Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(53)

I comb through the memories of last night, of how I took Maya out on the date I planned. Never thought I could have such a good time with someone while doing absolutely nothing except eating, drinking, and kissing.

The date was my favorite, at least out of my short list.

And the erotic way Maya kisses. Fuck me. Kissing her feels like I did it wrong with all the women before her.

But what the fuck happened after? I struggle to remember what I did once she pulled the stops on me. Images flash of her rejecting me with sadness in her eyes, knowing I can’t give her what she needs. The ultimate blow still feels fresh based on the way my chest constricts at the thought.

Memories hit me all at once, flooding my brain with unwanted recollections. Lots of shots. Liam and Jax at a club, groups of women coming onto us at our VIP table. It feels like I went back to a time before I met Maya.

Shit. My crappy decisions proved Maya’s point of not being the type of guy she wants to date. Not in the slightest. I sure as fuck wouldn’t want to date someone like me.

My back lifts off of the mattress and a blonde girl topples off me.

“You need to go. Now,” my voice rasps. Another reminder of my bad decisions, along with my dry mouth and aversion to sunlight.

I don’t want to spend another moment with this woman, the look and feel of her all wrong. Her rose scent, mixed in with the smell of sex and booze, chokes me, incomparable to Maya’s fresh one. My stomach rolls at the thought of how badly I fucked up.

I head to the bathroom, choosing to brush my teeth first, wanting to cleanse my mouth from the taste of that woman and alcohol. My battered-up face makes me wince. Disgust rolls through me at my sunken eyes and pale, sickly skin.

I take a shower, eager to rid myself of the woman’s smell and everything else associated with her and a bad ending to my night. By the time I get out, there’s no sign of her, except for the underwear she left on a pillow. My body shudders as I dump her souvenir in the trash.

I pull my phone from the plug, glad I remembered to charge my battery. At least I made one responsible decision because, overall, I’m a fucking idiot.

Are you shitting me? I didn’t set my alarm, missing my practice sessions.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

I bolt out of my hotel room, desperate to make it to my qualifier on time.

I’ve never been so damn irresponsible in my life.



It doesn’t shock me when my day goes from bad to the fucking worst. My qualifier starts out as a shitshow. I rush to get my race suit on and chug a gallon of water to make sure I don’t pass out behind the wheel under the hot conditions. Sophie’s dad looks pissed as fuck about my tardiness, glaring at me as I swallow down a granola bar.

He fails to hide his distaste. “You look like shit. You’re not a young kid anymore, staying up late to party. I expect this from anyone but you.” His sneer tells me everything. James Mitchell isn’t one to fuck around with because he has balls bigger than King Kong. His green eyes stare down at me while he runs an agitated hand across his face. His gray hair remains in place, unlike mine standing up in different directions, the waves untamed from my hands.

“I’m extremely sorry; this will never happen again.” No apologies can erase my terrible decisions.

I trip over my feet while rushing to my car. I’m a hot, crappy mess and fuck if it isn’t humbling. Embarrassed doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. Bandini mechanics look down at me, unsure how to help, as I clamber into my car. Sweat clings to my chest before the engine starts up, a shitty omen for my fuck-tastic day.

The beginning of my qualifier goes okay as my car takes down the first straightaway. That is until I make it past my first turn. Bile creeps up my throat during most of the turns after, the curves of the track not faring well with the alcohol seeping from my pores. I spend all my mental energy on not blowing chunks inside my helmet because I’d never live that down.

My nasty hangover doesn’t pair nicely with my car going two hundred miles an hour round and round the track. The qualifier performance is sloppy and unprofessional. The usual hum of the engine fills me with dread, guilt eating away at me as I think about Maya and how she might feel if she heard about my night.

Sweat trickles down my back, soaking the material of my fireproof gear as I careen across the track. Fans watch the worst display of my entire racing career.

I rush out of my car once the qualifier finishes. My body revolts against me as I throw up twice near a patch of grass close to the pit area, the acidic taste making me nauseous all over again. All of this happens while a local camera crew films me. Somehow, I find enough self-control to not flip them off, instead choosing to give a thumbs up to the camera while I hunch over.

My car places fourteenth for the race. Fucking fourteenth. I haven’t had such an embarrassing placement since I started out in F1, and I don’t know if I’ll live this one down.

The only small blessing from today is how I don’t have to attend the press conference meant exclusively for the top three racers. I guess sucking comes with benefits.

Since Santi has the pole position, he’ll be distracted. I need to find Maya and apologize for everything. Like for taking her out on a date and fucking another girl in the same day. Even if she’s disinterested in hooking up with me, it’s wrong.

I spot Sophie and Maya talking with Liam and Jax on the main road near all the hospitality suites. A cold feeling creeps its way up my spine at the sight of Jax pulling her in for a hug. It shouldn’t upset me but shit it stings to see her wrapping her arms around him and laughing, unaware of how he got a blowjob at the table last night from a random chick.