Page 26 of Drive Me Wild
I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about a friend while using my vibrator, but there’s a first time for everything.
“C’mon, Jos,” he says with an amused laugh. “You’re going to stand there and tell me the sex wasn’t amazing? We both know it was.”
“I don’t remember,” I lie. My cheeks reach tomato-like proportions, and I untangle our fingers, suddenly hyperawarethat my palms are sweating. What the hell are we even doing holding hands? Friends don’t hold hands, unless the other one is so drunk they need help walking. “We were drunk.”
“Not drunk enough to ignore how good our chemistry is in bed, angel. Though, I’m than happy to prove you wrong and have a re-do while sober. I think we’ll enjoy ourselves immensely.” He leans back against the bar, propping up an elbow. “It’s not like we won’t be friends just because we have sex.”
Sex with Theo won’t necessarily ruin our friendship, but it will change our dynamic in some way—it already has. I can’t even look at him without imagining his lips grazing my neck or the muscles in his back flexing as he thrust into me.
I ping-pong my gaze around the room to avoid eye contact. “You know what else I enjoy? Appetizers. Have you seen a server passing any out? Man, I could go for a flatbread right now. One with fig, goat cheese, and honey would be divine.”
“You’ll cave eventually, Bancroft,” Theo promises. A cold thrill goes down my spine as he trails his fingers against my exposed skin, almost taunting me to whimper. Tonight was not the night to wear a backless dress. “I have a great dick. Some have even called it ‘more than adequate.’”
I’d like to bury myself in a cave and not come out for about eighty years, so Theo’s “great dick” will be wrinkly and completely undesirable. I notice Lucas walking by and latch onto his arm like an octopus. Nothing like a cock-block decked out in Gucci.
“Lucas! Hi!” My voice is so enthusiastic that he stumbles back a step. “Great race earlier! Congrats on the win.”
Pink accentuates the taut angle of his high cheekbones. Lucas is a rare breed of Formula 1 drivers: he’s humble to a fault, always congratulating everyone else before accepting praise on his own behalf. Theo and Blake tease him mercilessly about his aversion to talking about his successes.
“Thanks, Jos.” He runs his hand through his styled hair and shoots me a beyond-adorable grin. Moving his eyes to Theo, he says, “Tough break out there today, man.”
“Shit happens,” Theo concedes with a shrug. “Could’ve been worse.”
“Yeah. You could have a sore shoulder that makes you wince in pain anytime you move it.” I shoot Theo a cheerful smile. “And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
The shadow of a frown appears.Point for Josie.
The two of them chat about the race, discussing the impressive second place podium win a Catalyst driver secured. I scoot closer to Lucas, causing Theo’s hand to land back on the table with a softthud. Avoiding any direct physical contact with him is the only way I can, hopefully, keep my common sense from turning into an insatiable craving. But the issue with cravings is that they don’t just go away because you think they should, and I’ve been craving Theo more than a double-scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream with gummy bears on top.
ELEVEN
THEO
The Monaco Grand Prixis the slowest and toughest race to win. It’s also one of the highest-pressure races since you’ve got everyone from Sebastian Stan to Serena Williams in the paddock, watching and waiting for you to either cock up or win. What’s ironic is that the Monaco track isn’t super exciting for the drivers. There are virtually no areas to pass or overtake—it’s not impossible, but it’s rare. Unless a crash occurs, a pit stop goes horribly wrong, or something happens with your car, the grid formation stays consistent throughout the race.
As the lights go out, I unleash my power unit’s full torque, giving me enough muscle in my rear wheels to maintain my P2 position as we head into the first lap. Besides a few upsets during the race—Blake’s tires wore heavily during the final few laps and my engine nearly overheated—McAllister secures two podium wins. Blake may be my teammate and friend, but it sure as hell feels nice to come ahead of him every once in a while, even if it’s only by 2.17 seconds.
The celebrations have already begun by the time I shower and change. I bounce around to a few yacht parties before ending my night at the annual Dom Perignon after-party. It’s so exclusive that they don’t even reveal the address of theevent until an hour before it starts. Not every driver gets a de facto invitation, so it’s always a crap shoot who will be there. McAllister, and now AlphaVite, are the only teams with a standing invitation for their employees.
This year’s party is being held at a massive estate on the outskirts of Monaco. I have no idea who currently owns the property, but I’m almost positive Elton John did at one point.
I make my way through the twists and turns of the expansive home, passing marble statues of women holding jugs and egregiously expensive art that looks like it was drawn with crayon. When I finally make it to the backyard, I’m greeted by the quiet drip of an ice sculpture and the blaring sound of animated conversations. Hollywood directors sip on good quality wine while models and actresses take selfies and mingle underneath the charming lanterns scattered across the party.
I mill around, chitchatting and accepting congratulations on my win, before spotting Lucas and Harry tucked away at a corner bar.
“Evening gentlemen,” I greet as I order a cocktail from the bartender.
Lucas barely gets a “hello” in before Thompson is talking my ear off. It’s his third Formula 1 season, but his first year at this party and shell-shocked doesn’t begin to cover it. His cheeks are flushed baby pink with excitement, and his amber eyes light up like a carnival ride as he spots celebrity after celebrity.
“Is that Sydney Sweeney?” he guffaws as theEuphoriaactress waltzes past us. His jaw is nearly touching Lucas’s Valentino slides. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure it is. I’ve had a crush on her since… well, forever.”
A knowing grin pastes itself on my face as I sip my cocktail. The glitz and glam of Formula 1 hasn’t jaded him in the slightest. He’s just happy to be here. It doesn’t hurt that he worshipsthe ground Lucas walks on, giving my friend a nice confidence boost.
“You should go talk to her,” Lucas encourages. “I’m sure she’s impressed with your driving today.”
“Yeah?” Thompson tears his gaze away from Ms. Sweeney. The way his body angles toward Lucas in a bid for approval is sweet. “You think so?”
I nod. “Hell, even I’m impressed.”
