Reserved the pitstop ser.., p.8
Reserved (The Pitstop Series Book 6), page 8
My eyes shift to where my sister is sitting, but she’s already chuckling at her cards with her pinky raised in my direction.
Well, fuck you, too.
“I don’t have a crush on anyone,” I say through gritted teeth, trying my best not to stare down at my phone again. “Except you,” I add.
Leonard places Leonora in Chiara’s arms so carefully, I can tell he’s scared of hurting his baby. Once his daughter is securely placed in her mother’s arms, Leonard stalks toward me with a murderous look in his eyes. I burst out laughing, covering my head with my arms to protect myself.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” I blurt out, still laughing. Leonard places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes until it’s painful.
“Chiara is my wife. Mine. Either get it through your head, or I’ll punch it through your stubbornness. Got it?” Leonard asks, a hint of a smile on his face as he stares down at me.
“Empty threats. You love me too much to ever hurt me,” I say and grin at him. I should have seen the slap up the back of my head coming. “Grumpy old man,” I complain as I rub the back of my head, but when he gives me a brighter smile, I can’t help but return it.
“I think you should text her, Adrian. Maybe ask her on a date and give whatever you’re feeling a shot. It’s okay to feel fascinated beyond the physical level with a woman. You’re intrigued by her, and that’s a good thing. Give yourself a chance to like her,” Valentina chimes in, and Gabriel smiles affectionately at her.
“You all need to get off my case. I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is, I don’t need to turn into that,” I say and point at Gabriel. “Or that,” I add, gesturing at Leonard.
“From what you told me you said to her yesterday, you’re already halfway there to becoming me,” Gabriel teases with a self-satisfied smirk.
“The possessiveness comes later,” Chiara says as Leonard strokes his hand over her short hair, playing with the strands as he stares down at her with so much love, I know he’d destroy the entire planet to protect his world: Chiara and Leonora.
This thought stays with me until everyone’s left and it’s just me in the hotel room. My phone is heavy in my hands, and before I know it, I’m typing out a message I never thought I’d sent and hitting Send before I can overthink what the fuck I’m doing.
Me: Hi, this is Adrian. I hope this isn’t weird, but Nova gave me your number in case I wanted it. Okay, that’s a lie, I practically begged her for it. You’re stuck in my head, and I wanted to tell you that one more time. I would love to take you out on a proper date someday, but I will also understand if you block me. I am very charming, after all, and some people can’t handle it.
For the first time in my life, I don’t feel confident talking to a woman at all. Usually, I know exactly what I’m doing. Women love me. I love women. What more do I need? Apparently, I need to go on fucking dates now.
Yikes.
When she doesn’t respond right away, I add:
Me: I’m flying back to Monaco tomorrow morning, but I hope we’ll see each other soon. Good night, Nevaeh.
My fingers tap the side of my phone while I wait. Maybe I misinterpreted the way she seemed drawn to me. Fuck, what if I did? What if this was the worst way to go about this? What if I completely freaked her out?
My phone rings before I have a chance to spiral, a smile lighting up my face at the name appearing there.
“Nevaeh,” I say with a soft tone as soon as I hit Answer.
“I hope it’s okay that I called you,” she replies, causing me to sit up and play with the hem of my shirt nervously.
“I wanted to call you too, but I didn’t want to be pushy,” I admit, and she chuckles into the phone. I return it.
“So, you can’t stop thinking about me, huh?” she asks. I hear rustling as if she stood up to start walking around too.
“Why don’t we talk about you instead?” I suggest, trying to keep us from lingering on that fact. “Tell me something about yourself,” I say. There is a bit of silence for a moment until she breaks it again.
“I wish you weren’t leaving so soon,” she admits, making my heart skip three beats. It’s more forward than anything I was expecting her to say.
“If you want me to stay, I will.” What the fuck is wrong with me? Why would I offer that?
“Don’t you have work responsibilities?” Yes, I have a million meetings to attend and workout schedules I have to stay on top of. Daniel, my performance coach, has already been on my ass to stay focused so close to the start of the season.
“I do, but they can wait another day so I can take you out to dinner.” I have no power over my words, none at all. They dance from my lips and turn around to flip me off before flowing through the fucking phone.
Somebody shoot me.
“Pick me up at seven tomorrow evening,” she instructs with a firm voice, causing a chuckle to slip out of me because dammit, I like it when women are bossy. It turns me on.
“Seven it is. Good night, gorgeous.”
I hang up before I can make more stupid decisions, although I doubt there are any left to make with Nevaeh at this point.
Telling her I can’t get her out of my head? Mistake.
Thinking about her constantly? Mistake.
Texting her? Mistake.
Almost kissing her? Big mistake.
Asking her to go to dinner with me? Biggest fucking mistake.
And yet, I find myself wondering when I can make the worst mistake of all. Kissing her until I’m sure I’m the only one left in her head, kicking Lincoln right out into the cold where the fucker belongs anyway.
Chapter 15
Nevaeh
What was I thinking, agreeing to go on a date with Adrian after kissing Lincoln a few days ago? That’s easy to answer. I wasn’t thinking. I let my body and heart make a decision instead of my head for once. Adrian makes me feel like I’m floating on clouds. I don’t want Lincoln, that much has become very clear to me, but I would like to see where things with Adrian could go.
It was a very simple decision to make.
He might be a player, but I’m up for a good game.
Gillian hands me sample articles to look through and learn from, pulling me out of my thoughts. He instructs me to highlight lines I find striking, and, just in general, study every word on the page. I’m not quite sure what the point of this is, but I do as I’m told.
“Neveah, how would you feel about taking French lessons? Since Gabriel Biancheri and Adrian Romana are from Monaco and Kyle Hughes is half French, Ms. Martin is asking if you could turn your little knowledge of it into good enough for conversation,” Gillian says or asks, I’m not sure which it is.
Panic grips my chest as I think about what the hell to say to that. I can’t say no because I’ve only been here for a week. If I already start telling my boss I can’t do something, it’ll undermine my ability as a journalist and one of the strengths I listed on my resumé. I said I’m a quick learner, which wasn’t a lie, but how am I supposed to learn French to that extent so fast?
“Um, I can look into getting a tutor,” I reply, unsure what else to say, but my boss gives me an approving smile.
“Brilliant. We’ll cover that expense, of course,” he adds, then walks back into his office, leaving me to get back to work while trying to rack my brain over the fact that they want me to become fluent enough in French to understand native speakers of the language.
A nervous laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it.
I’m so screwed.
My heart starts racing at the mere thought, my anxiety making my legs shake as I try to focus on the article in front of me. My breathing hitches uncomfortably, so I press a hand to my chest and take several deep breaths, trying to slow my heart rate.
Everything will be alright.
I’ll figure it out.
They’re not going to fire me because I can’t become fluent in French within the next few weeks.
Right?
More anxiety sweeps through me, forcing tears to prick my eyes. I grab my phone and rush toward the bathroom, holding off the tears that always come with my anxiety attacks long enough to lock the door and slide down against it.
I curl into myself, my breathing now heavier than before as I hyperventilate. The lack of oxygen causes my hands and legs to tingle before all feeling leaves them. Nausea builds in my chest too, and I only start panicking more when I realize I don’t have time to have an anxiety attack. Gillian will check on me soon, and if I’m not at my desk, he might get upset with me.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” I mumble over and over again, breathless and with a spinning head.
I fumble with my phone until I manage to dial Nova’s number.
“Helloooo,” she says as soon as she picks up.
“Code blue,” I manage to croak out, wheezing noises leaving me as I try to even out my breath.
“Alright, baby sister, let’s take deep breaths together, alright? In, hold, and out. Ready?” she asks softly. I nod over and over, more from the shaking than from acknowledging her words. “In,” Nova says, and I suck in a breath until she adds, “Hold.” I hold it up until she tells me to let it out again. It comes out shaky, but that small achievement, that one somewhat steady breath, gives me the courage to do it again.
I can do this.
Nova and I repeat the same three steps for another minute until my anxiety subsides enough to stop the shaking and regain the feeling in my legs.
These anxiety attacks have become rare for me. I’ve had anxiety since my injury happened four years ago, so I know where it originated from. I know what causes my attacks often because I went to therapy for three years. Today, it was my fear of failure that triggered it.
Scared of failing at this job.
Scared of not doing this right.
Scared of failing my family by getting fired.
Scared of not being good enough.
“How are you feeling?” Nova asks, her voice still gentle.
We’ve been through this often enough that she’s figured out a way to get through to me, and it isn’t by yelling at me.
It isn’t by screaming “Breathe! Why don’t you breathe?”
It isn’t by starting to freak out too.
It isn’t by asking me what’s wrong with me.
She’s gentle but firm enough to get through to me when I want nothing more than to scream and cry and ask whoever is in charge of my life why I had to get anxiety. It’s useless and definitely not rational, but these things become obsolete when it comes to anxiety. There are only feelings. They’re not always logical, but that doesn’t mean that whatever they are isn’t just as real.
“Better now, thanks,” I reply, taking one last deep breath to gather all the strength I have to stand up.
“You want to tell me what happened?” I check my watch. Five minutes since I came into the bathroom.
“Later. I have to get back to work,” I say before telling her I love her and hanging up.
My makeup, luckily, isn’t too messed up, and after a few careful swipes under my eyes with a tissue, I get back to my desk on wobbly legs. My head pounds in complaint at the immediate getting back to work without letting it catch up, but I can’t waste any time. I have to get this article back to Gillian before lunch. So, I pop a painkiller into my mouth, hoping it’ll ease my stupid post-anxiety-attack headache.
“Nevaeh, I need you to look over these and sign at the bottom to make sure you acknowledge all of the rules and guidelines,” Gillian says, handing me a pile of paper.
My eyes scan over the words carefully. There is a lot about how to behave and what to say and not to say around the Formula One members. But the thing that has my breath catching once again is the rule at the very bottom.
No member of this team may date a Formula One driver. This is to avoid accusations of extreme bias and complications during interactions.
Fuck. Me.
“Gillian? What would happen to someone who breaks any of these rules?” I ask, my mouth dry.
I’m in deep shit.
Not only did I have a Formula One driver’s lips on mine a few days ago, but another one is taking me out tonight. Well, he was supposed to, but now, everything has changed. I can’t go out with him.
“Whoever breaks it, gets fired. Easy as that,” Gillian states before strolling back into his office and leaving me to panic by myself. Again.
The articles in my hand are no longer captivating as my thoughts get consumed by what I have to do later. My career means everything to me, which is why I won’t let a man get in the way of it. There is no hesitation in my mind about it.
Nevaeh: Hi. I really want to go out with you, but I just found out that my job forbids it. I’m so sorry you stayed another day for something that isn’t allowed to happen.
I sent this message during my lunch break, and, so far, I haven’t gotten an answer. If I were him, I’d be pissed, but something tells me that’s not who he is. He strikes me as an easy-going and fun person, someone who doesn’t get angry often. At least, I hope so. If he’s upset with me because I blew him off, it’s going to make this season very difficult.
At the end of the day, I’m miserable. My head is still pounding. My anxiety is a living and breathing thing at the surface of my chest. Not to mention, Lincoln has also texted me a couple of times, asking if everything’s alright, but I’m not in the mood to talk to him. He deserves an explanation, but I have none to give him. All I want is to fall into bed, take a nap, and then do some self-care for my mental health.
This job doesn’t make me happy, at least not yet, and it’s placing doubts in my mind. I shouldn’t have taken this job… should I have? I need to speak to someone about this, but Nova and Aileen are busy tonight, and Mama and Papa will tell me to get over it, that it’ll get better eventually. They might use a euphemism, but the words will mean the same, and they won’t help.
I walk out of the building, half-expecting Lincoln to wait for me. Instead, I notice a red Velocitá Rossa SUV in the pick-up area. It’s pitch-black outside, but the lights from the buildings allow me to see Adrian leaning against it with a bag of Haribo gummy bears in his hand. How he knows that those are my favorites, I have no clue.
But I’m going to find out.
His smile is contagious as he pushes himself off his car to take a step toward me.
“Before you ask, yes, I got your message. Yes, I am here to pick you up anyway. No, it won’t be a date, but yes, I bribed your sister to drive your car home and tell me what your favorite sweets are,” he explains, his green-blue-brown eyes darker in this light and studying my expression to identify how I feel about all of this.
I put my hands behind my back and intertwine my fingers, teasing him by staying quiet. Adrian lets out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair as he waits for my response.
“Aren’t you supposed to bring flowers?” I ask with a teasing tone as he hands me the gummy bears.
“If this were a date, I would have brought you both,” he says before stepping to the side and opening the driver’s door for me. “I brought my car for you to drive,” Adrian says, causing my jaw to drop and my eyes to widen.
“Are you out of your mind? This car is worth more than my life, I cannot drive it,” I reply and take a step back.
“You don’t have to, Nevaeh, I merely thought you’d want to, considering you adore it,” Adrian offers with a smile, and, for the first time since I met him three months ago, he lets a faint Monegasque accent slip through his usual American one.
It’s extremely attractive.
“I like the way you say my name,” I admit, and Adrian’s face turns mischievous.
“You can’t tell me things like that. It makes me want to kiss you.” His words have a strange way of making my heart race, skip beats, or thump unevenly against my ribcage. Maybe all three of those things combined.
There is no doubt in my mind that if I ever let this man kiss me, it would undo me in ways I’d never be able to put myself together again. So, I simply clear my throat and step toward the car. The grin returns to his face while he closes my door and makes his way to the passenger’s side.
Snowflakes sit in his perfectly curly hair, and I get lost in how gorgeous he is for a second too long. All chiseled facial features and yet he has the softest of smiles. He catches me, and I swiftly bring my gaze to the steering wheel to pretend I wasn’t ogling him. It’s obviously hopeless, but pretending makes me feel less embarrassed.
“Where are we going?” I ask, and Adrian leans his head against the headrest to study me.
“I don’t care about the where, as long as—” I have to cut him off then.
“Please don’t say ‘as long as I’m with you,’” I say with a laugh. He joins me, shaking his head as the sweetest laugh escapes him
“I was going to say ‘as long as we get food,’” he clarifies.
I cover my face with my hands and let out a breath of embarrassment. Adrian’s fingers wrap around my wrists to pull my hands off my face.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed. If this were a date, I would have taken a page out of Gabriel Biancheri’s best-cheesy-lines book and said it.”
And I wouldn’t have minded it one bit. Yet, here we are, in this shitty situation.
The electricity his skin on mine creates disappears as soon as he removes his fingers.
“Well, this is my day off from everything work-related, so, if you’re down, I’m in the mood for a burger and fries.”
A smile spreads across my face before it’s ripped off again by the memories of what it was like to train professionally for a sport. The strict meal plan. The long workout hours. The constant aching somewhere in my body that I grew to love because it always made me feel stronger afterward.
