Chapter 18
“Please, my friends are all in there,” a girl pleads.
“Sorry, full house tonight.” Clipboard Bouncer looks the opposite of remorseful.
“Isn’t there a way?” She sounds so pitiful, my heart goes out to her. “It’s very important. I’m trying to find someone there.”
“Right, not my problem. Queue’s over there.”
The girl shuffles past me, head down.
“Hi.” I step up to Clipboard Bouncer. “I’m with the Orbital after-party?”
He snorts. “The hundredth girl tonight who works for Orbital Racing. Nice try. Back of the queue’s around the corner.”
“I really am, though,” I protest, but Clipboard has already dismissed me, and the next swarm of people pushes past to get their turn.
I sigh and get in the back of the very, very long line that doesn’t feel like it’s going to move this century. This is what I get for insisting Dietrich go ahead without me so I could pit stop at my apartment for comfier clothes and shoes.
The girl in front of me is the same one I just saw getting rejected. She gives me a sympathetic tough luck look. “They act like they are handing out gold bars in there.”
I laugh. “Is it always this hard to get in?”
“It’s probably because they’re having the Orbital Racing party tonight.
Every girl in Milton Keynes is trying to join.
” She has a light Continental accent. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
“You are very smart.” She gestures to my sneakers. “I should have worn something similar.”
“Nah, but you look way cuter.” The girl’s strappy kitten heels go perfectly with her green flowy halter dress.
“I’m Hannie.” She extends her hand.
I’m about to shake it and introduce myself, since we’re clearly going to be spending a lot of time together while we wait, when someone behind calls my name.
“Justine?” It’s Savannah and Chloe, the girls I met yesterday. They’re both wearing little black dresses, immaculate eyeliner, and dangling drop earrings. “Are they making you queue?”
“Apparently.” I wince. “I said I’m with Orbital, but the guy didn’t believe me.”
“You are with Orbital?” Hannie interjects, a look of recognition dawning in her eyes.
“That’s mad, that is! Come with us.” Chloe loops her arm through mine.
“Are you sure?” I ask. I don’t want to risk losing my place in line—it seems to have gotten exponentially longer in the last five minutes.
“I can hold your place if you need to come back,” Hannie offers, as if reading my mind.
“C’mon, trust us.” Savannah gives my arm a forceful tug.
She and Chloe pull me along with an alarmingly high level of confidence about getting into the Orbital after-party for two people who don’t work there. The crowd around the bouncers has only grown thicker. Savannah and Chloe expertly elbow their way in, dragging me in their wake.
“Table under Wilson,” Chloe says smoothly.
Clipboard gives the two of them the once-over like a state fair livestock judge. Savannah and Chloe stare back, chins up and chests strategically jutted. He gives a brief nod and unhooks the rope.
“Thank you guys so much!” I shout, fighting to be heard over the music. They showed the kind of screw you confidence I’ve only ever had on-track. If I’d known how easy it was going to be, I’d have gone back and dragged Hannie along with us.
“Don’t mention it.” Savannah grins. “You have to be aggro with these things.”
“Shall we find the lads?” Chloe says. “Cameron DMed that they’re in the back.”
My smile falters. I didn’t know Cameron and Chloe talked.
Before I can think too much about this unpleasant development, Savannah grabs my arm and I’m pulled into the whirling, heaving crowd.
The flashing blue and white lights shine enough so you can see where you’re going, but not enough to prevent you from stepping on random strangers’ toes.
I follow Chloe and Savannah as they push through the horde, trying to find anyone who looks remotely familiar.
I finally spot Roz near the bar, making out with Grayson like they’re not in the middle of a packed public space. I’d rather not intrude, but unfortunately it doesn’t seem like we’ll find our way to the actual party if I don’t.
“Hey, guys!” I shout.
Roz unglues her lips from Grayson’s. “Oi, you made it! Who’s this?” She glances curiously at Savannah and Chloe.
“They’re friends of Pat and Cameron,” I explain.
“Oh, all right, then. C’mon—we’re in the back.”
She grabs my hand and leads me through the crowd, Grayson following behind with Savannah and Chloe.
We make it all the way past the dance floor to a cordoned-off area near the DJ booth.
There are so many beautiful girls milling around I wouldn’t have known it was the Orbital party if it weren’t for Georgios standing on top of a couch swigging champagne from the bottle.
Lou’s bodyguard, a bald man who always wears an earpiece, is planted in front of the steps leading up to the dais.
He nods at Roz but holds out his hand toward us. “Phones.”
“She’s an F3 driver, and he’s an F2 driver.” Roz points at Grayson and me.
Lou’s bodyguard gives us a withering glance, then shrugs. “Fine. But I still need yours.” He turns to Savannah and Chloe. They grimace but hand them over. The bodyguard tosses them into a large metal bucket at his feet, already chock-full of confiscated phones.
“All right, let’s get drinks!” Grayson grabs my shoulders from behind and pushes me to the nearest table, where Georgios and Pat are standing around a tray of shot glasses. I glance around—Savannah and Chloe have already been approached by a couple of engineers—but there’s no sign of Cameron.
Roz grabs a shot from the tray, shoving it at me. “Cheers!”
I sniff the contents of the glass; it’s earthy, with a hint of vanilla. I follow Roz’s lead and throw my head back, taking the shot down with a giant gulp.
I realize my mistake as soon as the liquid hits my tongue. It’s the foulest thing I’ve ever tasted, and that includes all of the dubious protein drinks Mom concocts. Whatever is in the glass goes down my throat like flaming kerosene. My body racks with coughs.
The guys crack up.
“You okay?” Roz asks, thumping my back in a way that’s more likely to send me to the physio than help the alcohol go down.
“Was that tequila?” I gasp in between coughs.
“Top shelf.” Grayson nods. He pushes the tray at me again. “Second one’ll go down smoother, promise.”
“Fine.” I grab another. Let me not be the wet blanket when I’m finally starting to fit in. The second shot is still gross, but at least I don’t feel like I’ve inhaled a gas bomb.
“So, uh, where’s Cameron?” I ask, trying to keep it subtle. “I haven’t seen him all night.”
“With his fan club.” Georgios snorts, gesturing over his shoulder.
My heart sinks as I spot Cameron three tables over, standing in a swarm of statuesque women that now includes Chloe and Savannah.
Even Carolina, the gorgeous OTC receptionist, is there.
Chloe, sipping from a glass with a little umbrella on top, is smiling up at him in a way that makes me all kinds of sad.
Maybe it’s the two consecutive tequila shots, maybe it’s the post-gala high, or maybe it’s taking inspiration from the girls’ confident display at the club entrance, but before I quite know what I’m doing, I’ve elbowed my way in.
“Hi,” I say, planting myself squarely in front of Cameron so there’s no way he can run off and ignore me.
“Hi.”
Chloe, thank goodness, is a master at social cues. Her eyes dart between the two of us. “Er… I’m going to top up.” She gives her half-full glass a little shake and slips away.
“What is up with you?” I burst out, the alcohol loosening my tongue.
“What do you mean?” He arches an eyebrow at me.
“You know what I mean. You’ve been ignoring me the whole night.”
“No, I haven’t.”
His blatant playing dumb only makes me more agitated. “I waved at you and your mom, and you clearly looked away. Then you did it again during the dinner!”
He smirks, a familiar glint in his eyes. “Counting now, are we?”
“Answer the question.”
“I dunno.” He shrugs, then lets out a sigh. “I just… you’ve been running hot and cold with me, and it’s kind of screwing with my head. Besides,” he adds, “you’ve been so busy with Dietrich and Lou, I didn’t even think you’d notice.”
I open and close my mouth. There’s so much insinuated in his words.
I don’t know what’s bothering him more—that I went to the gala with Dietrich, or that I’ve been hobnobbing with VIPs.
It’s messy and confusing and complicated, the epitome of what we are.
Mom’s words echo ominously in my ears: You’re a smart girl; you can do the math.
Before I can come up with something to clear the air, Cameron shakes his head. “Never mind, forget I said anything. Let’s just… enjoy the rest of the night, shall we?” He takes a sip of his drink—a Hendriksen from the bottle—then holds it out to me in a conciliatory gesture.
I purse my lips and take the tiniest of sips. The beer tastes as nasty as I remember.
Cameron laughs, and some of the tension and anxiety in my stomach dissolves. “It’s beer, not poison.”
“Says you. Not all of us like the taste of pee water.”
“Careful, that pee water pays for a lot of racing equipment around here.” He tugs the end of my braid.
“Watch it!” I bat his hand away, pretending his touch doesn’t make my stomach cartwheel.
“Justine.” Roz rushes up. “I love this song. Come dance with me. Everyone—we’re dancing!” She shouts merrily at no one and everyone at the same time.
Before I have a moment to worry about my complete and utter lack of coordination, Roz gives me a giant shove and I’m being carried out of the VIP area by the flow of our crowd.
It’s more squashed out on the dance floor than it was a few minutes ago, and we’re forced to mash up against each other with zero breathing room.
The thump, thump, thump of the bass is so deafening, I can feel every beat reverberate in my chest.
Roz drapes one arm around my shoulders, the other over Grayson’s, and pogos up and down in time with the music.