Page 104 of Double Apex

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ABU DHABI

COSMIN

On Saturday night when I hear a knock, my heart briefly kicks into high gear, then stalls when I open the door of my suite.

“Wow—delighted to see you too,” Brooklyn says with an eye roll.

She saunters past, a gold robe swirling around her legs, and goes to a white armchair in front of the huge windows, flops down and puts her feet—clad in slippers with curled toes, like a genie—on the coffee table.

“I don’t wish to be rude,” I tell her, closing the door and following, “but the night before a race I adhere to a routine, and—”

“Yeah, gotcha. Owen’s the same way. But his routine is probably more fun than yours.” Holding up her phone, she adds, “I made your moody Romanian ass a playlist.”

I sit across from her on the sofa with a sigh. “Is the new playlist a pressing matter requiring a personal appearance?”

“Such a gracious host,” she drawls, crossing her legs. “Where are my hors d’oeuvres?”

“Brook.” I try to sound stern, but it just comes out tired. “I lack the mental resources for socializing tonight.”

She ignores me, fiddling with her phone. Mine lights up on the table.

“Check it out,” she directs, leaning back.

I scroll through the list. “Fleetwood Mac, ‘Go Your Own Way.’ Joy Division, ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart.’ The Police, ‘The Bed’s Too Big Without You.’ Bon Iver, ‘Skinny Love.’ Sinéad O’Connor, ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’—”

“Wait for the best one.”

“‘Coast to Coast,’ Elliott Smith. ‘Back to Black,’ Amy Winehouse.” I look up. “This is all quite depressing.”

“Keep going,” she says teasingly.

I scroll farther. Spotting the song she’s likely referring to, I burst out laughing.

“You rickrolled me?”

“A little levity. Plus the lyrics fit.”

She recrosses her legs and the robe falls open for a moment before she covers herself. I know she wants to talk about Phaedra, and I both dread and yearn for such a conversation. Buying time, I fall back on a wink and a bit of suggestive banter.

“Trying to tell me something with those pretty legs, iubi?”

She snorts. “Down, boy. Point your bogus flirting somewhere else. I’m impervious to your charms. Plus you’re so messed up on Phaedra Morgan that if I full-on flashed the magic kingdom, you wouldn’t do a damned thing about it.”

I get up and walk to the dark window, eyes drifting over the glitter of the marina.

“If you understand that I’m torn over my feelings for her,” I ask quietly, “why would you twist the knife in my heart with this music?”

“Don’t be a drama llama.” She puts her hands behind her neck and leans back with a comfortable sigh. “I know you, Cos. Gloomy music is exactly what you need.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. Because it’s decision time: either you listen to those songs and get sad—women can’t resist a sad bastard, so that strategy would work—and go to her with your heart on your sleeve and win her back. Or—”

“I don’t think she’s still in Abu Dhabi. She wasn’t at any of the meetings today.”

Brooklyn lifts an eyebrow. “Did youaskanyone where she is? Don’t answer that—of course you didn’t. Men don’t ask for directions.”

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