19. Wilder
Ifeel his stare on my back until I disappear off the top deck, but I don’t turn around again.
I can’t, not when I’m so close to saying fuck it and starting round three with him, which I know is the last thing either of us should be doing.
Last night was hot, more than hot, and the second they both passed out on the sofas, I got myself out of there.
I couldn’t stay. One, because I wanted to punch Matteo in the face for even going near him, and two, because I am not used to the feeling of warmth inside of me, every time I now look at him.
It’s why I avoided them all day, but I wasn’t surprised he sought me out after coming back to the boat, that’s just who he is.
Prescott Lamont is nothing if not polite, and all it does is make me want to punish him more.
When I get back to my room I find my door slightly open, and when I push inside, I spy Matteo leaning back against my pillows, scrolling on his phone.
Images of last night start to instantly flood my system, and I’m reminded of the sight of his mouth wrapped around Prescott’s cock.
It sends a jolt of something unusual through me, something thick and uncomfortable, that makes me want to hurt him.
“I’m not in the mood,” I tell him firmly, which is funny, considering my dick is at half mast after seeing Blue in his slutty little swim shorts.
Matt only snorts. “I know you think your dick is a fucking magic wand, mi pequeno salvaje, but that’s not why I’m here.” He doesn’t look up from his phone at first, keeping his focus on his screen, before he finally flicks his stare up to meet mine with a smirk. “I came to check on you.”
At that I frown, giving him my back. “Why the fuck are you checking on me?” Grabbing a towel, I dry myself off, before shoving out of my wet shorts and pulling on some black boxers and sweat pants.
I feel Matt watching me, but not with interest, and when I finally turn back to him, I find a more serious look on his face, as he shrugs.
“I don’t know, you just seem a little different, and I can’t help wondering if maybe something is bothering you, or someone.
” The way he says the last word has my defenses rising, as I am once again reminded how close he got to my fucking PR assistant.
His face is serious, but still I see a sparkle in his eye that has me shifting uncomfortably.
“Can we please leave Lamont out of this,” I scoff, not wanting to get into last night with him, not when I’m unsure whether I can without punching him in his fucking mouth.
“That’s funny, because I was talking about your brother,” he claps back, his grin swiftly returning. “But let’s unpack why you thought I was talking about Reed.” His tone is teasing, but still I feel the full weight of his attention on me, and he’s the last person I want to talk to about this.
“Oh, I thought this was about last night,” I start, sounding as casual as possible, plopping myself onto the ledge of the desk.
“You know me, I don’t do more than one night stands,” I shrug, hoping he doesn’t detect the deception in my tone, especially when I am still trying to figure out what it means myself.
“Last night was hot.” His words mirror my thoughts, but his tone doesn’t sound like he is looking for a repeat.
“But it always is with you,” he adds with a wink, sitting up now.
“I did sense some tension with you two though, no?” I should have expected his question.
With the liquor running through me last night, I didn’t exactly hide how I felt, but I was hoping he was too lost in the moment to care.
“We’ve fucked before, it’s no big deal,” I reply, grabbing my own phone now and pretending it’s more interesting than the subject of this conversation. Which is hard, considering I don’t find anything more interesting than Prescott Lamont these days.
“So have you and I, but your eyes don’t seem to track my every move,” he argues, and I can feel anger and panic going to war inside of me.
Matteo may act like he doesn’t have a care in the world, what billionaire's son would? But he’s actually one of the smartest people I know. He’s kind, funny, and most importantly, loyal. I know whatever I tell him would go no further than the two of us, but still I force another shrug.
“I don’t know what to tell you.” I keep my eyes on my phone and I swear I hear him sigh.
“If you say so.” He pushes off my bed to his feet, crossing the room to me until I reluctantly meet his stare. “You know it’s okay to want more, right?” he asks in Spanish, searching my eyes, and I hate how his close proximity does nothing to me anymore.
“The only thing I want is to win races,” I reply, ensuring my pronunciation is as perfect as possible, and he smiles with a shake of his head.
“I’m sure that will make daddy proud,” he drawls, taking a step back, and when I don’t say anything in response, he smiles with another sigh and then turns to leave.
He makes it all the way to the door but I cave and call out his name. “Matt,” I say sharply, making him pause to meet my gaze. “Touch him again and we’re going to have a problem,” I bite out as calmly as possible, but the grin that takes over his face is the biggest I have ever seen.
I avoid him and everyone else for the rest of the day.
The top deck has a perfect view of the horizon, and considering I wasn’t making any progress on trying to get some sleep, I figured I would come up here and watch the sun rise.
I try not to let my mind linger on what I was doing at this same time on the deck last night, and instead let my eyes trail along the stars in the sky.
Exhaustion clings to me like a dead weight, and I’m hoping I can catch a few hours of sleep in the sun later this afternoon.
Even a couple hours would help keep my growing fatigue at bay, especially since I am running out of time off from the circuit.
We will be heading to Athens in a couple of days to compete in the next race, and the last thing I need is to lose focus due to lack of sleep.
My dad is already pissed that I decided to take off with his sponsored racers and island hop, but considering we had no plans, he couldn’t exactly say no.
Besides, he should be happy that I’ve been keeping a low profile, given the amount of attention now on me, which is the last thing I want.
I know it comes with the territory of the sport, but I just want to race.
All the rest of it doesn’t interest me in the slightest, especially the fucking harassment from the press.
I don’t know how many more questions I can answer about my brother without just screaming the truth, letting the chips fall where they may.
My heart races at the thought, my palms turning clammy as they itch for something to take the edge off.
I wonder what my dad would say if he knew the truth, if he knew the weight of the secret I’m carrying?
Would he still care about my racing career and image then?
He should be grateful I’m taking time out of the public eye, I can’t exactly get into trouble in the sea. Except, just as I have that thought, I hear the soft thud of someone’s footsteps, before Prescott appears with a shy smile.
“Thought I’d come and see what all the fuss was about,” he says by way of greeting, not asking before he lies down on the double lounger beside me, and I force myself not to flinch.
“Still not sleeping?” he adds, and I can feel his questioning stare burning into the side of my face, but I keep my focus out on the horizon.
He’s already witnessed me lose my head multiple times, and I’m starting to think he somehow senses when it’s happening. I try to inhale deeply, willing my now rapidly rising heart rate to relax, but with his attention on me, I only feel worse.
“I’m sleeping fine,” I grumble, and I have barely finished speaking before he responds.
“You look tired.”
“Gee, thanks,” I drawl, pulling out a cigarette and placing it firmly between my lips, just for something to do.
“I didn’t mean it like that, you know you’re hot,” he tosses back, and at that, I turn my face to stare at him with a smirk, making him shake his head. “Please don’t be insufferable.”
“No, go on, tell me more about how hot I am.” My tone is light and teasing, and he rolls his eyes playfully as I inhale deeply on the cig in my hand.
“You’re annoying,” he sighs, moving his focus out over the sea, but I don’t let myself follow his stare.
The sky is starting to lighten, and from experience I know it won’t be long now until the sun starts to peek over the horizon, but I’m suddenly finding another view more interesting.
“Says the guy who sought out my company.”
I see him smirk slightly, before he states, “I’m here for the sunrise, Miles.”
“This yacht has two decks, Prescott, you could watch it from anywhere,” I tell him, allowing myself to take a quiet, deep breath in the disguise of me smoking, and he shakes his head again.
“Did you know that Helios is the Greek God of the sun?” I’m not surprised by him changing the subject, I’ve come to learn it’s a tactic of his when he doesn’t want to talk about something.
He deflects then redirects, and I can’t help but wonder why he had to learn to do such things.
“He was envisioned as a god riding his chariot across the sky, from east to west every day,” he continues, his voice soft and full of awe, and I don’t bother calling him out for it, instead just focusing on what he is saying.
“God of the sun sounds pretty cool,” I muse, finally letting my eyes flick back to the horizon, taking another drag.
“He was believed to be an all-seeing witness,” he adds, immersing himself in the sunrise completely, and I smile softly.
“An all-seeing witness, eh? Let’s hope he didn’t see what we did on that deck,” I reply, making him laugh a little, and the sound of it soothes me instantly.