Page 4 of Drive Me Wild
“Can I order you an Uber, at least?”
Her eyes are back on her phone as she slips on her shoes. On her way out of my bedroom door, she says, “Nope! Later, Theo.”
“Bye,” I call out, but she’s already gone.
I throw on some clothes and make the thirty-minute drive to McAllister’s headquarters. The first Grand Prix is still a month away, but McAllister’s owner, the aptly named William McAllister, insisted Blake and I come in today. I had to leave Australia a week early because of his “exciting” news. He doesn’t use positive adjectives very often, so I’m equally intrigued and suspicious.
I flash my badge at the front desk—as if security won’t recognize me—and make my way to the cafeteria to grab some breakfast. The long hallway leading from the lobby to the café is lined with photos of drivers, past and present. My photo is directly across from my dad’s, and it’s like looking at myself fifteen years in the future. My dad drove for McAllister until his MS progressed to the point where him driving was dangerous, but it was his biggest dream to have me drive for his team. A knot in my stomach forms as I brush my fingers past his picture. I quickly walk toward the cafeteria, not wanting to linger and let myself spiral down a rabbit hole of missing him.
Already in line to order a coffee is an arse I’d recognize blindfolded. I’ve only been crushing on Josie since the day I met her. I fight the urge to palm a cheek in each hand and instead tap her on the shoulder like a gentleman.
“G’day, gorgeous.”
Josie immediately swirls around, her pouty lips making a perfect “O.” She somehow makes a gray sweater and black jeans look sexy. It’s like Levi’s used her measurements to custom-make those pants because they cling to her like a perfectly wrapped present.
“Walker!” she squeals, pulling me in for one of her organ-crushing hugs. “I thought you didn’t get back from Melbourne until next week. What’re you doing here?”
“Change of plans,” I manage to cough out as she squeezes the air out of me.
“I wish you would’ve told me.” Releasing me from her arms, she goes to readjust the clip her blonde hair is held back in. Not that I mind being pressed up against her tits, but it feels nice to breathe again. “We could’ve done the video shoot for the?—”
I groan and cover my ears. “Can you at least let me get some caffeine in me before you start badgering me?”
She sings the opening chorus of Cee Lo Green’s “Fuck You” in reply. Josie’s quirk of responding in song lyrics never fails to bring a smile to my face. I probably wouldn’t find it so adorable if she had a shitty voice, but her vocals are decent enough that I wouldn’t boo her off the stage at karaoke.
She stops singing and gives me a quick once-over. “So, what’re you doing here? Do you have a meeting?”
“With the big boss himself,” I reveal.
Josie wiggles her eyebrows. “I thought you were going to say with Andreas. Getting in trouble for sending a beauty shot of your balls and what not.”
“My ballsarebeautiful,” I inform her with a cheeky wink. “I can show you?—”
“And look at the time!” Josie’s hands fly up as if hiding from my words. “I’m late for a meeting!”
Looking down at my watch, I realize I’m the one running late. I quickly grab a chocolate chip muffin and matcha latte and make my way to the conference room calledInnovative. Josie claims that McAllister must have hired some inspirational speaker on shrooms to name the rooms in this place.
Blake’s already seated when I walk in. His dark hair is messy, per usual, making it look like he just rolled out of bed, although I’m sure he’s been up for hours.
“Morning,” he greets me before doing a double take. “You look like you had a rough night.”
“The sex was rough”—I shoot him a wink—“but the night was great.”
Blake rolls his eyes as if he wasn’t doing the same exact thing about a year ago before his girlfriend Goldy—my nickname for Ella—domesticated him. It’s for the best, but I could live without his judgmental attitude at the moment.
“Any idea what this meeting is about?” Blake asks as I sink into an open chair.
I shrug. “Fuck if I know.”
“Maybe they’re telling us we don’t have to go to so many damn sponsorship dinners,” Blake says, his eyes lighting up.
Blake despises small talk and schmoozing, but Formula 1 is pay-to-play. If we expect our sponsors to pay upwards of two hundred million pounds a year to let us race, then we have to play their game like we’re show ponies. I don’t mind going to the events. People telling me how great I am? Don’t see a problem with that.
I take a bite into my muffin and audibly moan.Fuck. If I had to decide between a repeat performance of this morning’s blowjob or this muffin, I’d choose the muffin. No hate to Jenna, that’s just how good it is.
“Want some?” I ask Blake, flicking a crumb off my pants. “It’s really good.”
He shakes his head. “I already ate, but thanks.”
