Chapter 20
Matt
I find Chloe in the British airways first-class lounge on the phone furiously pacing back and forth.
I watch her gesticulating wildly, her hair down under a baseball cap, in soft-looking gray tracksuit pants and a matching skintight top.
I can’t stop thinking about those curves I finally got to touch.
Such a delicious mix of innocently sweet and really fucking sexy, sprawled out naked on that grass.
I’m getting hard again just thinking about it.
The police did catch me at my car that night, before I had the chance to escape. One officer shone a torch into my eyes, then down my dirt-covered tracksuit pants, and back up to my face.
“Yes, officer?”
“We had reports of some kids on go-karts on the track.”
I pulled a face. “You don’t say?”
“Hey, aren’t you that F1 driver,” said his partner suddenly, “Matt Warner?”
I quickly tried to hide the panic that crossed my face, but the copper immediately saw it. Still, he seemed to decide an F1 driver visiting an F1 track at night was probably not too strange. He swept the light across Mum’s car.
“You think Matt Warner would be seen dead in a Toyota?” said the copper as he eyed me with a grin, nodding for me to disappear. Sometimes being me has its perks.
“I’m not being a fucking princess.” Chloe glares at me while on the phone and she nods toward the plush sofa. “I’m happy to fly with the team, but we’re not with the team, are we? You’ve specifically put me and Matt in economy.”
She listens intently for a few minutes, before she hangs up and tosses her phone onto the sofa in fury.
“Barry has decided we need to fly economy to Brazil today.”
I chuckle. “I saw the boarding pass. Thank god we have lounge passes, eh? Imagine having to mingle away out there in the bull pit among the masses.”
“It’s not funny! I’ll go pay for the upgrades myself,” she says, picking up her handbag.
“Ohh . . . someone’s getting used to the high life,” I say teasingly, plonking down on the sofa as she strides back and forth. “Missing the private jet?”
Chloe tuts. “It’s the principle of it,” she moans. But I can see her starting to fight back a laugh as she clocks my amusement. “He wants to remind us that money is tight, he tells me. He says it’s good to get a cold, hard reminder on that.”
“Well, the press is going to have a field day. Did he think about that?”
“It’s Barry. He runs Arden like he’s running a school soft-ball team,” she shoots back.
“Maybe we need to have an honest conversation about what’s actually happening instead of all this subterfuge,” I say. “Sounds like you should be paid more than you are.”
She sighs. “I was worried money was going to make Barry think twice about hiring me. It’s still the most I’ve ever earned.” She tips her chin toward me defiantly. “And I don’t want to give him a financial reason to drop me.”
“This sucks,” I say.
Chloe stops fussing with her wallet for a moment and stills. “I just got the budget for this year. He doesn’t talk about next year.” She holds a hand up. “What am I going to do, Matt? Quit?”
“Definitely don’t sign anything for next year until you have an agent,” I say, folding my arms. “Just not my old agent. I fired his ass after the Arden surprise.”
At that, she smiles. She’s so flushed and big-eyed every time our eyes meet, and it’s adorable. I close my eyes, trying not to think about making love to her again and again and again.
“I’ve got it under control,” she says firmly.
“Maybe he’s still trying to force us to get on better,” I say with a wry smile. “Maybe I should call him and let him know we already did get on.”
Chloe looks away, her cheeks darkening. “Shut up.”
“Come on, Bug. Sit. You’ve been avoiding me since we went racing.”
“I wasn’t . . .” she says weakly.
She double-takes at my hand patting the sofa. “Sit,” I say again.
She does, making sure there is plenty of distance as she glances around the first-class lounge to see who might be watching.
“There’s never press in first class,” I say reassuringly, as I reach across the sofa and pull her hand into mine and give it a squeeze. “I hoped we might see each other again while we were in Brackley.”
“I was busy with my family,” she replies. I know her head was spinning after that night, so I let the excuse go and squeeze her hand again to let her know I get it. But I also want to tell her that it wasn’t a onetime thing for me. That I like her, and I want to talk about possibilities.
“Matt. What the hell did we do?” she says, sliding next to me, her voice soft as a whisper.
“It was inevitable, and it was great.” Her eyes flicker to mine as I say it, and a small smile spreads across her lips.
“It was Pandora’s box,” she says.
“Is that what you’d call it?” I lean in toward her, trying to put a hand between her legs.
“Jesus, Matt. We’re boarding in twenty minutes!” Her cheeks bloom pink. It’s a satisfying sight.
“I’m only sorry it was so dark,” I say, pulling on my branded Big Ronny’s Ring Burner cap and standing. “I would have liked to see your face when you were calling out my name.”
“Stop!” she says, laughing, all flustered now, and she starts walking toward the lounge exit, pulling her own cap low.
We wander through the airport toward our gate.
We’re noticed everywhere we go. Some people take photos subtly.
Some come right up and ask for a selfie.
I’m trying to learn to be gracious in a way I wouldn’t have been in the past. And grateful for this crazy job I love and hate and can’t seem to walk away from.
Chloe too is noticed, and I watch her, amused, as she awkwardly and apologetically signs a man’s T-shirt.
I have to get her comfortable with her success, especially since I know there’s more to come in her F1 future.
We’re seated next to an elderly Brazilian lady who falls asleep during taxiing and remains asleep for almost the entire flight. The F1 fan across the aisle outright asks us why we’re flying economy, and I explain that they were the only tickets available, and we had to change our times.
He seems to buy it. I hope I said it loud enough that someone will post it. No better way to spread a lie than to leak it to someone eager to spread it for you. I learned that little trick from the shit-hot Rossini press team.
“Can I ask you to dinner?” I say to Chloe as the meal service begins.
“I have no choice.” She’s so curt, ignoring me, flicking through the movie selection.
“Chicken or vegetarian?” I ask, unperturbed.
“Vegetarian,” she mutters. “I’m going to watch a movie, then go straight to sleep.”
“Ouch. Rough date,” I retort teasingly. “What are you going to watch?”
“Something you hate,” she says, grinning.
“Really?” I ask, my lip curling at the choice, as I unclasp her tray table as dinner arrives. “How do you know what I’ll hate?”
“Because the only films we watched together were Final Destination, Saw, or literally anything in that horror genre
“I was a teenage boy!”
“Well, I’m going to find the opposite.”
“What’s the opposite of murder?”
“Love,” Chloe says, her cheeks turning a little pink as she says it, settling on Pride & Prejudice, the 2005 film. I don’t tell her I’ve seen it a few times already. It’s my mum’s favorite film.
“You know, you’re a lot like the first-half Mr. Darcy,” she says, eyeing me with amusement.
“But not the second half?” I say, queuing the film up.
“Not yet,” she says, grinning. “Oh, come on, Matt, you’ll hate it.”
I ignore her. “Let’s hit play at the same time, so we’re watching it together.”
She shakes her head. “Fine. It’s your funeral.”
After I enjoy a surprisingly tasty chicken and rice, some inedible bread, and a killer chocolate brownie, Chloe and I settle into our film with a plastic tumbler of red wine, blankets pulled up to our necks.
Mr. Darcy is standing at the back of the dance floor looking disgusted by everything, and I can’t help but laugh. Chloe hits me on the arm and whispers, “Shhh,” fixing her headphones on tighter.
When the cabin lights dim, I reach my hand under the blanket and try to find hers, but she squirms away.
“Stop it! Someone will see!” she whispers loudly.
“No one will see,” I say, trying again. This time, I try to reach for the waistband of her pants, and she pulls my hand away. I see the man in the aisle opposite peer across at us, and I quickly give up.
Chloe eventually falls asleep as second-half Darcy begins his mission to quietly win Elizabeth over with his hard work behind the scenes, sorting out the true scoundrel, Mr. Wickham. Man, I really know this movie. Maybe too much.
I glance down at Chloe’s sleeping face as her head falls onto my shoulder. She really deserves a second-half Darcy. I reach my arm up and let her head lie against my chest and I sit very still, feeling her body rise and fall slowly as she sleeps.
I am falling for her. There is no denying it.
To have her on that grass at Silverstone was one thing, but to have her completely is another.
I’ve dated some cool women over the past decade, but none made me feel more grounded and yet more alive than Chloe.
She knows my life, she knows my past, and she knows me. Really knows me.
But what she doesn’t know is what it is like to feel safely cared for. And I’m worried—so worried—that I can’t get that part right. She deserves an arm around her shoulder, a chest to lie on, someone she can really trust.
I wonder which Chloe would emerge under those circumstances. I wonder how much she could truly shine if I pushed her, believed her, and loved her the way she deserves.
As she moves slightly beneath my arm, I vow to stay here, completely still, and let her sleep the whole way to S?o Paulo. I vow to give her everything she needs to feel secure. That’s the first step.
I gently kiss the top of her head and make that promise.
And I try to ignore the stiffening of my neck, and the prickling feeling in my arm, still for too long around her neck, like a thousand fire ants throwing a rave.