Page 82 of My French Love Affair

It’s not a suggestion. It’s a warning.

Afinalfucking warning.

Bastien knows it.

After all, he knows me, and he knows when to back the fuck down.

For a second too long, he holds my stare, his jaw shifting slightly. A bead of sweat forms at his temple.

Then,finally, he scoffs under his breath, shaking his head likeI’mthe one being irrational.

“She’s got you wound up, man,” he mutters after a beat, lifting his drink to his lips, feigning indifference. “That’s all I’m saying.”

I don’t respond.

I don’t fucking have to.

The moment hangs, the weight of my silence pressing down on the table, on him.

No one speaks. Not a single person so much as shifts in their seat.

The ice in someone’s drink melts with an audible crack -

And then, just like that, someone mutters a new topic under their breath - some safe, neutral, boring bullshit. After a slight pause, the conversation picks up again, shifting and moving on.

But I’m not listening. Not fucking remotely.

I lean back in my chair, rolling my neck, trying to ease the unbearable tension still wired through my body. My fingers curl around my glass again, and for the first time in a long time, I wish I had something stronger.

I never drink in the build up to races. But even if I did, I already know the truth.

Nothing would work, becauseshe’salready in my head.

Poppy.

A stupid, soft little name for a woman who’s anythingbutsoft.

Sharp tongue. Sharp mind.

A wild little thing, untamed and unpredictable, a hurricane wrapped in silk and stubbornness.

And I want her.

I want to wipe that smirk off her face, make her bite her lip for a different reason. I want to push her until she stops pretending she’s not affected by me, until she stops lying to herself.

I want to break her.

Andfuck, I think I want her to break me, too.

I take a slow sip of my drink, my jaw tight, my entire body thrumming with something I can’t fucking name.

I need to pull myself together.

I’ve got a race to win. I don’t do distractions.

Who am I kidding at this point?

How many times have I repeated this same mantra to myself, over and over and over again?

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