Page 85 of Drive Me Wild
Biting back my frustration, I maintain my position, not edging any closer to Blake. God knows I’ve pissed off the pit wall enough. The crackle from my radio simply tells me, “Keep Adler and Fraser at bay.”
The minute the race is over and I’m out of my car, Andreas is on my ass. I tune him out—something I’ve become relatively proficient at over the years—as he admonishes me for my unsportsmanlike behavior.Whatever. Blaming my radio, I brush it off as an unfortunate accident. Blake won regardless. Can’t he just let it go?
I head to the press conference alone so I can avoid Blake as long as humanly possible. There’s no way in hell he’s going to let me off the hook so easily. As his competition, I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, but as his teammate and friend, I drove like an absolute asshole. My only saving grace is that I placed third and Thompson placed second, so he acts as a buffer between us at the table. My human shield.
It’s no surprise when the first question of the press conference is aimed at me. “How do you feel about the outcome of today’s race?” a reporter asks. “You had a chance to secure a first or second place win, but were told to stand back for Blake.”
“There’s a lot of times when we have to play as a team,” I say, each word eating at me. “This race was one of those times. We need to win both titles—Constructors’ Championship and Drivers’. If Andreas thinks Blake is in a better position to help secure McAllister those wins, then that’s the situation. My radio was going in and out, so it took me a little longer to realize the strategy shift.”
“Are you still in contention for the title?”
I won’t be next year if I sign the contract.
I give a half-assed smile. “Aren’t we all?”
“Let me rephrase,” the reporter says. “Are you allowed to fight for the title? Or are you being told to stand back for Blake to clinch his seventh win?”
He may as well have given me a stake and asked me to shove it through my heart.
“We all want to win—races, points, championships. My goal is to go into every race bringing in as many points as I can for the team.”
This seems to satisfy the reporter, at least for now. What about when they ask next season? I can’t openly say, “I signed away my right to beat Blake just so I could stay on the team.” It feels just as pathetic as it sounds.
“Blake!” a SkySports writer asks. “How do you feel about what happened during lap fifty-three?”
Blake moves his chair closer to his microphone. “Uh. It happened. It’s over. What more is there to say?”
For once, I’m glad Blake doesn’t give too many details during interviews. He hates press conferences as much as I hate going to the doctor.
“Did you know that Theo was told to back down?”
Blake rolls his eyes. “Were your ear plugs in when I said, ‘Why the bloody fuck isn’t he letting me pass?’ on the radio?”
“So you were upset with Theo not giving you back the lead?”
“Listen.” Blake sighs, narrowing his eyes at the pesky journalist. “Theo’s a great teammate, and I highly doubt he went into the lap with anything but good intentions. Sometimes we’re put in a position where we have to put the team first, ahead of our own desire to get the most points for the Drivers’ Championship. Does it suck? Sure. But we want McAllister to get the maximum number of points. That’s key.”
The room is eerily quiet. That may be the most Blake’s said during a press conference in years. Little does he know, the sucky position he spoke about is where McAllister wants me to reside permanently.
Thankfully, the reporters move on, asking Harry about his last-minute strategy change. The moment the press conference wraps up, I’m out of my seat and out the door. Blake is hot on my heels as I walk back through the paddock. He leaves just enough space so I’d look like an arse if I yelled at him to leave me alone.
That changes the moment we’re in the privacy of McAllister’s motorhome.
“So, are we going to talk about what the fuck happened out there?” he asks, not bothering to lower his voice.
“You said it yourself,” I snap, not turning around as I stomp up the stairs to the second floor. “It happened, it’s over. What else is there to say?”
Blake scoffs at the fierceness of my tone. “What the fuck is up with you? Is this about the breakup?”
“Fuck off,” I mumble, walking into my suite.
This is one time when visitors are not welcome in my room, but Blake doesn’t seem to give a shit. His tall frame takes up the space of my doorframe. “Seriously, Theo. What the bloody hell is going on? You’ve been a dick to me the past week, and I have no idea what I did wrong. You fucking railroaded me out there.”
“It’s a race, Blake,” I grunt. “I’msosorry I didn’t make it easy for you to win. God forbid I try to get points for myself, yeah? Now can you get out? I’d like to be alone.”
Blake shakes his head in disbelief. “We’re going to talk about this, Walker. This isn’t you.”
“No, we’re not.” I take a step forward, shoving his chest. It feels really fucking good. “So get the fuck out of my room.”
