Page 26 of Cross the Line
‘You should be jealous,’ I tease. ‘But maybe – Oh, crap, my passport.’
Chantal laughs as I scramble to my feet and snatch the purse I took to Monaco off the dresser. When I get my hands on the blue booklet, my shoulders sag in relief. I won’t be going anywhere without it.
‘You sure you want to do this?’ she asks me as I carefully set my passport on my dresser so it’ll be in plain sight at all times. ‘It’s an amazing opportunity, don’t get me wrong. But it does seem kind of . . . chaotic.’
‘Itischaotic,’ I agree, returning to my spot on the floor. Once I’m settled, I flip my little notebook open to my packing checklist. ‘But yeah, I’m sure. I want this.’
A concerning smirk breaks out on her face. ‘You mean you want to ride Dev’s—’
‘Don’t say it!’ I screech, tossing my pen at her.
She dodges with ease, rocking back on her heels. ‘We both know you want to,’ she coos, stepping further into my bedroom and nudging my toiletry bag closer to me with her pink-painted toes. ‘But fine, I’ll drop it. For now.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ I grumble, grabbing the box sitting to my left. ‘So kind of you.’
Chantal squats beside me, ignoring my sarcasm. ‘That the Big Box O’Pills?’
Holding up the glitter-labelled shoe box, I give it a shake. All of the bottles of anti-inflammatories, joint supplements and in-case-of-emergency pain pills rattle around. I used to be embarrassed to travel with an arsenal of drugs, as well as several rolls of joint strapping tape, but I’ve come to accept that if I want to stay comfortable and mobile, this Big Box O’Pills, as we affectionately call it, is a fact of life. Why be ashamed of something I can’t change about myself?
‘Locked and loaded,’ I tell her, shoving it into my carry-on suitcase. There’s no way I’m letting that precious cargo out of my sight.
‘Do these hotels all have gyms?’
I hold up my elastic workout bands before dropping them into my carry-on as well. ‘Pretty sure, but I’ll be prepared no matter what.’
‘Keep those joints strong. And be careful, okay?’
‘Don’t know how careful you expect me to be if you also want me out there riding dick,’ I shoot back.
Chantal squawks in surprise at my comment, falling back on her ample backside. I roll my eyes and fight a smile as she clutches at her stomach and cackles.
‘God, I love this side of you,’ she finally gasps. ‘You were so sweet when we met, and now you’re a monster!’
Snickering, I slap her arm with the back of my hand. ‘That wasyourdoing.’
And I won’t admit it to her, but Dev’s influenced me recently too. It’s hard not to let these things loose when I’m faced with his crude humour. Besides, I want him to know I’m not some passive, blushing little girl any more. Maybe I was when I was with Jeremy, and even for a while afterward while my heart healed, but I’m about to walk into a brand-new stage of life. I don’t want that reputation following me.
‘I corrupted you.’ Chantal wipes away an invisible tear before throwing her arms around me and rocking me in her embrace as she fake-cries. ‘My baby’s all grown up. God, I’m gonna miss you so stinkin’ much.’
‘I’m leaving in a couple days, not right this second,’ I complain, but I let her continue to tilt us from side to side. ‘You could at least make me want to miss you.’
‘Evil little thing,’ she babbles, clutching my head to her chest. ‘My sweet, pocket-sized demon.’
‘You’re the worst,’ I mumble as the opening strain of the Formula 1 theme song plays in the background. It’s a reminder of where I’ll be for the next few months – swept up in the world of racing, miles outside my usual comfort zone and far from my friends.
So I let Chantal hold me like a doll as the faces of the drivers flash across the screen. My breath catches when Dev appears, staring into the camera with an undeniable smoulder. It doesn’t matter that all of the other men have also looked directly into the camera. They didn’t make me feel like this. Like they were staring straight at me.
But Dev is. And I’m suddenly no longer confident in my abilities to keep things platonic.
CHAPTER 10
Dev
I’ve been counting down the days until Willow’s arrival.
Technically, she wasn’t supposed to join me until next week in Canada, but I had Chava book her a flight out to San Diego first. She and I need to get started on fixing my image as soon as possible. We don’t have much time, and after last weekend, I need some kind of win.
If my sixth-place finish in Monaco wasn’t enough to prove that she’s my good-luck charm, then the utter bloodbath at the Spanish Grand Prix certainly is. There’s no other way of describing it, considering I got my shit rocked from multiple sides five seconds into lap one and had to retire from the race because the damage to my car was too severe to carry on.
