Page 71 of Overtake
She opens her mouth, but startles at the sound of an engine firing up. It echoes across the circuit, reminding them both where they are, and what’s at stake tomorrow.
Nico almost apologizes for interfering, for caring, for kissing her. The words are right there, but no, he won’t. Not for something he’s wanted for this long.
Instead, he leans closer. “Be the best on track tomorrow. Beat me fairly.”
She studies him, conflict clear in her expression. “And then what?”
“Give me a chance off track to prove you can trust me with more than just racing.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, then steps back, shaking her head. “I need to go.”
“Petra—”
“No. If it isn’t a game, then it’s a mistake, Nico.” But she doesn’t sound convinced, even as she turns away. “See you on track.”
His chest tightens as he watches her resume her run. He’s pushed too hard, too fast, but he won’t apologize for wanting her. Nico looks down at his feet. He’ll do whatever she asks to convince her it’s not a game.
He looks back up to see her disappear around a curve, Rodrigo back at her side.
Petra’s worth the risk.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Perfectly irritating timinghas always been Kelley’s specialty. When I reach the Fairmont, she’s positioned in the hotel lobby like she’s royalty, complete with adoring audience and strategic lighting. Of course she’d be here now, when I’m reeling from what just happened with Nico and my lips still taste like him and I’m replaying that kiss, still feeling the hardness of his body against mine, and I’m totally fucking confused about what he wants and what I want.
No. That’s a lie. I knowexactlywhat I want, and that’s the problem.
Focus on the race.
Not on the tug of Nico’s hands in my hair. Not on how my heart accelerated when he touched me. Not on the fact that I still feel his lips on mine, warm and deliberate. Christ. That man and his mouth are branded into my brain.
I make the mistake of glancing at Kelley.
“Petrina! Darling!” She’s just loud and dramatic enough to draw attention, and obviously was waiting for an opening from me. “I’ve been so worried since I heard about your car!”
Trust my mother to maximize every moment of manufactured concern. And who the hell told her about that?
I start to dodge past her little court, but the media loves a story and my mother loves to make them up.
“Ms. Hayter!” One of her pet journalists steps forward. “A comment about your mother’s concerns regarding the problems with your car?”
Christ. Is that even a real question?
But Kelley’s not done with me. She gestures for me to join her. Which I do not and will not. “Petrina, I’ve been waiting for you to discuss a wonderful makeup sponsorship I’ve been arranging for you. A mother-daughter opportunity. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Fun? Like a lobotomy sounds fun?I keep walking. “Kelley, now isn’t the time.”
“Can you confirm the makeup sponsorship your mother’s arranging for you?” a second reporter calls out.
Then another sycophant asks, “Petra, how does it feel to be called the prettiest driver in motorsport?”
I stop and stare at that idiot. The absolute bloody nerve. As if my appearance has anything to do with my ability to drive a race car.
Dad’s voice cuts through the stupidity. “My daughter’s had enough media attention today.”
He appears from the direction of the hotel bar and several journalists step back. The ones who’ve been in F1 longest recognize his authority and are smart enough to know which side of Coy Hayter they should stay on.
“Coy.” Kelley’s smile turns brittle. “I was just explaining to these nice people how concerned I am about Petrina.”
