Page 16 of Double Apex

Cosmin’s been reading about the car’s computer system on his iPad since we took off an hour ago, making notes, cross-referencing. I guess that’s one way we’re alike—he wants solutions rather than comfort when things go pear shaped. He took one sip of the complimentary in-flight cocktail and hasn’t touched it since, he’s so focused.

I hijack his glass after mine’s empty. “Cheers,” I tease, lifting it.

He offers a neutral grunt, swiping the screen to turn a page.

“Leave that to the IT wizards,” I say with a sigh. “You’re not gonna find something they don’t.”

He doesn’t look up. “Perhaps not.”

“The car’s fuckup may not be software related.”

“It is.”

I sip the cocktail and study his profile. That wavy golden-caramel hair is flopping over his forehead, and he holds one hand on his mouth, glowering at the screen, head thrust forward at an angle.

His skin is naturally sun-kissed, weathered enough to be mature, but looks like he’s never had a pimple in his life. Annoying. His nose is long and straight, with perfectly curved nostrils that make him appear perpetually alert. Even his stupid ears are handsome.

“How do you know it’s the software?” I ask.

“Were it purely mechanical, I’d have felt it. But I can’t feel ones and zeros.”

I lean my chair back a few inches. “Hm. I suppose we’ll find out.”

After the second mimosa I’m loose and happy. I didn’t think I wanted a vacation—however brief—when there’s so much to be done at the beginning of the nine-month grand prix season. And I evenlesswant to be stuck in an Ammoudi Bay cottage with this prick. But the champagne is telling me it might be entertaining; at the very least, Cosmin will say or do stupid shit that’ll make great stories to tell Nat.

I link to the Wi-Fi to text her.

I still haven’t mentioned to her that I know who her mystery caller was in Melbourne. I’ve left opportunities wide open, hoping she’ll confide in me, but so far she’s said nothing. I’d be lying if I claimed her withheld trust didn’t hurt myfeelings. I’m in an awkward position with both Nat and Klaus now, owing to what Cosmin told me in the lounge that night.

Klaus is a dead end for Natalia—that much is certain. Not only does he avoid relationships, but he has a special distaste for journalists. I guess if she manages to crack his reserve, at least he won’t be another married shitbag, lying his ass off about a forthcoming divorce—Nat’s had too many rides at the Cheatin’ Hearts rodeo already.

She means well. She’s not an Evil Other Woman, just an optimist too quick to believe the same tired lines.

I tap out a message:

Hey, girlfriend. You’ll never guess what I’m up to. Jetting to Greece with F1 Dracula.

Three dots appear immediately.

Nat:OMG I KNEW YOU HAD A THING FOR HIM

Me:Wtf? No. I was pulling your leg. Sort of. I am in fact flying to Santorini with him, but not for amorous purposes. It’s a work thing.

Nat:Oh boo. How many people are going?

Me:Just us. Klaus is making us “bond” because my palpable loathing is fucking our radio communication. We’re gonna do trust-falls and talk about our feelings, haha

Nat:Maybe build a shelter out of sticks like on Naked & Afraid.

Me:Ew gross nope

Nat:That guy’s hot as hell. You’re totally gonna do it.

Me:You know the ruby earrings I inherited from my Gramma Dorothy? The ones you say I should give you because they’d look amazing with your hair? If Ardelean gets between my thighs, the earrings are yours.

Nat:I feel sorry for you potentially losing a family heirloom, so I’ll give you a way out: if you don’t have sex with him before Silverstone, you keep the earrings. You’ve got three months. YOU WON’T MAKE IT.

Me:You’re on, bitch. I’m going to nap a little before Santorini. Love ya.

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