Chapter 3
Cam was still buzzing from the champagne as he arrived at the club after the race.
He wasn’t much for partying these days, but a post-win celebration was a time-honored tradition he didn’t mind. Thankfully, the club was high-end, so there was less of a chance of being accosted by fans here. Most drivers were present, as were many team members.
Cam didn’t know why he was surprised when his gaze landed on Scott Palmer seated at the bar. Of course he would be here. He was rich enough to get access to whatever club he wanted, and he clearly didn’t lack connections.
Scott was dressed even more... eye-catchingly than usual. His black leather trousers clung to his long legs like a second skin, and his white shirt was sheer, revealing his broad, sculpted shoulders and leanly muscular torso. And nipples. And tits. For such a lean guy, Scott had very full pecs.
Cam dragged his gaze away—back to Scott’s face—and found him already looking at him.
Lifting an eyebrow slightly, Scott cocked his head in wordless invitation. Come here.
Cam found himself moving toward him before he made a conscious decision.
“Hey,” he said, his tone laced with annoyance, more with himself than Scott. Why was he talking to this guy again, exactly?
“Hi,” Scott said before gulping down his shot and setting the glass on the bar, his eyes focusing on Cam. “Congrats. You were incredible.” He rolled his eyes with a rueful grin. “If the opinion of a clueless American counts for anything.”
“Thanks,” Cam said, his gaze dropping to the nipples beneath the sheer shirt. They looked kind of big for a man. Very pink. Did Scott let gay men suck on them?
The thought was vaguely revolting, and Cam quashed it, uneasy.
“Leading the championship now, huh?” Scott said, flicking him a lazy glance before returning to people-watching. “How does it feel?”
Cam shrugged, leaning against the bar too. There were a few inches between their shoulders. “Business as usual.”
“Arrogant dick,” Scott said with a small grin, knocking their shoulders together.
The contact made him twitchy.
“Not that I’m not happy to talk to the man of the hour,” Scott drawled. “But aren’t your buddies waiting for you?” He nodded toward the big booth where the other drivers were seated.
“You’re the one who invited me over here.”
Scott raised his eyebrows. “Did I? I remember no such thing.”
Cam glared at him, his annoyance spiking. His hands twitched with the urge to—to wipe that casual smirk off Scott’s face. That dickhead would look good with a split lip, his mouth red and wet and—
“I’m pulling your leg, mate,” Scott said before grinning. “How’s my British accent?”
“Terrible,” Cam said. He looked toward the other drivers. “I have to go. I guess I’ll see you at Silverstone.”
Scott let out a laugh. It sounded a little startled. “I’m not one of those crazy fans who attend every Grand Prix, you know.”
“It’s Silverstone. Any self-respecting fan attends the British Grand Prix. Even people who know shit about Formula One come to the British GP to strut in front of the cameras.”
“You mean people like me, huh?” Scott said, his cheekbones reddening.
“You said that, not me,” Cam murmured. He didn’t know why he enjoyed making this guy mad, why he liked being rude to him, but he couldn’t seem to stop.
Scott pouted. Christ, he was so gay. What normal grown man pouted? “I actually did want to go to the British Grand Prix, but I was too late. All the VIP passes were already sold out.”
“What, you can’t attend like a normal fan?” Cam said. “You can’t live without a Michelin chef preparing your food for you?”
Scott made a thoughtful face. “Hmm, let me think about it... yeah, you’re right, I really can’t.” He burst into laughter at Cam’s deeply unimpressed look. “God, you’re so easy to rile up, it’s adorable!”
Cam imagined wrapping his fingers around that long neck and squeezing. Vividly.
As his chuckles petered out, Scott shrugged.
“In all seriousness, I don’t get the appeal of sitting in a tightly packed grandstand surrounded by sweaty men and watching cars drive past you at two hundred miles an hour when I can see much better from all the angles from the comfort of my couch.
Having a VIP pass at least gives me an experience I can’t get at home—I get to see the inner workings of the paddock, all the juicy behind-the-scenes stuff.
” He scrunched up his nose. “The five-star catering is just a bonus. Nothing to write home about. I’ve had much better food. ”
“Christ, you really are such a spoiled little shit,” Cam said with a laugh. He couldn’t even be angry at the guy’s privilege anymore when he was so blasé about it.
“Guilty as charged,” Scott said, grinning. “So, are you going to get me a VIP pass for Silverstone?”
Cam had to laugh at that. “You’re shameless.”
“What?” Scott said, knocking their shoulders together. “I have it on good authority that drivers can invite whoever they want into the paddock.”
“We can,” Cam said. Of course he could. He could get anyone a VIP paddock pass.
And a garage pass. As the champion, there was very little he couldn’t do when it came to paddock access.
He’d often had his girlfriends in the McLaren garage during race weekends.
Other drivers invited their WAGs, friends, and families all the time, too.
But Scott was neither family nor a friend. Or a girlfriend. It would be... odd to get him a Cameron Richter pass.
“I could,” Cam said. “But why would I invite you?”
Scott shrugged with an innocent smile. “For the same reason you’re talking to me? Because I’m interesting?”
Cam rolled his eyes with a laugh. “That’s not why I’m talking to you.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then why are you?”
Cam opened his mouth before realizing he didn’t actually have an answer.
Scott’s smile widened. “See?”
“I just happened to walk over here.”
“You crossed the entire club.”
“I was passing by,” Cam said tersely.
“You made a ninety-degree turn, champ. I’m merely pointing out observable facts.”
“The observable fact is that you’re a spoiled nepo baby who thinks everyone wants him around.”
Scott gasped theatrically. “Ouch.”
“Did I hurt your feelings?”
“No,” Scott said. “I just think it’s cute that you’re still pretending you don’t enjoy talking to me. Give me your phone.”
Bemused, Cam handed it over.
Scott unlocked it by holding it up to Cam’s face and quickly did something on it.
“I texted myself from your number. And saved my email for you,” he said, giving the phone back with a wink.
“So you know where to send the VIP pass.” And before Cam realized what he was about to do, Scott stepped forward and gave him a loose one-armed hug, clapping him firmly on the back.
“It was great to meet you, Cam Richter.” He flashed him another of his absurdly pretty smiles.
“Even though you can be a bit of a dickhead sometimes.”
“Says the pot to the kettle,” Cam said, earning another grin from Scott.
He watched the guy stroll away toward the club’s exit.
Once he disappeared out of sight, Cam shifted his gaze to the phone in his hand and checked his contacts.
He had a new contact saved as Obnoxious American. With the sunglasses emoji next to it.
Cam’s thumb hovered over the delete button. Obviously he should delete it. What use did he have for the number of a rich fan who barely knew anything about Formula One? A male fan at that. A gay one to boot.
“Mate, come on, everyone’s waiting for you,” Archie said, slinging an arm loosely around his shoulders.
“Coming,” Cam said, shoving his phone into his pocket, Scott’s contact still there.
He could always delete it later.