Page 33 of Drive Me Crazy
“Yeah.” My voice is flatter than my chest was in sixth grade. “All good.”
Scratching the side of his face, he focuses on me for the first time all weekend. He has circles under his eyes and his face is paler than usual. I don’t know if I want to pull him in for a hug or smack him upside the head.
He gives me a rough semblance of a smile. “How’re you doing?”
His hand is still on my waist and I’m having trouble pushing air out of my lungs. I seriously think I may be asthmatic. Why does the smallest touch from him make me feel like my entire body’s on fire?
“I’ll be doing a lot better once you remove your hand and let me do my job.”
I take a step back, walking away before he can say anythingelse to me. It’s more than him being rude to me. I can handle that. But doing it in front of his team? When I’m just doing my job? Until he gives me an apology, I have nothing to say to him.
JOSIE and I are hanging out in my hotel room after the race when she tells me she has a “positively brilliant” idea. She’s absurdly British sometimes.
“Okay.” Josie claps her hands together, tugging at the necklace she’s wearing. “What if we recorded something just for the hell of it? Something fun.”
I still haven’t touched the podcasting set Blake got me. It’s not that I don’t want to; I just don’t know how to without it bringing up everything that happened at PlayMedia. I’ve been trying to move on from my past and this feels like kicking that door wide open and inviting in a lot of shit I’d rather forget.
Josie picks up the podcasting set from my suitcase with a hopeful smile. I know her efforts are well-intentioned because after a girls’ night with way too much cheap wine, I told her why I left my last job.
“Something fun,” I repeat back, staring at the equipment like it’s a ticking time bomb. “Like what?”
“Just something to get the ball rolling. Get you used to the whole idea of even recording stuff again. Not a podcastat all, just two girls chit-chatting and having a good time.”
I raise an eyebrow. It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. It’s like dipping my toe into the podcasting kiddie pool.
“We can blind taste test wines and see if we know which kind they are,” she continues, getting more excited by her own idea. “Oh! Or we can get multiple pints of ice cream, all from different brands, and try to guess which is which!”
I’m thankful Josie loves ice cream, wine, and lounging in pajamas as much as I do. She can tell I’m considering thesuggestion and before I can protest, she’s out the door and running to the nearest corner store. She’s back shortly after with six different white wines, three different brands of vanilla ice cream, and alotof chips. Or crisps, as she calls them. Those are to cleanse our palates. Have I mentioned how much I love Josie?
It takes me almost twenty minutes to set up the podcasting set, but once I do, my hands start shaking and my heart pounds in my chest, the sound pulsing in my ears. I know it’s just a dumb fucking podcasting set, but it feels like it’s too much, too soon. What’s the point, anyway? Even if I can manage to podcast without panicking, I’ll never be able to reach the same success I did at PlayMedia. I don’t know if anyone else will even hire me. No one wants to work with someone who’s “high-maintenance, unprofessional, and rude,” which thanks to Connor, is what everyone thinks. It’s a lost cause.
“I can’t do it,” I tell Josie resignedly. “It’s—I just can’t. I’m sorry. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I can’t right now.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” she says, waving me off. “The fact that you traveled with it from London shows that there’s a part of you that wants to give it a go. That day’s just not today. But it’ll happen. Your horoscope says so. It also says you should be open to new love in unexpected places. Cough, cough, Blake.”
I ignore the not-so-innocent smile she’s giving me. Josie fills me in on the press conference I chose to skip out on earlier as we disassemble the podcasting set. The asshole still managed to place third even with his shitty starting grid position. It was pretty impressive. Not that I care to tell him this. I guess he snapped at multiple reporters during the press conference, even telling one to “either ask a new question or bugger the fuck off.” At least it’s not just me taking the brunt of his anger.
“Ithought Blake was going to flip the table over. It was like a reality TV show. I wish you had seen it.”
I spoon ice cream into two bowls for us. “Yeah, well, he’s making me angry.”
“Angry with desire?” she teases with an exaggerated wink.
“More like angry with a desire to punch him in the throat.”
Opening up a bottle of Pinot Grigio, I take a sip straight from the bottle. It’s one of those nights. We spend the next hour getting way too tipsy off cheap wine while devouring a substantial amount of ice cream and playing the game Fuck, Marry, Kill. Or as Josie calls it: Bang, Smash, Dash.
Josie can’t stop giggling and barely manages to get out her words. “Chandler, Joey, Ross.”
I lick my spoon clean as I think. “Marry Chandler, fuck Joey, and kill Ross. I feel like that’s the only right way to answer.”
Her blond head shakes in agreement. She’s going to either love or hate my next one. “Blake, Theo, Lucas.” I spoon a ginormous bite of vanilla ice cream into my mouth as Josie squeals. The brain freeze is worth it.
“The Formula 1 fuckboys? Pass.”
“Gun to your head.”
She starts singing La Roux’s “Bulletproof” and then sticks her tongue out at me, which is white from the ice cream. “You’d probably choose Blake for all three.”
