45. Wilder
For the last two weeks I have woken up with Reed beside me.
Always before my alarm, and always without an ounce of panic in my chest. Every time I instantly feel his body curled into mine, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and the comfort of his naked body against mine.
If someone would have told me four months ago, that I’d be fucking the same guy every night, and then proceeding to cuddle him, I’d have laughed in their faces, but here we are.
It's become so normal that I don't remember what sleeping alone feels like anymore. Well, that’s a lie, I remember exactly what it was like. Restless nights, barely two hours of sleep, and nightmare after nightmare, until I would eventually give up trying altogether. Now, I haven’t had a panic attack in weeks, and I haven’t found myself seeking out hotel roofs or sunrises either, not since Reed last found me there anyway.
I glance down at him, currently curled into my side, with one arm thrown over my torso to keep me anchored to him, and the other tucked beneath his pillow.
He's perfect like this, not in the polished, PR-friendly way everyone else sees, but the soft and vulnerable side. The one he doesn’t show to anyone, not even Eloise, and I’m downright addicted.
My chest does something strange every time I look at him, and I find myself looking for him everywhere.
In meetings, in the gym, in the garages, as long as my eyes can find him, I feel completely settled.
I don't know when that started, all I know is when he's beside me, everything in my head quiets.
The noise, the pressure, the memories, they don't disappear completely, but they do stop screaming so loudly.
And I wish we could run away from everything and stay like this forever, but unfortunately duty calls.
By the time we board our private jet to Las Vegas later that same day, Reed is back to being my painfully professional PR assistant.
He's wearing one of those stupidly expensive suits that makes him look like he owns half the companies sponsoring the championship, with his tablet already in hand before we've even finished boarding.
As always he catches me looking. "You're staring again," he muses, not lifting his eyes from the screen, and I can’t bite back my smile.
“I'm appreciating,” I correct, and his cheeks colour ever so slightly, but still he keeps his focus.
“I'm literally checking your media schedule and planning content for the weekend.”
“I know.”
“So there's nothing attractive about that.”
“I disagree.” He shakes his head, muttering something about me being impossible, before retreating to the back of the plane to make a coffee, because apparently he was up all night.
I wonder why.
I watch him move, grinning like an idiot the entire time, when someone slinks into the seat behind me. “You are so unbelievably whipped,” Matteo muses in Spanish, and I don’t pull my eyes away from Reed.
“I'm not whipped,” I snap back in English, making both Beck and Knox snort a laugh, as they find their own seats too.
“You smile at him like that and then say you're not?” Matteo replies, and when I finally meet his stare he looks utterly unconvinced.
“I smile at everyone,” I start, but that makes all three of them laugh, so loudly that Reed flicks his gaze toward us from the back of the plane.
Matteo leans forward over the seat. ”I can’t believe, mi pequeno salvaje, has gone soft.”
At that I scoff. “I haven’t gone soft, I’m…” I struggle to find the words, before I land on, “Well-rested.”
Knox shakes his head in amusement. “That’s because you’re sharing a bed with our pretty little Reed,” he muses, and my glare cuts to him.
“Careful,” I warn, only making all their smiles widen, as if proving their point, but then Reed makes his way back to his seat, and I ensure my stare conveys it’s time for them to shut the fuck up.
“Everything okay?” Reed asks, sensing the wrong kind of tension as he looks between us all, before handing me a coffee and sliding into the seat across from me.
“Everything’s fine, Blue.”
Except for the part where I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, but I can’t say that, so instead I take out my noise cancelling headphones and pretend to go to sleep before the plane even hits the taxiway.
Las Vegas greets us with blistering heat, and the second the cabin door opens, it hits like walking into an oven, and one of the guys behind me groans dramatically.
“I've changed my mind,” Knox announces, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Let's race somewhere with weather that doesn't actively want to kill us.”
“It's called the desert, genius,” Beck says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, as we file off the plane and into the private terminal.
Knox spends the entire time complaining that it’s too hot, and by the time we make it out to the convoy of cars waiting outside, he claims he must have died and gone to hell. Thankfully he gets put in a different car than me, and I’m granted one with Reed, my dad, and Laura.
Reed is still working of course, his laptop balanced on his knees in the SUV. He's answering brand emails, rearranging interview slots, confirming sponsor appearances and somehow taking a phone call all at once.
“Yes, that's fine,” he says into his headset. “No, Wilder won't be attending the casino launch tonight, he has other engagements.” He catches me looking and raises an eyebrow, pulling his phone away slightly and mouths, “What?”
“You answered for me,” I state blandly, and he excuses himself from the call and mutes his mic.
“Because I already know your answer.”
“I might've wanted to gamble.” I don’t, but I love getting him all worked up and annoyed, makes for good foreplay.
“You shouldn’t.”
”How do you know?”
“Because I already know how shitty you are at poker, so you're not risking bad press by being photographed losing half a million dollars at blackjack,” he scolds, and I see my dad hiding his smirk in my periphery.
“I love how well you know me,” I tease, and a tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, as he shakes his head and goes back to the call.
When we reach the hotel, I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.
It’s exactly the kind of place that only Vegas can justify, with gold accents everywhere, marble floors polished enough to see your own reflection, and a chandelier so enormous I'm fairly certain it has its own ZIP code.
Reed disappears to reception with my dad and Laura before any of us have even stopped walking, already speaking with the hotel manager and sorting our rooms. Within minutes, key cards are being handed out to us all, and when I get one I glance at the numbers between mine and his.
Mine ends in 42 and his ends in 43, both on the same floor, and I can’t hide my smile. “Stalking me, Blue?” I tease, and he rolls his eyes again.
“We both know the only stalker around here is you, and besides, it’s easier for both of us if you’re next door.” He states the word so matter of factly, his focus once again back on his phone, and I take a step closer to him.
“For work?” I dare to ask, and his lips twitch again.
“Obviously.”
I lean in just enough that only he can hear me. “Oh don’t worry, I’m going to work you so fucking good for me, pretty boy.”
A faint blush creeps onto his cheeks, before he clears his throat and looks back at the group. “So, team dinner at 7 p.m.,” he announces to all the guys, changing the subject, and they nod in agreement, my father already in work mode with Laura.
“Make sure you guys all look presentable as there will be some press there,” my dad reminds us before he and Laura stalk off in the opposite direction, so we all move to the elevators.
As everyone piles inside, Matteo deliberately wedges himself between Reed and me, making me frown. “What are you doing?”
He grins without looking at me, jamming the button for the floor we need. “Just testing a theory.”
“What theory?” I ask instantly, but he only shrugs, watching as the elevator starts to climb floor after floor.
The entire time, Matteo keeps glancing between Reed and me, with the kind of smug expression that makes me want to throw him down the elevator shaft. In fact, I can feel him, Knox, and Beck, all watching us with matching smirks, and it only serves in pissing me off.
When the doors finally slide open and Reed immediately steps out, Matteo follows him, still slotting himself between us all the way down the hall.
Reed stops outside his own room. “Seven o'clock,” he reminds me, watching as the others make their way further down the hall to their own rooms, Matteo winking at us as he leaves. “That’s two hours,” he adds, and I nod.
"I’ll see you in an hour, Blue,” I correct, and his blush returns.
His eyes flick briefly toward the others before settling back on me. “See you in an hour, Wild.”
Then he tears himself away from me and into his room, his door shutting echoing in the empty hallway, making me sigh.
I don’t make it the full hour, and after taking an extra long shower, we both end up being twenty minutes late to dinner. Thankfully the VIP restaurant is bustling with racers, their teams, and other celebrities and businessmen, so nobody notices us slipping in late.
Where we’re eating sits high above the strip, with floor to ceiling windows looking out over the neon Sin City.
We’ve barely even sat down and ordered a drink, before Matteo gasps dramatically, pulling all our attention. “Damn, who the hell is that?”
“Who?” Knox asks, looking around, and Matt nods toward the bar.