Chapter Thirteen #2
I desperately missed these moments between us.
Talking to Lily had always been so easy, so natural, in a way that nothing else in my life was.
I let the moment of comfort stretch, hoping she’d find another reason to smile.
But gradually, I watched the tension creep back into her shoulders.
Her knee started bouncing with that restless energy she could never quite contain.
She picked up the note again, unfolded it, read it, folded it twice, and set it back down.
My knee brushed hers as I shifted to get more comfortable, but her leg didn’t move away, didn’t flinch. The tension was different now, slower, almost aimless, curling around us with nowhere urgent to go.
I watched the side of her face, the way her jaw ticked when she wasn’t thinking. How her mouth pursed slightly every time she almost said something and then swallowed the words instead.
For a woman who never stopped talking, who filled every silence with commentary and jokes and observations, she could also be impressively comfortable with quiet.
Silence didn’t bother Lily. I wasn’t sure anything really bothered Lily for long.
She may be knocked down today, but she would be back up tomorrow, her smile never too far from the surface.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to just exist like that. To not carry every mistake, every fear, every failure like a stone in my chest.
She turned her head toward me, catching the way I was watching her.
“What?” she asked.
I should have looked away. Should’ve made a joke or changed the subject or done anything except what I was doing: leaning forward, just like I’d done in Montreal. Everything about Lily was so intoxicating and addictive, and I was too weak to back away.
The faintest wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows, confusion mixing with something else. Something that made my pulse kick up. She noticed the shift.
I closed the space a little more, half-expecting her to laugh in my face, to shove me back and tell me I’d misread everything. And I would have deserved that.
For a moment, we hovered together. There was something unexplainable about Lily that had always drawn me in, some gravitational pull I’d spent the past six months resisting. Every word I knew fled my mind. The only thing left was her soft stare. Curious, defiant, and a little reckless.
When it came to Lily Blackwood, I couldn’t fight the magnetic pull between us. The person I needed to stay away from was becoming my kryptonite.
Lily shifted closer, just slightly, her knee brushing mine.
It was nothing and everything, all at once.
My breath hitched, and I watched her eyes flick to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to meet my gaze.
I felt myself lean in. At this point, it wasn’t a decision or even a conscious thought.
Just a pull I couldn’t describe, didn’t want to fight.
Every instinct screamed at me to stop, to not open my heart to this impossible situation. To remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea, because if the past week had proven anything, it was that we could never be together.
Her gaze snapped to mine just as the gap between us started to vanish, and the way she looked at me—not angry, not even triumphant, but open and wanting—made me want to tell her every secret I’d ever hidden.
Maybe I should tell her, I thought to myself. Or at least, tell her that we can’t keep doing this.
“Lily, about—”
Before I could finish and tell her why I abandoned her in Las Vegas, Lily’s lips gently pressed against mine.
The first contact was hesitant, like she was still deciding whether to let this happen.
I waited for her to pull away; come to her senses and remember all the reasons this shouldn’t happen again.
But she didn’t.
Her hands found the sides of my face, fingers cold from the water, and she drew me closer. I leaned in, my hand finding the base of her jaw, as she deepened the kiss.
For a second, the world was nothing but her. The taste of her, the way she fit against me, the impossible relief from it. She shifted, climbing onto my lap in one fluid movement. The weight of her settled against me, solid and real, chasing away everything that had been haunting me.
I let my hands settle on her waist, fingers spreading across her sides, loving the way she moved against me. Her mouth moved against mine, slow and deliberate, like she was savoring every second. Like we had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be.
Which wasn’t true. Not for either of us. But for this moment, I let myself pretend it was.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging slightly, and I couldn’t stop the sound that escaped me. She smiled against my mouth—that smug, satisfied smile that usually annoyed me but now just made me want to kiss her harder.
A loud buzz cut in between us, making us both jump.
Lily flinched, breath still uneven, eyes slightly dazed. My hands were still on her waist, hers tangled in the fabric of my shirt. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then I looked down. Her phone had lit up, vibrating against the wooden coffee table.
Ollie’s name appeared.
Something inside me went cold. Reality came crashing back on top of me. His name was there, ringing, because he was the one who could be with her. Not me.
Lily hesitated, then she turned off the ringer with a flick of her thumb.
She looked back at me, lips still swollen, eyes searching my face, like maybe she could pull us back to where we were a second ago.
Her hands returned to my chest, fingers sliding toward the buttons of my shirt, and for a heartbeat I wanted to let her—wanted to forget about Ollie and the teams and every complication that made this a catastrophically bad idea.
But I couldn’t. I’d said no to Lily last year for a reason, and those reasons very much still existed.
I couldn’t give her a proper relationship, and seeing Ollie’s number pop up on her cell phone had reminded me of that.
She’d just won Monaco, and I couldn’t even be out celebrating with her without it causing a PR storm.
All I could offer was stolen moments and complications.
“You should go.” The words came out as if I’d just swallowed sand, difficult and rough.
She blinked, pulling back slightly. The heat between us evaporated, replaced by something brittle. “Henri—”
“No, really.” I carefully moved her off my lap, standing up and putting necessary distance between us. I couldn’t think with her this close; couldn’t remember all the reasons this was impossible. Our team principals, her contract, the championship battle—nothing had changed between us.
“Ollie’s waiting.”
The silence that followed was excruciating. She stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable crossing her face. Not anger. Worse: resignation. Like she’d expected this exact outcome and hated being right.
“Right.” Her voice came out flat, empty of the fire I was used to hearing.
She slid off the couch, movements careful, measured.
She was trying very hard not to let me see how much this hurt.
She grabbed her jacket off the chair, taking her time with it, and I wondered if she was waiting for me to take it back, to tell her to stay. But I didn’t.
“This was a mistake,” she said quietly, not looking at me as she shrugged into her jacket.
“Lily—”
“No, it’s okay.” She finally met my eye, and the careful blankness in her expression made my chest ache.
She moved toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle.
“Good luck in Austria,” she said, her voice professionally neutral, like we were nothing more than competitors exchanging pleasantries in the paddock.
The room felt colder once Lily had left, the echoes of our conversation—the kiss—lingering.
I stared at the closed door, the empty space a stark reminder of everything I couldn’t have.
My heartbeat finally slowed, returning to normal, but I knew I wouldn’t forget what had just happened, or how easily we’d slipped back into trouble.