Chapter 5
Molly
I leave my father’s office in a hurry, not too keen to hang around the Audi garage if Jeremy makes an appearance.
He’s the one who should be embarrassed, but something tells me he’d never admit to sneaking out on a date.
Peter, on the other hand, I wouldn’t mind running into.
I’m still riding the high from last night, feeling light-headed, thinking back to Peter and our time together.
At least the evening turned out wonderfully.
When I reach the Star News team, Jessica is waiting for me, probably eager to hear all about my miserable date.
“At least he didn’t bore you to death,” she says, making us both chuckle as I tell her about the date from hell.
When I get to the part of him asking me to take care of my half off the bill, which actually was the whole thing, she howls with laughter.
“God, that’s so bad. I’m sorry, Molly. I’m sure there is a better man for you out there.”
I’m tempted to tell her about Peter as she knows all about my boy troubles, but I’m not sure what I’d tell her.
That I had the best date, if I can even call it that, with the same man who basically stood me up last year.
I also don’t get the feeling that we’ll have a repeat of the evening.
We ran into each other, and each of us wanted to save the evening. Me from a terrible date. He wanted to escape the suits as he calls them. Then we had a wonderful evening, which ended with a kiss on the cheek.
Peter doesn’t strike me as the type to date, and I’m certainly not looking to be the next notch in his belt. Based on our chemistry, I have no doubt we would be explosive together, but then there’s the after part.
He’s a driver in a team that my freaking dad owns.
I see him around the paddock, and with my dad’s new role, I’m destined to run into him often.
Therefore, I’ll keep it to myself and store the memory away for the next time I have a bad date and need to remind myself that I do have great chemistry with men, just not the right type.
～
I’m doing the finishing touches on a clip after the Bahrain GP when my phone pings with a message from Jessica, asking if I’m up for going out tonight.
Luke secured his first win of the season, and they’d like to go out and celebrate.
Dressing up for a night out in town with my friends, dancing, and music sounds like the perfect end to this weekend.
I head back to our bus, grateful to find Jessica there so we can get ready together.
She doesn’t spend as much time on the bus as she first did when she started here, obviously wanting to spend the nights with her man. Hence, I appreciate our makeup sessions even more when she does make the trip.
With the music blaring and a glass of wine in hand, we lay out all our makeup as we start getting ready.
“Luke feeling good about this season?” I ask her.
He won the World Championship for the first time in his career last season, battling it out with Peter.
In the end, Luke pulled the last straw and was crowned the winner.
“Yeah, it’s all very early, so anything can happen. But he’s happy to start strong, feeling like he’s continuing the momentum from last year.”
The beauty of Formula 1 lies in the unknown and in how everything can change in the blink of an eye.
A driver can lead the whole race but then crash in the last corner due to being unfocused.
Technical issues can end your race even before the lights go out.
And a driver can struggle to perform if he doesn’t feel aligned with the car.
When the commentators say that anything can happen, it’s true.
I go over to the clothes I’ve laid out on my bed, contemplating just how daring I want to look tonight.
“You should wear that,” Jessica says, gesturing to a corset dress that looks more like lingerie than a dress around the boobs, and adds more coverage the further down you go.
I bite my lip, unsure if I can pull it off, but the wine gives me the extra confidence I need.
I put it on, and the second I look in the mirror, I know this will be the one. I feel sexy, with a hint of sophistication as I add my gold jewellery to complement the outfit.
Jessica whistles at me, forever my hype woman.
“Damn girl, you’ll be floored tonight, hopefully by someone who’s actually capable of putting sentences together.”
I snicker, hopeful that she might be right.
～
“We should dance!” Jessica shouts over the music, the party in full swing at the club we settled on.
So far, we’ve been lounging in one of the booths together with Luke and his teammate Hayden, who looks like a deer caught in headlights.
Poor fella.
He doesn’t seem accustomed to the party scene.
Luke’s taken him in under his wing, introducing him to all things F1 and the life that follows.
Luke isn’t the biggest party guy, but we head out sometimes to celebrate when he does well, or we feel the need to let loose.
The guys stay behind as we make our way to the dancefloor, Jessica dragging me behind her as we push past the crowd.
For several songs, we sing and dance our hearts out. Occasionally, guys will sneak up on us, but we make it clear we’re not interested.
Luke is up on his feet several times, but Jessica sends them on their way before they’ve had the chance to get close enough to her.
I’m sporting the perfect buzz, feeling myself and the music when I sense someone watching me.
I look around, the flickering lights making it difficult to see clearly as I gaze around the club. They’ve even used a smoke machine during one of the DJ sets.
Then I spot him.
Peter is sitting in one of the lounge areas, his gaze intense as he looks at me. When I meet his eyes, he lifts his glass in greeting as a smile spreads on his lips.
The odds of meeting him two nights in a row should be way too slim, but then I remember his reputation for partying.
It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s out enjoying the nightlife.
I’m tempted to walk over to him, but I decide that I’ll wait this one out. See if he approaches me.
The tension rising in my body is warning enough that I should try to stay clear of this man.
He’s already affecting me more than I’d like.
I continue dancing with Jessica, still feeling his stare but trying my best not to look his way.
When Jessica asks whether we should head back to the guys, I tell her I need to use the bathroom. She offers to tag along, but I don’t mind going by myself.
Once I’m all done, I wander along the hallway, looking at the numerous pictures portrayed on the walls. They’re all taken inside the club, probably over the years as people party away the night.
“Didn’t think you were a party girl.”
His voice alone is enough to send my heart racing.
Peter is leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the same wall. Even when he’s leaning against the wall, and I’m wearing heels, he’s taller than me.
“You don’t really know me that well,” I say, enjoying the feeling of being wanted.
Being in the same club is a coincidence.
But him seeking me out in this hallway? That’s not accidental.
He steps closer, his eyes raking over my outfit before he lets out a deep breath. “Fuck, you look gorgeous, Molly.”
Then I would say we’re matching.
His dress shirt is paired with black jeans, and his hair is slightly wilder than usual.
With his penetrating stare aimed at me, the goosebumps rise on my skin as the thump of the music flows into the hallway.
When he moves into my space, laying a hand beside my head, I hold my breath.
Maybe he regrets not kissing me yesterday.
I hope so and that he’s ready to redeem himself.
I’m craving the feel of his lips on my own.
He gazes into my eyes, the tension heavy between us.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks me, making me a little confused.
Because of course I have.
We’re in a club.
That’s typically what people do.
“Yeah, a glass of wine and some margaritas,” I tell him, not really knowing why he’s interested in my beverage of choice.
I nearly close the distance between us myself, feeling desperate for him to get on with this.
“Then I won’t kiss you.”
What the hell?
Won’t he kiss me because I’ve been drinking?
“You allergic to lime or something?” I ask him, frustrated that I won’t get my kiss after all.
Is that even possible?
Peter starts chuckling, which only makes me want him even more.
That smile is lethal.
The few times he brings it out, I feel weak in the knees.
“Something like that,” he murmurs, looking down at my lips, before he pulls away from me.
I’m equally frustrated over him not kissing me as I am by my need for him.
I try to remind myself of my mantra.
He’s just a man.
So what if he doesn’t want to kiss me? I can go out on that dance floor and find myself a willing candidate.
But deep down, I know it wouldn’t be as satisfactory as it would be with Peter.
I do want to see his reaction to my proposal, though.
“Then I’ll go find someone who will,” I say, shrugging my shoulders like this is no big deal.
Because it isn’t.
Two people kissing is no big deal.
Especially in a club like this.
He narrows his eyes, a challenge rising as he regards my expression, probably trying to see if I’m being serious or not.
I’m tempted to pull through, just to see his reaction.
A make-out session with a stranger might be the perfect way to end this night.
“You desperate for a kiss, Molly?”
I swallow, my brain screaming at me that no, I’m not desperate for a kiss.
I’m desperate for his kiss.
It must be the alcohol messing with me, even though I feel stone-cold sober in this moment.
“No, but it’s always nice to end the night with a good make-out session,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice nonchalant.
“I enjoy ending my night with a lot more than a make-out session.”
Christ.
We really need to stop this, especially if he doesn’t even plan to make a move. He’s more confusing than any man I’ve met.
Also, the most intriguing.
He’s called me beautiful, we’ve shared a wonderful evening, and we’re both adults.
Why won’t he just kiss me?
A couple stumbles into the hallway, both of them drunk out of their minds as she hiccups and he stutters a “whops” as they make their way into one of the restrooms.
Ugh, that’s gross.
Public sex is one thing, but in the bathroom of a club, now that is a whole other level of nasty.
Peter quickly steps back into my space, pressing me up against the wall before leaning down, whispering in my ear. “I’ll give you your make-out session when you’re sober.”
Then, he presses his lips to my throat, his tongue peeking out, before it’s gone just as quickly.
He turns away and strolls back into the club, whilst I’m slumped against the wall as the sensations rage inside me.
I can’t believe this just happened.
How effortlessly this man turns me into a mess of emotions with his touch and those intense eyes.
One thing is for certain: I’m in deep trouble when it comes to Peter Centimo.
～
The alcohol must have made me feel braver than I really am.
Because now I’m freaking out.
I’m pacing back and forth in my room on our bus, wondering if Peter will show up.
I struggled falling asleep when I got back yesterday, and my nerves haven’t settled.
Wondering what will happen the next time I see Peter.
I don’t know if I should be scared or excited about his promise. Maybe I just need to keep drinking to have a reason for him not to kiss me.
In the illusion of a dark club, where no one could see us, I was desperate for him.
I can’t even blame the alcohol all that much, knowing I would have wanted him to kiss me even without it.
A girl can pretend, though.
Now that reality has crept back in, I’m terrified.
Terrified he will fulfil his promise.
Terrified he won’t.
Part of me is hoping he’ll come marching through my door and kiss me until we’re both breathless.
The other part of me is petrified of it.
God, when did a man ever affect me this much?
Maybe he won’t show up.
We’re nearing drive off from the track, and our team is ready for a long day of travel.
As the minutes tick down, it feels like I have an angel and a devil on either side of me.
The angel is telling me that him not showing up is for the best.
The devil, on the other hand, is holding on to the hope that he’ll be here.
When the bus takes off, I can’t help but feel disappointment, together with my devil, that he didn’t show.