37. Wilder
Untangling myself from Reed as gently as possible, I slip from the bed and pull on some shorts, padding across the room so I can open the door. “Dad,” I greet wryly, pulling the door tight to my side so he can’t see into my room.
His gaze narrows as he takes in my state of undress. “Morning, I was just coming to see if you wanted to go for a run, I thought you’d already be up.” Again his eyes trail over my bare torso knowingly, before he tries to look over my shoulder.
Again, I tighten the door against me to make sure he can’t spot Reed in my bed. “No I’m good, I’ll just hit the gym in a couple of hours,” I reply, and his gaze lingers on me for a second too long.
Not accusatory or suspicious, more like just amused.
"Right," Dad says slowly, and I know that tone.
It's the same tone he used when I was seventeen, and I tried to convince him I didn’t sneak into The Academy and crash one of the cars.
"How are you feeling about today?" he asks casually, and I nod, fingers flexing around the door.
"Good,” I rush out, needing him to fuck off, but it’s like he knows what he’s doing.
"Good?" His eyes narrow slightly, and we stand there in silence for a moment, but then movement down the hallway catches my eye.
A hotel room door opens and someone steps out, a woman, a very familiar woman. My eyes widen in disbelief, too quickly for me to mask it, and my dad notices, following my stare to find Eloise looking a little less than elegant, as she sneaks from the hotel room quietly.
She doesn't see us thankfully, too focused on her phone as she rushes toward the elevators, and my stomach drops immediately. One, because I’m pretty sure the room she just vacated belongs to Zara Michaels, and two, because my dad just saw her leave there, and probably knows whose room that is too.
Fuck, this is bad.
To everyone on my team, my dad included, Eloise is Reed's girlfriend, and Zara is, well, Zara. Which means anyone with half a brain would be able to conclude what Eloise was doing by leaving her room, looking disheveled before seven in the damn morning.
When our stares collide again, his amusement is even more wry now, as he waits for me to say something. “I can explain,” I say quickly, but my dad only chuckles, fixing me with a firm stare.
“Do you think I was born yesterday, son?” he asks, leaning in close and lowering his voice.
“I could smell exactly what you two were up to in that damn dressing room,” he adds, and my face heats as I scramble for how to respond, but all he does is reach out and squeeze my shoulder.
“Look, Wild, as long as you both stay focused on work I don’t care where you stick your dick. ”
When he pulls back I’m still wide-eyed, not sure what to say, so I just nod. “We are,” I rush out. “Focused on work, I mean,” I add, and he smiles.
“Well, just don’t forget to be in the garage by 1 p.m.,” he starts. “Eat something before you come down.” His eyes flick meaningfully toward my room, before he continues, "And maybe get some more sleep." Then he pushes away from the doorway with a smirk.
"See you at the circuit.” I wait until he's halfway down the hall before finally exhaling.
The second he's gone, I close the door quietly and lean against it, meeting Reed’s panicked stare. “Who was that?” he asks, and I push off the door and make my way toward him.
“It was just my dad, Blue, relax, he didn't know you were here.” The lie leaves my mouth effortlessly, too effortlessly, because the truth would only send him spiraling.
I know Reed, the second he thinks my father knows anything about us, or whatever the hell this is, he'll put a hundred feet of distance between us again. He'll retreat behind professionalism and carefully constructed walls, and after the last few weeks, I can't stand the thought.
Relief floods his expression anyway, immediate and visible, and that alone tells me I made the right choice.
"Okay," he says quietly, and even though the panic is fading, I can feel him already pulling away.
Hell, the only reason he came here last night was because he was armed with an excuse, and then I fucked him so thoroughly just to ensure he wouldn’t leave.
"Actually," Reed adds, clearing his throat. "I should probably go."
I raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"
He nods. "Yeah, Eloise is probably wondering where I am."
I almost snort, not just because of the excuse, but because I know for a fact his best friend is definitely not wondering where he is.
A slow smirk pulls at my mouth. "If you say so,” I muse, and he instantly glares at me as he climbs out of bed.
"Don't,” he tells me flatly.
"Don't what?" I ask innocently, watching his naked body flex, as he searches the vicinity for his clothes.
"You know exactly what, Miles,” he retorts, and I grin wider at the use of my last name, but unfortunately that only seems to make him more flustered.
I slide back into bed, leaning against the headboard, as I watch him pull on his pants and check his phone. This is the part where he starts rebuilding the version of himself that everyone else gets to see, and I fucking hate it.
“Blue,” I call out without thinking, pulling his eyes to meet mine.
“Yeah?”
I want to ask him to stay, to ask him what happened the day Eloise arrived that put him so on edge, and probably a thousand other questions that I am desperate to know the answers to.
“Don’t be late today,” I tell him firmly, and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head.
“There he is,” he drawls, tapping something out on his phone before pulling on his shirt.
"There who is?" I dare to ask, pretending I’m not imagining every filthy thing we did last night.
"My annoying race car driver,” he replies, and his words shouldn’t thrill me, but they do.
I watch him put his persona perfectly back into place, and all I want to do is rip it all apart, but I force myself to stay put.
“I’ll meet you for lunch later with Laura?
” he asks, finally bringing his stare back to mine, and I nod my head.
“Sure, Blue, whatever you want.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, but still he smiles, moving to leave, before I see him hesitating ever so slightly. “Need something?” I ask, wanting him to say yes, but he shakes it off.
“No, I’ll catch you later.”
Then he walks out without another word.
Making the top twenty-four should have been enough, that’s what everyone keeps telling me anyway. My team, the reporters, the sponsors, even my dad, they keep saying how lucky I am to have even been invited, let alone get this far, and I know they mean well, but I fucking hate hearing it.
I have this impossible thing inside of me, that when someone tells me something is enough, I immediately want more. It’s a flaw, albeit one that has made me a lot of money over these last couple of months, and right now I want to make some more.
The Elite World Championship is brutal by design, taking mercy on no one, and making the top twenty-four means I've survived the first cut.
Objectively, that's huge, especially for a rookie, the competition every year is ridiculous. World Champions, seasoned vets, future legends, all of them looking to bring home the title. Half the grid could win on their worst day, and the fact I’m still standing at their side should be enough to be proud of.
Unfortunately my brain doesn't work like that.
My brain is currently staring at the top twelve cutoff, because if I somehow make that then I know everything will change. No one will see me for just my last name, they will start taking me seriously for me, and that’s exactly what I need.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Reed muses from beside me, his voice cutting over the noise, and I glance sideways.
He’s standing next to me in the garage, his phone in one hand and a coffee in the other, looking annoyingly perfect as always. “What thing?” I ask, pulling his stare to mine
"That staring into the distance and cooking up trouble thing,” he replies, focusing back on his phone, no doubt posting the videos he took of me arriving not too long ago.
"I'm visualizing success."
"You're overthinking."
"Same thing,” I snap, giving him my complete focus. “Would you rather I visualize last night?” I ask, dropping my voice, and his mouth twitches slightly.
“Behave,” he grunts, his eyes flicking up to check our surroundings, but no one is close enough to hear us.
I’ve never relished the idea of hiding who I am sleeping with, I’ve been proudly gay since the moment I realized I was, but I know it’s not the same for everyone.
For someone like Reed, he has to value his safety over his freedom, and even though I hate that fact, I still have to accept it and respect it.
My need for him outweighs my need for anyone to know I’m fucking him.
Besides, the people who matter, already know.
“No Eloise today?” I ask, wondering since she probably knows about us, if he knows about Zara, but he doesn’t react in any kind of way to the mention of her.
“She said she will come down later, apparently she was out late drinking with some new friends, I don’t even think she noticed I wasn’t there when she got back to our room,” he mutters, distracted by his phone, and I bite back a smirk. Yeah I’ll bet she didn’t.
“Does that mean I can steal you away again tonight?” I dare to ask, pulling his stare back to mine like my words are a magnet. “You know, for another interview,” I add teasingly, and I watch the way his cheeks heat slightly at my reminder.
“Didn’t we get enough work done last night?” he questions casually, once again looking around to ensure we are alone, and I subtly shake my head.
“Trust me, Blue, we’ve barely even scratched the surface.”
At that his pupils widen with both lust and intrigue, the phone in his hand finally forgotten. “Impress me today and maybe we’ll see,” he finally replies, and my cock jumps in my pants.
Before I can respond, Laura calls out to me from across the garage. “Time to get ready, Wilder.”
I groan internally at the interruption, but tip my head in acknowledgement at Laura, before focusing back on Reed. “Duty calls, Blue.” Then I reluctantly remove myself from beside him so I can head to get changed.
I head to the dressing room, passing multiple racers on my way, all of whom offer me some kind of greeting, which I return.
My room is tucked away right at the very end, and just as I am about to go inside, a closet door opens and Eloise stumbles out, eyes wide and lips swollen, with Zara Michaels standing firm at her back.
They both meet my stare with varying expressions, Zara looking more than satisfied with herself, whereas Eloise looks like she is about to have a panic attack.
I look between the two of them and raise my brows. “Good afternoon, ladies,” I sing-song with a smile. “Certainly seems so for you two.”
Eloise’s cheeks brighten with embarrassment, but Zara is the one to respond. “It will be even better when I kick your ass on the track, Miles,” she claps back without skipping a beat, and my smirk only widens.
“Seems we both have incentive to show off today,” I reply with a wink, looking between them both before offering a mock salute. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” I add, pushing into my room, biting back a smirk, as Reed’s posh best friend curses like a sailor behind me.
I make quick work of getting ready, and head back to the garage to start my pre-race prep.
The closer I get to the garage, the quicker everything starts to fade away, just like it always does.
My brain compartmentalizes it all into neat little boxes at the back of my mind, and whatever is happening with Zara and Eloise is long gone.
It’s the art of racing, it’s the only thing that ever lets my brain completely shut off and block out all the noise.
By the time I step inside the garage, the team is already hard at work.
Sid is checking my car over with the rest of the guys, under the watchful eyes of my dad, as the mechanics make final adjustments.
So I start my own routine of working through my track notes and checking the weather, memorizing the details that might give me any kind of advantage.
Talent gets you on the grid, but it’s preparation that keeps you there.
Around me the garage fills with noises, but the only one I don’t zone out is the sound of Reed’s camera flash as it shoots picture after picture.
I know without looking up that his phone will be in his other hand, no doubt recording short videos he can make content from later.
He really is an excellent multitasker, both in and out the bedroom.
When I flick my stare up I find him standing near the media area, talking with one of the other PR assistants whose name I don’t know.
He’s once again dressed in one of those perfectly professional shirts, that show none of his personality, and I absentmindedly trail my eyes over him.
He looks pristine, focused, every bit the Lamont he is, but all I can do is think about the lack of his blue hair. Fuck I miss it, I miss him with it.
As if he can sense me, he glances up, our eyes meeting across the garage, and something settles deep in the pit of my stomach.
A knowing sense of a relief I don’t want to admit, not when I know it’s impossible for him to feel it too.
I have to force myself to look away, because right now that’s not what matters.
The only thing that matters is surviving another race, and maybe if I do everything right, something insane could happen.
Like I could make the top fucking twelve in the Elite World Championships.