Page 62 of The Fast Track

“I dunno.” He shrugs, then lets out a sigh. “I just… you’ve been running hot and cold with me, and it’s kind of screwing with my head. Besides,” he adds, “you’ve been so busy with Dietrich and Lou, I didn’t even think you’d notice.”

I open and close my mouth. There’s so much insinuated in his words. I don’t know what’s bothering him more—that I went to the gala with Dietrich, or that I’ve been hobnobbing with VIPs. It’s messy and confusing and complicated, the epitome of what we are. Mom’s words echo ominously in my ears:You’re a smart girl; you can do the math.

Before I can come up with something to clear the air, Cameron shakes his head. “Never mind, forget I said anything. Let’s just… enjoy the rest of the night, shall we?” He takes asip of his drink—a Hendriksen from the bottle—then holds it out to me in a conciliatory gesture.

I purse my lips and take the tiniest of sips. The beer tastes as nasty as I remember.

Cameron laughs, and some of the tension and anxiety in my stomach dissolves. “It’s beer, not poison.”

“Says you. Not all of us like the taste of pee water.”

“Careful, that pee water pays for a lot of racing equipment around here.” He tugs the end of my braid.

“Watch it!” I bat his hand away, pretending his touch doesn’t make my stomach cartwheel.

“Justine.” Roz rushes up. “I love this song. Come dance with me. Everyone—we’re dancing!” She shouts merrily at no one and everyone at the same time.

Before I have a moment to worry about my complete and utter lack of coordination, Roz gives me a giant shove and I’m being carried out of the VIP area by the flow of our crowd. It’s more squashed out on the dance floor than it was a few minutes ago, and we’re forced to mash up against each other with zero breathing room. Thethump, thump, thumpof the bass is so deafening, I can feel every beat reverberate in my chest.

Roz drapes one arm around my shoulders, the other over Grayson’s, and pogos up and down in time with the music.

“C’mon, don’t be a sad arse!” she yells, blue-and-blond ponytail bouncing behind her.

Reluctantly, I throw my arms up and go for it. Turns out,dancing is a lot easier when I’m in a darkened room where no one can see me. The tequila coursing through my veins like some relaxing agent helps, too. Tension flows out of me, replaced by alcohol-induced headiness. I bounce and bob in sync with the rhythm, letting it move through me.

There’s a light touch on my waist, and I look up to see Cameron grinning down at me through the blue and white lights. I’m lightheaded in the best kind of way.

“You’re quite the dancer, Kwong!” he yells into my ear.

“There’s lots you don’t know about me,” I shout back.

He quirks up his lips. “C’mon, then, show me your moves.”

With his fingers on my hip, he pulls me to him, lips grazing my ear. Thezingthat shoots through me is matched by the change in beat as the DJ transitions to the next song. It’s slower, sexier. I lean back; he takes my hand and spins me so we’re face-to-face. Our lips are a whisper apart, and I can smell the sweet, tangy scent of beer on his breath. It almost makes me want to give Hendriksen another shot.

He leans down. The breath swoops out of my lungs.

We’re close enough to kiss. And I want us to. I want us to. Even if it goes against everything that makes sense.

There’s a surge in the throng, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m no longer in Cameron’s arms. I’ve been wrenched away and I can’t see him, or Roz, anywhere. The only person I recognize is Sasha Devin, who I’ve somehow ended up next to.

“What are you doing here?” I let the distaste show in my voice.

Sasha narrows his eyes. “Partying, obviously.”

“But you’re not with Orbital.”

“So? Half the county is here tonight. You have a problem with that?”

“No, but I have a problem with your misogynistic opinions about the W Series.” Wow. I do not hold back when I have alcohol in me.

Sasha rolls his eyes. “Can we please leave the woke culture war stuff for one night?”

There’s another push, and the jostling separates us before I can throw my drink in his face.

The source of all the shoving becomes apparent a moment later—Dietrich, making his way through the masses, and Lou’s bodyguard, pushing hordes of clubbers turned mobbing fans aside.

“Justine!” Dietrich grins when he spots me. “Just who I wanted to see.” He slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me toward the Orbital area. “What a mess. The boys let too many girls in.”