Page 7 of Drive Me Wild
That’s why I’m desperately trying to get them back on track as we film content for our YouTube channel. I don’t want to be the reason Blake’s late for an interview or Theo misses a meet and greet. Or God forbid they’re late for lunch, which is the one free hour they have to themselves to decompress. I always try to schedule more time than I think I’ll need given Theo’s tendency to get sidetracked by anything and everything and Blake’s habit of grumbling.
“Name the two chicanes at Monza,” I say for the third time in a row, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice. I’d usually have one of the guys explain what a chicane is—a tight succession of corners in alternating directions—but it’ll be a miracle if I can even get them to play the game.
Neither of them respond; they’re discussing a Porsche driver’s performance during the first practice of the day. I walk up to the table positioned in front of their chairs and smackthe buzzer resting on it. The loud noise stuns them both quiet.Finally. I’m one of the only people who has the patience to deal with Blake and Theo for long-form content, which is why I tend to handle all things video-related.
“Now that I have your attention,” I say sweetly, placing my hands on my hips. “Can one of you name the two chicanes at the Monza Grand Prix?”
Blake slams the buzzer before Theo even registers the question. There’s no way in hell Blake knows what the chicanes are called. Most drivers know the breakdown of the circuit by numbers—second chicane, third straight, first corner. Theo’s one of the few drivers who knows everything by its actual name. It’s rather impressive.
I wave my hand to indicate Blake can give his response. “Okay, first we’ve got chicane one, which is…” His voice trails off as he tries to come up with an answer.
“Variante del Rettifilo,” Theo supplies. He doesn’t bother hiding his enjoyment at having the upper hand. They may be best mates, but if there’s a chance to show off or outdo one another, they’re going to take advantage of it.
“Which is what I was going to say if you had given me more than five seconds to answer.” Blake narrows his eyes at his driving partner. “And your Italian accent is rubbish.”
Theo shrugs. “The second chicane is Variante Ascari, although I’m sure you knew that, too, right, Blake?”
“Sod off,” Blake retorts, glaring at Theo.
I groan into my hands. We’re going to be here all afternoon if they keep this up. Theo and Blake get into a heated discussion about what the chicanes at other Grand Prix tracks are called, so I take my phone out to answer some emails in the meantime.
My stomach tightens when I see a new text from Andrew.
Andrew Caffrey
Hey! Just wanted to say good luck at the first Grand Prix.
Whose ex is nice to them when they’re blindsided by a breakup after a two-and-a-half-year relationship? Mine, that’s who. Guilt rolls through me in crashing waves. The issue is that Andrew didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t cheat on me, there was no type of abuse; we didn’t have some explosive fight that made us crash and burn.
I just couldn’t be in a relationship where I stopped having a life outside of it. So much of me was tied up in us that I stopped listening to my needs and only focused on his. I didn’t know how to be independent while still allowing myself to depend on him. I forgot whoIwas.
My fingers hover over my screen as I debate whether to answer. Guilt gains the upper hand, and I type out a quick response.
Josie Bancroft
Thanks. I appreciate it!
“Jos.” Theo’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I glance over just in time to see him lean back in his chair, the hem of his shirt lifting to reveal a happy trail and toned stomach. “You look stressed.”
I slip my phone into my back pocket and paste on a happy face. “All good, babes.”
Theo shoots me a movie-star smile. “I’ve offered before, and I’ll offer it again, but I’m more than willing to help you relieve that stress with a good old-fashioned fu?—”
He’s cut off as Blake smacks him on the back of the head. I’m an only child, but if I ever had an older brother, I’d want it to beBlake. He’s overprotective to a fault. I appreciate it, although any man within three meters of Ella probably does not.
“Not happening, Walker.” I laugh lightly, ignoring the way his arm muscles flex against his shirt. “I’m not looking to get emotionally entangled with anyone right now, thank you very much.”
“Emotions?” Theo releases a deep laugh that sends goosebumps up my arm. “Orgasms only, baby girl. Just pure, raw sex. That’s the Theo Walker promise.”
Blake groans loudly and lays his head on the table. “I promise to knock you out if you don’t shut the bloody hell up.”
Theo’s face twists up in disgust. “Do you know how many germs are on that table, mate? Do you know the last time this thing was cleaned? Probably in the nineties.”
For someone who’s made out with half of the female population, he’s surprisingly germ-adverse.We only have forty-five more minutes before lunch and Theo acting like he’s the president of the Department of Health isn’t helping speed things along.
“Focus, please,” I say while snapping my fingers like I’m in a musical production. “Next question.”
We’re wrapping up when my coworker Wes waltzes in. Her bleach blonde hair is tied in double buns and freckles dance across her high cheekbones. Blake glares at me as if I’ve committed some huge act of betrayal by allowing her to enter the room. Wes is brilliant but after a not-so-fun incident last year involving an exploding can of LaCroix, a German sausage, and the phrase “the devil’s twin brother” being thrown around, the two of them rarely work together.
