Page 80 of Just a Bit Crushed
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Chapter 27
P8.
Three hours from now, Cam would be starting the Las Vegas Grand Prix from eighth on the grid.
The thought should have worried him.It certainly would have worried the version of himself that had existed a few months ago. Not only was P8 unthinkable for him, but his worst qualifying effort in years had arrived at the worst possible moment of the season.Hunter’s Ferrari looked quick.The championship gap was already shrinking.And now Cam was going to spend the race fighting his way through traffic while his main championship rival enjoyed clean air at the front. Objectively, it was a disaster.Cam should have been stressed aboutdamage limitation. Hewasstressed—justnot for the reasons he should have been.
You’re the best mistake I’ve ever made. Have a good life, darling.
Cam stalked through the paddock with long, impatient strides, hiseyes scanning the crowds automatically, just like he’d done yesterday after qualifying.Hospitality entrances.Media areas.VIP sections.
I’m done. We’re done.
“Cam!” Afan had called his name.
Cam barely registered it.Another voice followed, thenanother.People wanted photos, autographs, awave.Normally he would have obliged. Normally he was good with fans.But he couldn’t focus on any of them.
He couldn’t see him anywhere. Had Scott already left?
The mere thought sent an immediate spike of anxiety through him, hishands twitching at his sides restlessly.
For fuck’s sake.
For the past two days, every thought had circled back to Scott, and every emotion he felt had curdled into frustration: frustration with Scott, with the circumstances, with the PR teams, with the championship standings, with the entire fucking world.
But most of all, with himself. He was fucking losing it.Daniel and the engineers were being diplomatic about his disastrous qualifying effort.They blamed setup issues, traffic, track evolution, tires not beingthe right temperatures.All of that could be true.
None of those were the actual reason.
The actual reason was that Cam had spent all qualifying thinking about a man who had blocked his number. About a man who’d said he wasdone.Done with Cam—with what they had.During qualifying all he’d wanted was to find Scotty and prove that what he’d said was bullshit, that Scotty still wanted him, cared for him—that he was still his.His. His his his.
Fucking hell.
He’d never felt like this with anyone. The mere possibility of Scott leaving, of him cutting him out of his life for goodandmoving on—it made his hands shake and his heart beat so fast he almost thought he was on the verge of a heart attack. It made him want to punch something. It made him want to find Scotty and bruise him all over with his marks,as if he were a wild animal marking his territory.
Christ, this was insane. More than a little disturbing.He really was losing his fucking mind. Or maybe he’d already lost it. Otherwise he wouldn’t have jerked off another man a few feet away from the paparazzi snooping around the paddock. He was beyond lucky that no one had seen them yesterday.He definitely shouldn’t tempt luck again.
Except his feet were still moving, his eyes searching for wavy dark hair, bright eyes and a pretty, mobile mouth.
He finally found Scott in Mercedes’s hospitality.
And he wasn’t alone.
Nico Laurent was there too. His head was bent toward Scott’s, his arm casually slung around the back of Scott’s seat. It looked… proprietary. Intimate.
Cam was stalking forward before he even made a conscious decision.
Laurent was the one who noticed him first. He frowned and said something to Scott.
Visibly tensing, Scott lifted his eyes. His normally animated face went completely expressionless.
Cam wanted to wipe that look off his face. Scotty was supposed to be always smiling or laughing. He wasn’t supposed to have that awfully blank look on his face—not when he was looking at Cam. It was just wrong. Cam hated it, hated that hewas the one who’d put that blank look there. But not as much as he hated Laurent’s arm around Scott. The urge to wrench it out of the guy’s shoulder socket was becoming irresistible, to his growing alarm. He wasn’t a violent man. But he itched for violence right now.
“Hey,” Laurent said, stretching his hand out for a handshake. “Nico Laurent. I don’t think we’ve properly met yet.”
Cam shook the guy’s hand. From the way Laurent winced, he might have squeezed it too hard.
