. “She won’t stop calling. And now all this…” He waves his hand in her direction, looking so perturbed that I almost feel sorry for him. But not sorry enough to prevent the smile breaking over my face.
“She does look… hungry.”
Jack raises a brow. “Don’t fucking laugh, El,” he threatens, but there’s a teasing light in his eyes that tells me he appreciates how ridiculous this scenario is. As he holds my gaze, the two of us on the verge of laughter, I feel a happy glow ignite inside. Am I bonding with Jack Lansen?
“Jack,” Lydia calls again, an unhinged screech to her voice this time. She’s approaching fast, and I don’t want her anywhere near us. Not only is she clearly a little insane, but, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm enjoying having Jack all to myself.
He cusses, a desperate grimace warping his features before it brightens like he’s been struck by a moment of genius. He grabs my hand and pulls me so close to him that my next inhalation is full of the scent of him, which is somehow fresh like rainwater and the outdoors, despite the sweat. My heart starts leaping around like a kid on a sugar high.
“Kiss me,” he rasps in my ear.
Goosebumps spread up my arms like a minor scale played at high speed, and my mind spirals as I process his words, but the moment I make sense of them, a jolting realisation hits me. I want to do exactly what he just ordered. I want to slam my lips against his, sweat and all, and kiss him.
But not like this. Not because of her .
I have to summon every ounce of self respect just so I can push my hands against his chest— fuck, those pecs are hard under there— and shove him away. He steps back, which is just as well, because there is no way I could actually move him. “Yuck. No.”
“Yuck?” Jack begins to laugh as though there is no possible way I can really mean it.
Lydia is still pushing towards us, waving like a madwoman and yelling Jack’s name.
“Yes, yuck. You’re all hot and sweaty and—”
“Those your only objections?” All concern for Lydia appears to have vanished as he stares at me. He’s still grinning, and that smile is doing wacky things to my insides, melting them into a soupy glue. “Because I can go take a shower.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder as if the showers are right there .
I cock a hip. “I’m not kissing you at all, ever , but especially not here and now, so you can avoid dealing with that woman.” I nod at the frenzied Lydia who’s going to be on us in moments. “How old are you?”
Jack rolls his eyes but still manages to look amused rather than exasperated. “Fine.” He bows his head a little and says, “Excuse me while I go and deal with this situation like a grown up.” He turns to leave but looks back at me, pointing his finger like he can pin me in place with it. Which he obviously can because I don’t move a muscle. “Drinks. I want to see you at the drinks later.”
Before I can respond, he turns away and greets the crowd of women. Lydia steps to the front, the mask with Jack’s face printed on it dangling from one hand. She’s gorgeous, and she doesn’t hesitate for a second before she’s draped all over him, kissing his cheek, not seeming to care at all that he’s all damp and sweaty. He doesn’t appear to be pushing her away either. Envy rises in me like morning mist.
For a brief second, it felt like he was interested in me. Stupid .
As I stand there in a jealous stupor, her kiss on the cheek somehow becomes a kiss on the lips.
Did she do that, or did he?
The contents of my stomach curdle. That really is yuck . I tell myself I don’t care. I just rejected him. He’s free to do whatever he wants.
I wrench myself away from the sight of them together. It’s probably just as well I can’t stay for drinks, because I’d only have to watch Jack Lansen fend off all his female admirers. And I don’t want him to think I’m staying just for him. I can’t give the man’s ego any more fodder. His skull will explode.
But even so my fingers are itching to pull my phone from my coat pocket and call Marcia at the Marchmont to tell her I won’t be able to work this evening because I’ve been struck down by a sudden illness.
And maybe I have.