Chapter 12
Peter
When I woke up this morning, the only thing I wanted to do was seek out Molly.
Not really thinking much about it, I used my contacts to find her number.
I know I should stay away from her.
It’s not fair to her to seek her out when I’ve turned her down, but I just can’t fucking help myself.
When I’m with her, the rest of the world fades for a while.
And I crave that feeling more than anything else.
Having her tease me about not wanting to take a bite just confirms how fucking dangerous she is.
Whenever I’ve turned down a girl before, usually for a second round in the sheets—which I never participate in—they storm off to sulk.
Molly, on the other hand, swallowed her pride and made me look like her own accessory just moments after I said no to a sexual relationship with her.
Makes my precious self-control slip more by the second.
“Have you seen the articles about us?” she asks.
Seen them and fucking imprinted those pictures in my brain.
She looked stunning, and I was just simply there, admiring her in most of the pictures.
I’ll be the arm candy of this woman any day she’ll have me.
“I have,” I say, not giving her my thoughts just yet.
I love dragging things out with this woman, knowing patience isn’t her strong suit. She always says what’s on her mind, which is refreshing.
“Well? What do you think?”
And because she always says what’s on her mind, the least I can do is be honest with her, even if I can’t have her the way I want.
“You looked like a goddess, Molly. I know you didn’t want to do this, but I’m glad you agreed.”
The idea of a PR relationship has always been my greatest nightmare. The difference with Molly, though, is that I crave her more than anyone. But I’m struggling with accepting that, not knowing how I could ever have someone like her in my messed-up world.
This way, I get to have her in a way that feels fantastic.
Every touch, every look, and every moment together is real on my end at least.
“Yeah, you fucker , you knew what you did in that office,” she says, making both of us smile.
She’d never be able to turn down a challenge thrown her way.
And men making decisions for her or trying to reduce her in any way means I knew she would pull through.
I park the car close to the restaurant, one of my favourites in this city.
Being back in the US always brings a certain amount of anxiety, wondering if my dad will make an appearance.
He’s never sought me out during the day, but you can never know. I’m sure if he’s desperate enough, he would come lurking in broad daylight.
We make our way inside, and I ask the hostess for a private table.
Molly looks questioningly at me, probably wondering why I’d do that when we’re supposed to be photographed and seen together. That’s the whole point of this fake-dating thing.
But I don’t give two shits about that.
The media and my team have plenty of fuel for their stories after yesterday’s gala.
This is for us, or more specifically, for me.
We’ve shown to our table, and I pull out the chair for her, which makes her chuckle.
Making her laugh with my gentlemanly acts is quickly becoming a favourite. I’m not exactly known for being a gentleman, and we both know it, which makes this all the more fun.
We order our food, and when I ask her about her job, I realise we’ve never really talked about Formula 1.
It’s clear that Molly is very knowledgeable about the sport.
She congratulates me on my win last weekend, and pride swells in my chest.
What she doesn’t know is that the win was highly motivated by my anger at seeing her with Miles.
“Your reportage of the race was cool,” I tell her, and her eyes widen in surprise.
She probably didn’t expect me to see it, but I’m kind of becoming obsessed with this woman, so I’ll check out most things related to her.
Not one mention of my bad boy image; it was all about my racing and performance on the track.
Which you would think was the norm, but several media outlets have fallen victim to becoming part of the problem by reporting on the drama off track rather than the racing on track.
The reportage was edited to highlight my performance, showing clips back to the season two years ago when I won the title for the first time and my race last weekend, showcasing the similarities in driving style and aggressiveness on track.
I was already riding high from the win but seeing how Molly portrayed it felt good, too.
I also find it interesting that her name was credited as Molly May rather than MayWilder. She seems determined not to be linked too closely to her surname, which I respect. It shows character and integrity in a world where most people lack them.
The suits, for example, would die to have the MayWilder name.
“Thank you. It was fun making it.”
I’m tempted to ask her if she has a favourite driver but don’t want my ego checked just yet. Her dad owning Audi must make her a fan of us in some way, right?
We talk some more about the upcoming race weekend, where I’m planning to bring home another win.
I’m committed to our team and the momentum we’re building, with a focus on getting that title back. Hopefully, this will be the year to turn things around in more ways than one.
“You see yourself working in editing forever?” I ask her.
The waiter comes over and sets our food down. The smell of our Italian pasta dishes is invading my senses.
The waiter is taking his sweet time explaining the use of parmesan to Molly. Like it’s the greatest and most complicated cheese in the world.
His interest is evident, and I lean back in my seat, observing the exchange.
He clearly doesn’t care that she’s on a date.
It might be a fake date, kind of.
But still.
It’s fucking rude.
When a woman is out eating lunch with a man, you don’t hit on her in front of him.
Molly humours him, smiling politely up at him and making a joke about pasta being incomplete without some good parmesan.
Fed up with their exchange, I start eating my own meal, and he finally takes the hint.
Molly sits back in her seat, a sinful smile aimed my way.
She raises a single eyebrow at me.
A silent challenge to tell her why I turned cranky.
She knows.
I know.
“What?” I ask, exasperated.
“You really are so confusing, Peter. You don’t want me, or at least not enough to take me up on my offer, but then you go all jealous fake boyfriend as soon as another guy shows interest.”
Part of me wants to just come clean.
Tell her that the way I want her terrifies me.
Because it’s new for me.
And I don’t know how to handle it.
Which is why I grumble a response about wanting to enjoy our meal in peace without a server taking up my time.
Molly doesn’t seem to believe a word out of my mouth.
This woman does read me quite well, but she drops it.
Which I’m thankful for.
～
After my shutdown during our date, Molly insisted on my taking her back to the editor’s bus.
Again, I’ve never felt more compelled to just tell her my every thought.
Explain why I can’t be the man for her.
But I don’t even know where to begin.
Would she demand that I spill every damn secret I have?
She doesn’t pry or push me. Simply sits there, observing me with her watchful eyes as I feel myself stripped bare.
What’s even more terrifying than having her gaze on me is the way I want to open up to her.
But even if I did, I don’t know what would come out of it.
What if she decided that I was too messed up to give a chance?
Then I would have spilled everything for nothing.
I could try to take her up on the casual-relationship suggestion. I just don’t know if that’s what I want anymore.
Building a foundation in my team with Arthur has become my sole priority. And indulging in a no-strings sexual relationship with his daughter just won’t cut it.
I swing by the garage, hoping to catch Ryan, finding him together with none other than Miles and a few of the other mechanics.
Fucking traitor.
I guess they’re a huge group, so hanging out with Miles is probably the norm for him.
Still, I’m annoyed at Ryan.
Which I shouldn’t be.
At my expression, he just shakes his head before he says his goodbyes and follows me into the driver’s room.
I bring out a water bottle before slumping down into the couch.
Ryan stays standing in front of me, crossing his arms as he gives me a look that resembles the one Molly gave me just a little over an hour ago.
“What?”
“Okay. So you don’t want to talk about your feelings for Molly. Fine, then I’ll go hang out with the guys, including Miles again.”
Feelings for Molly.
Christ.
I have so many feelings for this woman that half would be enough.
I drag a hand through my hair, and Ryan lets out a breath, understanding written all over him.
Then he sits down beside me.
“I understand it’s hard. You’ve never really been together with a woman in a serious matter. But I promise it will all be worth it. She seems like someone who handles your very fluctuating mood, which should be telling enough,” he chuckles, and I hit his shoulder lightly.
He may tease me, but he’s also right.
My mood can be a little shifting, especially now that I’m going through changes both in the team and my own emotions.
“What if I tell her some of my fucked-up past and she doesn’t want me?” I say, the vulnerability thick as I look down to the floor.
Ryan rests a comforting hand on my back.
“Man. I can’t believe you would say that. I’m certain Molly would be there. And if not, then she wasn’t the right woman.”
Right woman.
Not a term I’ve spent much time dwelling on before.
But now the question about whether she could be the right woman for me seems to be the at the forefront of my mind.