Page 34 of Drive Me Wild
“I don’t understand.” My voice is coated in astounded disbelief and the frequency of my blinks makes me feel like I’m twitching. “How?”
“I made it happen. I’m a smarty pants, Bancroft.” He flashes me a smile that melts my insides like ice cream on a summer day. “Didn’t you know?”
“You thought the phrase was ‘the ghost is clear’ instead of ‘the coast is clear’ up until last year.” Toying with the wispy tendrils of my hair, I shoot him a skeptical look. “And still can’t correctly pronouncegnocchi.”
He ignores me, continuing to smile adorably. “You can’t say no because I already got your time off approved.”
“Youwhat?”
“I told Rhys I needed social media assistance and asked if he could spare you,” he says coolly. “You’re good to go.”
“And he said yes?” My boss usually requires at least two weeks’ notice for any time off to make sure the team has proper coverage. “He believed you?”
Theo tilts his head and grins. “You do realize I make McAllister millions every year, right? Of course he said yes.”
“But I'm not going to be working,” I point out. “Won’t they know?”
“Are you going to narc on yourself?” Theo laughs. “It’s okay to break the rules occasionally, angel. We can take some photos at the race if it’ll make you feel better.”
I nod in awestruck wonder, too overwhelmed to get out a word. The most illegal thing I’ve ever done is park my car in a fifteen-minute spot for over an hour, so it does indeed make me feel better.
Theo drums his fingers against the table, completely unfazed by my silence. “I made you a playlist, by the way. I’ll text it over in a bit.”
He says something else, but I’m lost in my own thoughts. I’m going to Le Mans. With Theo.Oh my God.I’m only aware of him departing because he buries his lips on the top of head. The lyrics of Taylor Swift’s song “Don’t Blame Me” float through my head. If Theo’s a drug, I’m about ready to open my own damn pharmacy.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes with a text from Theo. I immediately open it, curious to see what songs he chose for a playlist. He doesn’t have bad taste in music, but he tends to gravitate strictly to classic rock and R&B.
It takes me a moment to realize the song titles spell out a message. I suck in air through my teeth, feeling warmth between my legs. I’m an adult, right? I know how to draw boundaries, don’t I? Theo is walking, talking sex, so I should be able to enjoy that without letting it affect our friendship, right? Before I can second guess myself, I quickly put together a playlist for him, choosing the songs so easily, it’s like my mind already knew what it wanted to say. I can picture Theo, wherever he is, getting flustered by my response. And God, it turns me on.
Making playlists has always been my way to capture what I’m feeling: sad, happy, confused, angry, betrayed, content. I’ve never made one for this feeling, though, this out-of-body experience of aching for someone to the point where my core is pulsating without any direct physical contact. It’s a new feeling, and I’m not sure if I want to kick myself or dive headfirst and let it consume me.
FOURTEEN
JOSIE
“Welcome to Le Mans, princess,”Theo says as we touch down in my birth city.
A smile brings up the corners of my mouth and stays there for the duration of the day. The first thing I notice as we make our way to the hotel is how alive the city is. The sidewalks are packed with pedestrians as police officers guide them through crosswalks because the street closures have caused a buildup of traffic. Colorful street vendors park along the curbs, selling food and specialty items, while cafes leave their doors open to welcome in the influx of tourists. My eyes try to take in everything at once. I unroll the cab window and stick my head out like I’m a dog, enjoying the fresh air on my face as we barrel down an alleyway tucked between tall brick buildings.
“Can we go there?” I ask Theo as we pass a tiny restaurant with decorative lights strung up. Before he can answer, I’m pointing at something else with equal excitement. “Oh! Or what about there? That looks like a cute store.”
“We have time, Jos,” Theo reminds me with a chuckle. “We can go anywhere you want.”
Rather than explore, our first two days in Le Mans are spent in our safe space: a motorsport circuit. My fake tickets had beenfor general admission, which naturally, Theo balked at. That’s why he had Martin secure us two VIP tickets—which, according to the website, cost about six months’ worth of rent for me, and were also sold out and have been for a while.
Not only do we have our own private suite with panoramic views, but we have a dedicated service member to bring us premium catering and drinks from the open bar, and the option to do a helicopter ride over the track. A goddamn helicopter! Like this is the ancient ruins of Greece or something.
We spend time watching practices, meeting some drivers, and getting a tour of the paddock. Unlike the Formula 1 Grand Prix, which are fixed-distance races where the driver with the fastest time wins, the 24 Heures du Mans’ winner is determined by the distance driven in twenty-four hours. The kicker? Racing teams must balance the demands of speed as well as the car’s ability to run for that long without any mechanical issues. It tests man and machine to their absolute breaking points.
I’ve never watched a race with Theo. Hell, I’ve never watched a race that Theo wasn’t racing in. The 24 Heures du Le Mans is a new experience in more ways than one because of that. He becomes my personal commentator, telling me about how they’ve changed the circuit over fourteen times, the four types of engine classifications these cars must have, how the debris from the roads effect the driver. The world sees Formula 1 drivers as insanely fast men who are talented at maneuvering their cars, but people forget just how much they know about the mechanics and engineering behind it, too.
Since this race is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me, I insist on staying for all twenty-four hours of it. In usual Theo manner, he whines a bit, but doesn’t put up too much of a fight. I doze off a few times in our suite but manage to catch most of the race. It makes me appreciate the two-hour time limit on the Formula 1 Grand Prix.
Getting a cab to take us back to our hotel proves impossible, so we decide to hoof it. My feet drag across the sidewalk, accidentally kicking stray trash that people have littered. We’re halfway back when I stop dead in my tracks.No fucking way.
“Theo.” I tug on his sleeve to get his attention since he’s half asleep and acting like a zombie. “We have to go in here.”
He peers in through the glass window of children’s toy shop in front of us. “I guess I could get something for Rosalie’s birthday.”
