Throttled: Dirty Air (Book 1)(80)

Guilt eats me alive like a corroded battery in the pit of my stomach. How does Noah keep his face neutral all the time? I need to set up a meeting with Bandini’s PR manager because I can use some insider tips.

“Yeah, these events haven’t been doing it for me lately. Especially Charles. He’s a nice guy, but a bit touchy.” He smirks at my brother.

We both know what has been doing it for him lately.

Spoiler: it isn’t Charles or winning races.

Even though Noah wins most of the races anyway. Commentators think Noah may be the best of our generation and F1 history. Fans obsess over him, attending races with huge posters, some including women’s numbers. They line up for hours to get him to sign their stuff. Boobs not included.

My brother and Noah chat while I insert random comments that come off half-assed at best. Noah and his nearness distract me. His tux makes me lightheaded, the look of his roguish smile muddles up my insides. Thankfully Santi doesn’t notice anything. I’ll tell him soon enough because I can’t take the lying anymore.

Soon after, Santi and I call it an early night, wanting to get extra sleep before the qualifiers.

For the first time in a while, I stay with Santi because of his admission about being lonely. He does so much for me, and I lie to him, keeping a secret hidden that he should be aware of.

I don’t sleep a wink. Instead, I end up tossing and turning, never finding a comfortable position. Turns out sleep is for the innocent.



“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” my brother growls before taking another sip of his beer. Noah stares at us across the pit lane, smiling before turning back toward a man he’s talking to.

Noah sucks at keeping his cool. He’s already talked to us twice at this kid’s event, a kart race fundraiser for children with cancer. When Santi and I hopped in two karts, Noah decided to join, claiming he wanted to spend time with his teammate.

Preferably the teammate he spends his nights with.

And damn him for making my heart melt onto the pavement as he played with kids, throwing them in the air and catching them. A total dad move that makes my ovaries happy.

My brother stares at him, dark eyebrows tipped down as his fingers clench around his beer bottle.

He glances over at me. Crap. I forgot he said something in the first place.

“He looks at everyone that way. Don’t bother getting annoyed.” I take a sip of my water, wishing to chug Santi’s beer instead.

“No, he doesn’t. His eyes stay on you too long. I might tell him something because you’re my sister, and he’s a manwhore who needs to keep his hands to himself.”

My brother is about fifty orgasms too late on his threat.

“You’re making excuses because you want to like him, but you both have a dumb rivalry.”

Some may call it a stretch, but they bonded over tequila. If that doesn’t scream future friends, I don’t know what does.

He grumbles under his breath. “Thank God you’re not into guys like him.”

Should I be afraid of how often my chest constricts around Santi?

“Why?” I whisper.

“Do you really need another reason besides the fact that he fucks everything that walks?”

I fail to hide how my body cringes, but he misses it, too enthralled in glaring at Noah. Santi’s words stab at my armor and leave me bleeding.

“Well, people change. I don’t want to cast judgments when he’s been nice to me this season.” I tip my chin up and cross my arms. People can only walk all over your heart if you let them.

Santi lets out a bitter laugh. “This is one of the reasons I love you. You’re innocent and trusting of the world and the people in it.” His statement makes my heart deflate like a balloon.

“Maybe you need to trust your teammate more instead of looking for everything wrong with him. You can learn something from me.” Woah. I have no idea where those words came from.

Santi stares at me, unblinking and unmoving. He changes the subject after chugging the rest of his drink. But the air around us remains heavy, a dark cloud looming over me, guilt hitting me like hail.





34





Noah


It takes everything in me to not explode. I grind my teeth and clench my fists as my feet stomp across the pavement, coming face to face with my father.

And look, he brought a film crew.

“Noah, just the man I was looking for. Sports Daily wanted to do a special on me, marking the twentieth anniversary of my last World Championship win.” His sinister smile makes a chill run down my spine like my nerves know what a slimy piece of crap he is.

My head nods along like I give a shit. Cameras film me, making it impossible to hide my scowl at the unwanted attention, unlike any type of filming Maya does. My dad surprises me by coming back after I chewed him out during our dinner a month ago. He disregards how I told him to stay the hell away from me because he never does anything I ask. Lucky me. Looks like I got my listening skills from my dad.

“Excited to compete in the Brazilian Grand Prix tomorrow?” His bright smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Sure.” My lips remain a tight line, the least bit interested in this chat.

I manage to walk one step away before he pulls me in, his thick arm wrapping around my shoulders and holding me in place.