Page 26 of Drive Me Crazy
“Definitelydoes.”
The tip of her nose presses against the glass for the rest of the drive. She enjoys her view, while I enjoy my view of her. We park at a private harbor on the outskirts of the province where the smaller of my two yachts is anchored.
“So was your plan to lure me away from your house so you can murder me and dump me in the sea?” Ella questions me as we walk down the dock.
“Considering you said my looks kill, if I wanted to murder you, all I had to do was glance your way.”
She lets out a laugh, smooth as silk. “I think we can both agree you’re quite brooding.”
“Most women I know find brooding men sexy.”
I’ve been told this more times than I can count. I don’t have the heart to tell them I’m just not interested in anything more than playing Whac-A-Mole. I can’t give them more than that.
“Well. I hate to disappoint you, Blake,” Ella says with a brief smile, “but I’m not like the other women you know.”
I don’t bother telling her it’s not a disappointment. It’s a problem because I don’t know how to handle it.
TWELVE
Ella
WE’RE on the smaller of Blake’s two boats and it’s the size of a starter home. Who has multiple boats in Monaco? The dock fees for just one could fund a presidential election, for fuck’s sake. I fight the urge to Google what professions I can switch to (that aren’t stripping or OnlyFans—no judgment, I just don’t have the confidence or coordination) in order to make enough money for this type of lifestyle. His boat not only has a pool table, it has aspa. Oh, yeah, and a treadmill. I enjoy a good run as much as any non-marathon running human can, but who comes out on a yacht torun?
Blake seems relaxed sitting next to me on the end of the boat. His feet skim the top of the sea while mine dangle in the space above. The lights of Monte Carlo are small dots from the spot we’re anchored in, but the velvety sky still glitters from the dazzling display of fireworks.
To say I’m shocked Blake left the party to check on me is the understatement of the year. He’s been hyping up the event for days, telling me I can’t act like a weirdo when I see celebrities. Of course, then he bristles that I’m not rattled by him since he’s a “world champion,” but to me he’s just Blake.
Everyoneelse may see him as only a Formula 1 driver, but I’m getting to know him as the man who watches more documentaries in a week than the average person watches in their lifetime. The man who spends close to an hour in the hotel gift shop at each Grand Prix, picking out the perfect postcard to send his niece and nephew. The man who still has a physical newspaper delivered to his house every morning just so he can do the crossword. And he refuses to Google any answers. He’d rather leave it incomplete than “cop out and cheat.” The down-to-earth side of Blake is softening me like butter. Josie was right when she said he’s a good guy once you get past the rough exterior; he just takes time to open up.
We’ve been passing a champagne bottle back and forth for the past hour, asking each other ridiculous and arbitrary questions. I appreciate the fact that he’s not pushing me on what’s going on. I wish I could act like nothing’s wrong, but one look at me and you can tell I’m off.
I start to pass the bottle back to Blake before remembering the fact that he walked in on my private cabaret show. If he saw my dramatic reenactment ofHamilton, I will immediately throw myself overboard. I take another large gulp.
“Have you ever skinny-dipped?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts with his question.
I nod in response. There’s no need for him to know I skinny-dipped when it was pitch-black outside and there were no boys in attendance. I’ll let his imagination run wild instead.
“In that case, I dare you to skinny-dip now.”
The champagne I’ve just taken a sip of shoots out through my nose, burning as it drips down my chin. “I’m going to pass on that one. But you’re more than welcome to.” My hand waves for him to dive right in. I think I’ll keel over and die if he does, so I’m not going to encourage it, but I’m not going to discourage it either.
“You just want to see if I’m packing heat or not.”
It’sa warm night, but the smirk he gives me sends goose bumps down my arms. “False.”
“So if I stripped buck naked, you wouldn’t be at all curious?”
“Maybe.” I casually shrug despite my rapidly beating heart. “But as I’ve said, I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“Aha!” He has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “So you do associate my dick with pleasure!”
Without so much as a thought, I push him into the crisp, cool Mediterranean Sea. I can’t believe he actually falls in. He’s made of pure muscle; I can’t even lift a fifteen-pound dumbbell at the gym without getting sore. But I need him to stop talking about his dick, so shoving him into the water to shut him up seems wise.
His head pops up moments later, sputtering water. I collapse in a pile of giggles as he floats there with a look of pure incredulity. The laughter quickly turns into yelps as Blake tugs my legs, pulling me into the water with him. The disbelief on his face was worth it.
“You said you wanted to go swimming!” I remind him.
I’m dog-paddling like there’s a real danger of drowning even though we’re no more than ten feet away from the boat. A splash of water hits my face before Blake’s strong hands push my shoulders down, immersing me underwater once again.
