Page 9 of Double Apex

He lets the comment go without clapping back, possibly because his phone is ringing. The muffled tone is familiar, and as he pulls it from his pocket, I recognize it’s Bowie’s “Fame.” I struggle to keep my face impassive. Because David Bowie is my favorite musician of all time—I went into full-scale mourning when he died—and this douchebag is not allowed to like him too.

I scowl at the phone, but not for the reason Cosmin clearly thinks.

He thumbs the button to silence it. “I wasn’t going to answer it.”

“Whatevs—it’s fine. As I said, I was leaving. Nat had to go.”

“I know.” He straightens his cuffs. “I saw her get into a car with someone.” Lifting an eyebrow with a mild smile, he heads for the lounge.

Damn him, the bastard knows I’ll follow. I trot to catch up. “Wait, do you have gossip?”

He pulls out a chair on a two-top table and invites me to sit, then seats himself across from me. “I don’t miss details, draga.”

“Okay, quit being coy. Who was Nat with?”

Playfully following a whorl in the tabletop’s glossy wood with a fingertip, he pauses just long enough to be maddening, then angles a sly smile my way.

Where’s that rolled-up newspaper my dad mentioned? Someone needs a smack.

He wants me to beg, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction. I fold my arms.Challenge accepted.

Face propped on one hand, he stares back. The sight of his strong fingers framing that chiseled jawline is distractingly pretty.Ugh.

“Your friend left with Klaus.”

My eyebrows jump. “Holy shit. Really? Huh. What did—”

A server interrupts us, bringing a carafe of water. Cosmin requests a few appetizers: nuts, fruit, hummus with bread. Things I routinely eat in the paddock dining room. I’m not sure if it’s creepy or impressive that he’s noticed.

I gnaw at my lip, pondering Cosmin’s disclosure as he orders for us. After the server walks away, I ask, “Did either of them say anything—Nat and Klaus?”

“Not to me. But I overheard an exchange as he helped her into the car. He said, ‘I owe you an apology,’ and she replied, ‘Is that worth more or less than a thousand euros?’”

“What the hell? Weird.”

Cosmin pours water for us, then raises his glass. “To a successful season.”

“Shouldn’t this be champagne?” I tap his glass with mine.

“You’ve had enough already.”

My hand freezes. “Um, excuse you?” As I speak, I listen for tipsiness. Nope—clear as a bell. Mostly. “Based onwhat?”

His smile unfurls and snaps into place like a mainsail. “Based on how much you’ve been looking at my lips.”

I pause only a second before walking to the bar and ordering another scotch. I lean on my elbows while I wait, knowing his eyes are on me. This is why I’ve kept this pair of jeans, despite their state of deterioration: they make my ass look incredible.

Let him eat his heart out over what he’ll never have.

I strut back, drink in hand. Appetizers are on the table. I ignore Cosmin and scoop up hummus with pita, enjoying how the flavor combines with the sweet grapes and booze, then tip a handful of Spanish almonds into my face and crunch like a post-hibernation bear.

He puts an olive in his mouth. I’m avoiding them because I know they’re the type with pits, and the thought of spitting the pit out and inciting some crass comment is too much.

I try not to notice the way his lips move as he works the olive around. When he extracts the pit, the motion is socontrolled and delicate that it’s honestly annoying. I could never look good doing something so fundamentally unsexy.

I take a sip of my water, then poke bits of almond from a back tooth with my tongue. Definitely not looking cool and sexy. Probably a lot more like a sock puppet.

I inspect the grapes, avoiding his eyes. “So, back to Natalia and Klaus. You didn’t hear anything else?”

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