Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(5)
Our parents like to share their appreciation for everything Santi has done since he gained his massive contract with Bandini, including paying off the rest of their mortgage, setting up a savings account for them, and sending them on a vacation. More selfless acts from him. An uncontrollable pang of jealousy runs through me at his ability to care for our family. The uncertainty of never living up to anything he does intimidates me. His success makes me happy—don’t get me wrong—but I’m nervous about not accomplishing anything close to his greatness.
“We can’t wait to visit Bandini when you compete in Barcelona for your home race.” My mom claps her hands, a gesture I tend to copy. Her eyes shine under the chandelier in Santi’s dining room while her brown hair flows around her.
Santi smiles at our parents. “I can’t wait to be back and competing in Spain. Home races are the biggest races for drivers.”
We all clink our glasses to Santi’s words.
“It’s great that you’ll follow him around and keep him company. I’m sure it’s lonely on the road. Plus, you’ll have your vlog,” Mom says between bites of her food.
I love her for including me in the conversation. She supports my whole process, sending me different articles and videos about marketing myself while building an audience.
I don’t intend on following him around from country to country because that’s lame. My ideas mean something to me, but vlogs can’t compare to driving around in the fastest and most expensive cars in the world.
“I can film everything because Santi bought me a camera. Hopefully I meet people along the way and make connections because I want to keep active while he’s busy.” I hold my chin up high, exuding confidence I don’t entirely feel at the moment.
“We’re happy you are going with him. Your mom and I worry about you and hope you find your way. Use that communications degree to its fullest potential.” My dad runs a hand through his gray hair. He means well, and since my previous track history isn’t the greatest, I can’t judge him for it. Doubt seeps into my bones at his comment, but I push it away.
“Santi’s lucky his life panned out like he wanted. He’s an all-star at twenty-four years old. I’m only twenty-three, which means I have the world ahead of me.” I shoot my parents a smile, ignoring the sense of panic running through me at disappointing them.
“I went over a few ground rules with Maya, you know, to keep her out of trouble. God forbid I find her drunk and crying on a bathroom floor to a Jonas Brothers song.”
I throw my cloth napkin at Santi. “That happened one time! It was my birthday and they had just announced they were getting back together. I was super emotional, okay? Feelings hit me all at once, right there while I was washing my hands.”
Everyone chuckles at the table.
“And I told her not to hand her camera over to random strangers because of the last incident.” Santi’s eyes shine with humor.
I withhold the urge to roll my eyes. “How was I supposed to expect that a random guy would run off with my phone when we asked for a picture? Who even does that? It goes against every code of ethics ever written.” To be fair, some situations are a consequence of me being in the wrong place at the wrong time, while trusting a shady person.
“People without morals, that’s who. You should be careful with those types when you’re gone. People need to go to church more.” My mom does a sign of the cross for good measure.
Leave it to my mom to think religion will solve everything. Bless her heart.
I enjoy the rest of dinner with my family, grateful when the conversation sways away from me. No one gets how tough it is to live up to everything my brother does. Not that I want to, but still, Santi leaves behind colossal shoes my whole body can’t fill. But I want to push negativity aside and enjoy the trips we have planned.
Because you know what’s worse than complaining about your big brother?
Complaining about a big brother who is so damn perfect all the time.
2
Noah
I toss a pillow over my head to block out any light streaming through the window. Sheets rustle next to me and a warm hand finds my dick under the covers.
“Okay, this is the time you grab your stuff and go.” I point to the door while my other arm holds the pillow on my face. Please don’t be confrontational.
“You’re kicking me out of bed while my hand is on your cock? We had sex three hours ago.” She fails to hide her disbelief.
She’s smart and good with time.
“Yup, last night was fun and all but I have to get up for practice. I enjoyed it. Thanks.”
She snatches the pillow off my face, revealing a feisty woman with blonde hair that’s a ruffled mess and her makeup smeared. I smirk at a job well done.
Her eyes shoot daggers at me, matching the sneer on her face. “You’re as unbelievable as they say. Are you always such a dick to people?”
I blink a couple of times, not in the mood for her attitude. Talk about a complete one-eighty from last night. Go figure.
“I’m glad my reputation precedes me. You overstayed your welcome; be sure to be gone by the time I’m out of the shower.” No use staying in bed. I get up with my dick hanging out and my ass on display. Her lips gape apart as I close the door on her face, ending our conversation. They always leave by the time I get out anyway.