Page 26 of Double Apex

Pardon the bad pun when I sayF1 Dracula sucks.

One thing hate is really good for: I haven’t had such an energetic workout in weeks. I run like Forrest Gump on Adderall and lift weights like the Jaws of Life heroically prying minivans open.

Every time I get mopey remembering the look on Cosmin’s dumb sexy face when we kissed—

It was tender and cautious and passionate, oh my God…

—I bring up the image of him sending that housekeeper out the door at seven a.m., asking her name like a goddamned afterthought. Next thing I know, I’m back in beast-mode, flexing as if in the grips of ’roid rage.

I need to get my head straight, because I’ve invited Natalia to meet me for breakfast, and I’m going to call this game of chicken we appear to be playing and just straight-up ask herabout the Klaus thing. I let it slide in Bahrain, trying to give her space, but we’re not going another grand prix weekend without talking about it.

When I’ve finally hit the wall, I go to toss the squeezy pouch for my protein gel into the trash and accidentally throw my towel in instead. I consider digging it out, but the bin is deep and gross looking. This is why I have the hem of my shirt pulled over my face—mopping up sweat—when I wander into the elevator and lean against the wall.

Someone else steps in and the doors shut.

I yank my shirt down and Natalia and I stare at each other in shock. I’m almost positive she says “Oh crap,” but my headphones are still in.

I pop one earbud out. “You’re hella early. Like by ninety minutes.”

With a nervous smile, she shifts the strap of her Prada bag. This is when I notice she’s dressed far too fancy for eight thirty in the morning—a gauzy, high-neck halter dress and heels with gladiator laces.

“Surprise!” she sings, lifting her hands with a jazzy wiggle.

“Why’d you say ‘Oh crap’ when you saw me?”

“I didn’t.”

“And why are you so dolled up?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m dressed normal. Jesus, just because I don’t share your depressing ‘I slept under a pile of leaves’ fashion sense?”

My eyes narrow, because I know she’s throwing insults to set me on the back foot. Mentally, I hear an echo ofCosmin’s words in Melbourne:Miss Evans did not wear that dress for me.

Lying to me is becoming a habit for her, and that in itself makes me far more uncomfortable than whatever’s going on with her and Klaus.

Trust has historically not been easy for me, growing up so nomadic, in a sporting world where uncertainty is the rule. Nat was my first—and is still myonly—truly close friend. This recent dynamic is worrying. I’m both dreading and clamoring to clear the air between us.

“Okay, well.” I lift the neck of my shirt and mop my face again, just to briefly hide. “I hope you’re not starving, because I have to shower first.”

“No problem.” She holds up her phone. “I’ll just answer some emails.”

The doors slide open at my floor, and we step out.

“You look like a high-buck call girl in ancient Rome,” I say.

“Oh, for heck’s sake. Thanks, but not really.”

I lead her to my door, and as I’m opening it, she’s already on her phone. She passes me and when I try to peek at her screen, she wings it away.

“Nat…”

“What?”

“You’re hiding something. Don’t make me tackle you.”

She darkens the screen and drops the phone into her purse. “It’s just a message from my editor.” She plants a manicured hand on her hip. “Now go clean up.”

I take a shower, bathroom door cracked an inch. WhenI’m done washing, I leave the water running to fake her out, then wrap myself in a towel, easing the door open to sneak up on her.

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