Chapter 4
Zaid
If someone had told me this morning that I’d end up in an aggressively American-themed pub with a woman whose life I accidentally turned upside down, I wouldn’t have believed them.
But the truth is stranger than fiction, and Ava Farahani is quite possibly the worst darts player I’ve ever met.
Her only saving grace is that she makes failing miserably look like it’s the most fun she’s ever had. I can’t say I know what that’s like.
‘Okay, so I lied about my talents,’ she confesses as she bends to collect her fallen darts. ‘But you are infuriatingly good at this. What’s your secret?’
‘It’s all those hand-eye coordination drills my trainer makes me do,’ I reveal as she straightens up again, my gaze trailing over her bare shoulders as she sweeps her hair back, having long since ditched her headband, complaining that it was cute but destined to give her a headache.
I’m having trouble keeping my eyes off her.
I’m having even more trouble keeping my hands to myself, tempted to adjust her stance every time she takes a turn.
It would just be a quick nudge of her hips, a hand cupping her elbow, fingers encircling her wrist to get her into a better position.
But no matter how innocent each touch would be, I already know it would lead me to places I don’t need to go, even if I’ve wanted to for a long time.
‘I should have known.’ Ava blows out a fake defeated breath. ‘Is there anything you’re not good at?’
‘Plenty of things.’ Once she returns to my side, I throw my first dart of the round. It lands just outside the bullseye. ‘There’s a reason no one has ever seen me play golf.’
I’m not joking, but the comment succeeds in making Ava laugh, throaty and loud, and I’m suddenly desperate to know what that sound tastes like on her lips.
That’s Omid Farahani’s daughter, the little voice in the back of my head hisses. You know better.
I absolutely do and yet the warning holds no weight.
It’s been too long since my chest felt this light, too long since someone put me this at ease, and the idea of backing off and playing it safe feels like cheating myself.
I’ll cling to this sliver of joy while it deigns to stick around, even if it comes with foolish thoughts.
As long as they stay in my head, what danger am I in?
‘I bet you’re good at that too, you just don’t want to embarrass the rest of us mere mortals,’ Ava says as my next dart hits just above the last. ‘I’m convinced you’re good at everything. Greatest F1 driver of all time, world’s sexiest humanitarian, fantastic painter . . .’
There are so many parts of that sentence I could unpack, but it’s the last bit that stands out. ‘How did you know I’m a painter?’
Her gaze goes sly, and I feel the look deep in my gut. ‘Are you trying to get me to admit that I’ve researched you, Mr. Yousef?’
I blink at the confession, hand dropping back to my side. ‘You have?’
‘Mm-hmm.’ Ava clasps her hands in front of her, ever the picture of innocence. ‘Know thy enemy, right? Had to learn all about the man who was destined to make my father’s life hell.’
It’s a completely valid reason, sure. But with the way she sways a little closer and her eyes hold mine, I get the sense that it’s not the only reason.
Doesn’t matter, the little voice snaps. I once again don’t bother listening.
‘What else do you know about me?’ I ask, voice low, barely audible over the outro of ‘Hotel California.’
Ava stares up at me through her lashes, lips pursed as she thinks.
‘I know you started karting at five years old,’ she says.
‘That your father was the one who built your first kart, worked three jobs to afford it, and took you to all your races. I know you race under number forty-five because four and five were the numbers of your favorite footballers when you were a kid. And most importantly . . .’ She trails off and smiles slowly, stealing all the air from my lungs as she does.
‘I know you’re a painter because you haven’t been very good at hiding it.
You bought a gallery so you could showcase some of your own pieces under a pseudonym. It’s an open secret in the paddock.’
I chuckle and dip my head in confirmation. I haven’t been particularly secretive about it, but it’s nice that she’s paid enough attention to put two and two together. ‘It’s not fair you know these things about me and I hardly know anything about you,’ I point out.
I’d like to, though. Have for years. I want to know how she stays so unwaveringly sunny. How she’s been through heavy things and still keeps walking in the light. I need her to teach me. Because what I’m feeling right now? It won’t last, and I’m dreading the moment it fades.
‘It’s probably better that way,’ she says, brushing me off. ‘Wouldn’t you rather I stay whoever you’ve built me up to be?’
No. The answer is immediate and forceful, because I want to know the woman behind the smile, but she’s right. I should let her remain a fantasy, let her stay the angel who swept in to help in moments I wouldn’t have made it through alone.
But when her gaze drops to my mouth before lifting again, I know that’s not going to happen.
‘I wouldn’t mind knowing more,’ I tell her, turning away and throwing my last dart. ‘As much as you’ll give me.’
Ava’s still staring at me when I look down again. ‘You can have as much of me as you want.’
I’m about to suggest something I absolutely shouldn’t when she laughs and strides back over to the bar to grab her drink.
She tips her head back to drain the rest of the whiskey, and I watch her throat work as she swallows, fighting the urge to drag my tongue along the column of her neck.
It’s the alcohol’s influence, I know that, but Ava’s intoxicating enough on her own.
‘I’ll be right back,’ she calls, already heading toward the stairs. ‘Just need the bathroom.’
She disappears before I can follow her, and it’s another few seconds of standing and staring until I finally move back to the bar.
The bartender places a glass of water in front of me, and I nod my thanks before she heads off again.
I’m alone now, a rarity these days, and I take the opportunity to just . . . breathe.
For once, I actually can. I can suck in a breath that doesn’t get caught in the middle of my chest. It slips past the boulder that lives there and fills the corners of my lungs that haven’t tasted oxygen in months – maybe even years.
But tonight has loosened something in me that’s been twisted tight, and I can thank Ava for it, all because she was brave enough to step in and save me from myself.
I understand too well what she meant about remaining who you’ve been built up to be in someone’s head.
For so many people, I exist as a real yet fictional entity they worship.
I could have so easily destroyed that illusion tonight and made them hate me instead.
I’m usually cautious about every move I make and word I speak, but lately, it’s been harder to keep up the facade.
It’s nice not having to bother with it around Ava – she’s already seen what’s underneath.
I sip at my water as I wait for her to return, the Rolling Stones fading into Bon Jovi. When Aerosmith starts screaming, I glance at my watch and stand from my barstool, frowning. Ava should have been back by now.
Probably realized this was a bad idea and ditched you, the little voice says as I take the stairs two at a time.
I pause when I reach the top landing. To my left is the rest of the pub, with more horrendous decor and a smattering of patrons, while to my right is a short hallway leading to the toilets.
But it’s the glass door at the end of the hall that catches my attention, especially when a flash of pink fabric flutters into view.
The February cold is a harsh slap when I push outside and serves to knock some sense into me, but it fades again when I spot Ava in the center of the courtyard.
She stands under a canopy of fairy lights with her head thrown back and her hands pressed over her heart, like she’s wishing upon a star in the smoggy sky.
I’m intruding on a private moment, and yet I keep moving closer, my dress shoes loud against the cracked concrete.
Still, she doesn’t look over, just keeps staring up as I take her in. It’s a view that I already know I’ll mentally paint again and again. It might even be enough to get me to pick up a sketchpad for the first time since the crash.
‘I needed some air,’ she explains before I can ask. ‘I’m sorry about what happened in there.’
I stand beside her, relaxing with the knowledge that she didn’t abandon me. ‘Sorry for what?’
It’s a beat before her chin drops. ‘For coming on to you so strong.’ She laughs uncomfortably as her hands fall back to her sides. ‘It’s the whiskey. I’m not usually so forward.’
If that was her coming on strong, then I fear I’d be oblivious if she were subtle, but the revelation is enlightening.
‘I didn’t mind,’ I confess, and then watch for her reaction from the corner of my eye.
Ava shakes her head, dismissing me like she doesn’t believe it. ‘I shouldn’t have done it and I’m sorry. You already get enough unwanted attention. You don’t need it from me too.’
I frown at her repeated apology. If only she knew I’ve been on my best behavior to keep from making her uncomfortable – that I’ve been so cautious for damn near fifteen years.
But now I don’t need to pretend that this thread of attraction isn’t mutual, even if it’s a dangerous notion to acknowledge.
I step in front of her, then anchor my fingers underneath her chin, tilting her head back until she’s forced to meet my eyes. ‘Stop apologizing.’
‘Sor—’
My thumb brushing her lower lip cuts her off. I trace its shape, carefully watching her as I do and giving her the opportunity to stop me, but all I see in her gaze is cautious curiosity.
‘Why did you invite me out tonight, Ava?’ I ask.
She blinks at the blunt question, but her eyes hold mine. ‘Because I wanted whiskey and fries and I didn’t want to go alone.’
‘You could have picked anyone else,’ I counter. ‘Why me?’
She searches my face as if it will tell her what to say. ‘Because we both needed an escape,’ she finally admits.
Now that she’s being honest with me, I want to return the favor. I slip my fingers from under her chin to cup her jaw instead, my thumb stroking over her cheekbone. Ava inhales sharply, surprised, but she doesn’t pull away.
‘This is why you don’t need to apologize,’ I murmur, eyes dropping to her parted lips. ‘But maybe I’m the one coming on too strong now.’
‘You’re not.’ Her answer to my musing is quick and breathless. ‘Definitely not.’
My other hand settles into the curve of her waist, the scent of jasmine mixed with something sweet flooding my senses as I step closer.
Our mouths are a breath away, and it would be so easy to close the distance.
But with our history and how she’s been treated because of it, I won’t do anything else without permission.
‘Can I kiss you?’ I ask.
She nods, practically knocking our foreheads together. ‘Absolutely. Yes. Please.’
She grips my shirt like she’s holding on for dear life, the rise and fall of her chest stilling as she waits for me to lean in.
It makes me want to smile again, makes me brush my nose against hers just to watch her eyes flutter shut, as if the anticipation is too much to handle.
It’s only a soft graze when our lips finally meet, but it sends a current down my spine.
And when I go in for a proper taste of her, I’m struck by how easy it would be to get lost in this woman.
It takes a beat to coax her mouth open and another before her tongue timidly meets mine.
I almost pull away at her hesitance, but then she’s drawing me in, pressing higher on her toes so there’s no mistaking that she wants this.
Her enthusiastic words were one thing. This, though?
This heats my blood until I swear it could melt the frost lingering on the ground.
I sink my fingers into her hair, slipping through the soft strands until I’m cradling the back of her head. It’s a deep, languorous kiss, more than I expected from her, but Ava’s unafraid to lead and guide, to take what she wants from me.
I taste salt from the fries on her lips, a trace of whiskey on her tongue. I’ll never be able to have either again without thinking about her or this night. She’s ruined both in the best way possible.
We break apart when a small group of people stumbles out of the pub, drunkenly laughing and screeching and, thankfully, paying us no mind as they huddle in the opposite corner to smoke.
It’s a reminder that we could so easily be caught, and all the rumors about us could kick up again. They’d undoubtedly be worse this time.
But it doesn’t make me step back or let her go completely. Don’t think I could unless she shoved me away, and she still has me in her grasp. Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is hot under my touch, like she feels the burn of this as much as I do.
‘That was . . .’ She trails off to suck in a lungful of air, her eyes lifting to mine and holding before she boldly declares, ‘I’m staying not far from here if you want to do that again without getting interrupted.’
There’s nothing I’d like more than to do that again.
I’ve thrown years of caution to the wind already, and now that I’ve had a taste of her, I’m desperate for more.
This is what I’ve been missing while being on my best behavior, and I’m furious I’ve been deprived of it, all because the ridiculous taboo of her being part of a rival team kept us apart.
I’m so fucking tired of always doing what’s expected of me, of making all the ‘right’ choices.
But I shouldn’t do it. I really shouldn’t.
‘Absolutely. Yes. Please,’ I say instead.
Ava laughs, finding humor in my gentle mocking, and it rings through the night.
Then she tugs on my shirt, forcing me down to her eye level.
‘But let me make something clear,’ she says.
‘Whatever happens tonight, that’s it, okay?
A one-time thing. And no one can know. I have no interest in being publicly tied to you again.
’ She pauses before tacking on, ‘No offense.’
It’s my turn to laugh, and even though the scratch of it is still unfamiliar, it feels more natural than it has in too long. ‘Don’t worry. I understand.’
As her grip on me loosens, her smile widens. ‘Let’s go ruin your idea of me.’