Page 44 of Drive Me Wild
I cross my arms over my chest. “Good. Because this is completely unacceptable.”
This has to be about more than simply my breakup with Christina. You don’t slap a two-time World Champion in his peak with contract restrictions like he’s a first-year driver still proving himself to the team. Not renewing with McAllister isn’t an option, it’s just not. McAllister is the best of the best. Everest, Ithaca, and AlphaVite deliver great wins, too, but those weren’t my dad’s team, McAllister was. I’m not giving up the one thing I still have left of him.
“Why don’t you cool it on social media while we work out the details of the contract,” Martin suggests. “I don’t give a fuck what you post, but let’s maybe not live stream yourself from a club this year?”
I roll my eyes. “My fans like how relatable I am.”
“I’m not sure what world you’re living in, kid, but bottle service at a private table at TAO isn’t exactlyaverage.” He lifts a brow in amusement. “You’re aspirational, not relatable.”
“I’m not going to change who I am just to get on Avery’s good side, Martin. That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“I never told you to change who you are, Walker, but I do think toning it down a bit won’t hurt. Would it kill you to do a Q&A fully clothed and not in your bathtub?”
It wasn’tmybath; it was the bathtub in some random chick’s hotel room last year—the spout was shaped like a snake, which I thought was cool. I don’t think that’s going to help my case, though, so I keep the information to myself.
“Fine, I’ll tone it down. Anything else? Do you think Avery wants me to lick his toes? Wax his asshole?”
Martin ignores my quip and takes a sip of his water. “I’m not interested in what Avery wants. I’m interested in what you want, which is why I’m going to connect with my legal team and come up with a counter-offer. So just lie low, don’t do anything stupider than usual, and we’ll be fine.Capisce?”
Standing from the chair, my entire body pinched with aggravation and tight with resentment, I mumble my agreement before sulking off to the privacy of my suite. Russell stops by after having talked to Martin himself, but I’m not in the mood to discuss it, not even with him.
Before he started dating my mum, back when he was just my dad’s old manager and a friend-slash-father-figure to me, I would have texted Richard about this. Or left a long-winded voicemail bitching about how much I hate the politics and contractual bullshit of the sport when all I want to do is race. But now his loyalty is no longer mine, it’s my mum’s, and the last thing I need is her stressing about me if he repeats anything I tell him.
For the next hour, I lose myself in the F1 racing game. This alternate reality allows me to race for McAllister with no stipulations or strings attached.
A soft knock briefly distracts me as I finish lap twenty-two of the virtual Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Josie’s blonde head pops in a moment later. Her smile softens the knotted rope playing tug-of-war in my stomach. “Hi, can I hide out in here?”
I pause the game, motioning for her to come in. “Only if you tell me who we’re hiding from.”
She squeezes herself through the crack she’s left open before shutting the door behind her. The black T-shirt she’s wearing rides up a bit in the front, showing off the toned midriff I ran my tongue over last night. I move the oversized pillow taking up half of the couch so she can join me.
“I’m hiding from Rhys,” Josie admits from the safety of her seat. “I think my brain will explode into a million tiny pieces if he asks me how to A/B test a Facebook ad campaign one more time.”
McAllister’s director of marketing is completely clueless when it comes to the intricacies of social media marketing. He understands the importance of everything, just not how to do it himself. Which is fair, since he has a team for that, but he also asks the same questions an exorbitant number of times.
I offer her the second controller. “Want to play?”
She takes it from my hand and lets me walk her through how to set up her own driver, something I did for her last time. After a ten-minute refresher, we start a new race. It only takes fourteen laps before Josie asks, “Do you want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”
“Ugh,” I groan teasingly. “Why do womenalwayswant to talk?”
Josie smacks my controller out of my hand, but keeps her eyes focused on the screen. It takes me a moment to reel in my surprise and, by the time I’ve picked up the controller, she’s already sped ahead of me.
“You’re the chattiest man I’ve ever met,” she says, aggressively pressing buttons. I’m not sure what sort of combination she thinks she’s doing, but I can confirm it isn’t going to help in any way. “Do you not remember talking my ear off about your uncanny ability to always know when fruit is ripe?”
I scoff at her very correct observation. “And do you remember talking my ear off about why I should put on sunscreen every morning?”
“I stand by that,” Josie says vehemently. “Not only does it aid in skin cancer prevention, but it also helps with wrinkles and aging lines. I’m just looking out for you, Walker. You may not realize it, but you’re constantly exposed to UV radiation. Even in your handy-dandy little racing helmet. But if you want sunspots and a wrinkly face, then by all means, ignore my advice. Just don’t come crying to me and asking for the best anti-aging serum when you’re in your forties looking sixty-five.”
My lips tilt up in a grin. “Do you want me to walk around with an umbrella to protect myself, too?”
She pauses the game and whips her head to me. “This is no laughing matter. You may think you’re above every other man, but you’re not above the sun, Theodore Chase Walker. It’s a flaming ball of light and fire and… other things.”
“Who says I think I’m above every man?”
“You!” She throws her head back and laughs. All I want to do is cover the exposed skin in love bites, each mark a memory of the moans she makes when I suck on the skin. “During the interview with SkySports this morning, you said, ‘My race number may be seventeen, but I’m number one at everything else.’”
Sounds about right.
