Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(27)

“Yeah sure…” Her voice tells me she doesn’t buy my brand of bullshit. “Maybe you can join another time again. I better get going since I have to edit all of this before the race tomorrow. Congrats on your pole position.” She sends me one last smile over her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

She walks away before the last word leaves my lips.





11





Maya


I upload the video I filmed in the garage where Noah made his cameo appearance. The comments section floods with positivity and excitement. People share how they’re happy to see Noah in a more relaxed setting, away from the press circuit and racetrack. Hard to miss the barrage of horny women asking to be Noah’s baby mama.

With every day I spend around Noah, I learn more about who he is once the cameras stop rolling. Before qualifiers, he likes to drink two espresso shots, which can result in him bouncing off the walls for a solid hour. Turns out he loves to chat while espresso runs through his veins. He also enjoys a session of yoga early in the morning before race days, a tradition he invited me to join during the last Prix. Safe to say yoga is not my workout of choice. Namaste in bed, thank you very much.

Noah even tugs on my ponytail now whenever he passes by me. At some point, lines blurred as we accepted a new level of comfortability with one another.

I learn details about him that chip away at my resolve, making it hard to resist him. He no longer is just a conceited guy who makes my eyes roll into the back of my head. Don’t get me wrong, he still acts smug as hell—that has not changed. But I like it. The more time I spend around him, the more he draws me in.

Imagine my surprise when my usual mantras won’t work anymore.

Not even I’m only up to good.

Because I want to be really bad.

Hooking up with Noah is the same as picking up two BOGO pints of Ben and Jerry’s. It sounds and tastes like a great idea at first. But you overestimate your self-control, and next thing you know, the whole thing is gone and you have a stomachache.

Basically, Noah is a heartache disguised in pretty packaging. He has the same allure as a pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream.

And no sex on Earth is worth his kind of trouble.

See, Mom, I told you I would try to be more responsible! Look at me go.

The current standings of the F1 World Championship include Noah in first place, Liam in second, and Santi in third. My brother bounces back up the ranks after his second-place performance in Sochi.

Noah is a force to be reckoned with. His confidence is well-deserved because the guy is a badass behind the wheel with spot-on instincts and fast reflexes. My brother could learn a lot from him if they put aside their dislike for each other. Things have been tense since the Shanghai fender bender, their dynamic not entirely back to normal despite how two weeks have passed.

The best thing about this next Grand Prix is that we get to go back home to Spain. I can practically taste the sangria and paella, along with the shores of Barcelona, calling my name. Our parents will visit us and watch Santi race. We look forward to returning to our home country after being gone for two months because time flies by while on the road.

Hence why my resolve slips around Noah. We’ve played around each other for months, with me putting in extra effort to resist his sex appeal. Hard stuff when he wears his race suit.

Our driver drops us off at the F1 paddock area. My eyes widen with surprise as I take in all the different style buildings made out of motorhomes. A distinct setup compared to previous races.

No words pass my lips as we walk down the row of uniquely colored buildings. Each team has their own motorhome with dining halls, meeting rooms, and larger suites. The building allows for a place of relaxation during the hustle and bustle of the busy race week. We still have our hotel rooms to sleep in, but this is where Santi and Noah spend a lot of their downtime.

We stop next to Bandini’s motorhome. Red paint gleams under the sun, looking sleek and modern while still carrying the classic feel of the brand.

The motorhome has a luxurious feel when compared to pit suites from the flyaway races. People hang by the bar and restaurant on the bottom floor. Santi shows me the upper levels, including private suites and an outdoor patio where I see myself setting up my laptop to edit videos and content.

Bandini’s motorhome shows how much funding the brand has from sponsors, including Noah’s dad, who invests heavily in the team. Supposedly it looks good to have a previous race legend backing a brand.

I get tugged to the side before I can enter the suite.

“I need your help,” Sophie whispers despite us standing in an empty hall. Her wide green eyes and heavy breathing make me hesitant.

“With what? And why are you whispering?”

“I was invited on a date.” She chews on her cheek.

“That’s great! Do you need help picking out an outfit?” Her glare makes me stop clapping my hands together. “Or not?”

“Not. This is the worst thing. Liam bet if he placed on the podium in Russia, we would have to go on a date. I stupidly agreed because I was buzzed at a sponsor event. Plus, his previous track history in Sochi was awful so I didn’t think he would actually make it.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, you didn’t.” Bets never ever end well.

“Tragic, I know. So I’m going to go because I don’t rescind bets. But…he never specified the type of date.” Her smug grin sets off a few alarms.