Falling off the cliff, p.8
FALLING OFF THE CLIFF, page 8
He peered at her from his shoulder, an idle finger running over the vintage jukebox stationed in the far-left corner of the room. “Don’t worry, she didn’t reveal any of your deepest and darkest secrets. I wish she had, though.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing interesting about me.”
Whilst most people would certainly freak out to be in Thiago’s company, she was thoroughly unfazed by his presence. Still, she couldn’t ignore the way her body reacted to him when he glanced at her, his perusal feeling like sparks upon her skin. So, she took a seat, glancing outside only to notice the downpour had ceased.
She stared at her pair of sunglasses, a frown drawing on her eyebrows. “Is there something you want from me, Thiago? I thought I had made my decision clear.”
His voice was low, deep—a hum of power caressing the shell of her ear. “It was crystal clear.”
When she peered up at him, she felt her breath catch in the back of her throat. His back was turned to her as he tugged behind his neck at the collar of his jumper, pulling the wet piece of clothing off his torso. The shirt he’d been wearing beneath rose, exposing lean, strong, and hard back muscles, contracting and flexing with each one of his motions.
As though he could feel the intensity of her scrutiny over his silhouette, he pivoted. She darted her gaze away, her cheeks unmistakably heated up. She knew he’d caught her red-handed because she could see his stupid, smug smirk from the corner of her eye.
“Do you mind?” She brought her attention back to him as he gingerly draped his hoodie atop the back of a chair.
She waved her hand. “Not at all. Make yourself at home.”
Her tone was sardonic, but it made his grin widen. Then, he seated himself directly opposite her, strong arms folded across his broad chest, shadows lurking around him. “Sweet. Is someone else here?”
She nodded, a subtle jut of her chin towards the kitchen. “My older brother. He works with me. He’s probably busy cleaning around.”
As he pushed dark, wet strands of hair away from his forehead, a singular, rebellious one toppled over his brow. She forced herself not to gape at his displayed biceps, holding that gaze that had cleared from the previous storm she had glimpsed at. She had never seen eyes so raw with emotions, so easy to read within the unique colour. “Do you have any other siblings?”
Was this man genuinely interested in her? “I’m not playing 21 questions with you.”
He leaned forward, putting an elbow atop the table and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “How about 31 questions?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Are you not going to offer me something to drink? What’s your specialty? Is everything homemade?”
She rubbed her temple, feeling a migraine starting to bloom like undesirable weeds. “Tell me, Valencia. What’s the other reason you showed up here tonight?”
A soft scoff rose from the back of his throat. “Is it so hard to believe I have no other intentions besides returning your pair of Bottega Veneta sunglasses? Surely a woman like you can’t simply leave an accessory that costs over three hundred pounds behind.”
She blinked. He was right, but she hadn’t even noticed she'd forgotten them. She had left lunch with a hazy cloud of turmoil enveloping her, and when she had arrived at the café, her team was in desperate need of her help. There was no room for distractions.
“Actually,” she said, “yes.”
A heavy sigh fled past his lips. “Okay, fine.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t do this—ever, but I really wanted to apologise for the way I came onto you with my situation. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. We barely know each other, and I understand how weird it must have been from your point of view. All I want is a second chance.”
“A second chance?”
“To start over with you. We started on the wrong foot—more than once I believe.”
“Just that?” she asked. “Nothing else?”
He shook his head in response.
“You’re not going to ask me again to pretend to be your girlfriend?”
A beat passed, then he smirked. “Unless you want me to ask you again?”
She rolled her eyes. “Please don’t.”
Thiago lifted his hands in semi-surrender. “I’m just saying—just in case—that the offer still stands.”
She brought her lips in a pout. “Haven’t found someone who could fill in for me?”
“Obviously not,” he deadpanned. “You’re incomparable.”
“You’re lying. There are hundreds of girls out there who’d love to date you.”
“But they’re not you,” he supplied with a smirk.
She arched a brow. “You don’t even know me.”
“I want to.”
“Don’t try,” she said. “I’m not interested.”
“I’m serious, though.” His voice sounded like spun sugar, honey—warm and setting her skin ablaze with the soft echo of his words.
“Now you’re just being nice to me and hoping I’ll help you.”
He shook his head, his eyes flickering over her face as if he was trying to ingrain a photograph of her features into the back of his mind—like it was the last time he’d see her. “I’m just telling the truth.”
She couldn’t help but drop her gaze to the small plant placed in the centre of the table because she didn’t want him to see the dismay glinting in her eyes. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the hem of her sleeve between her thumb and forefinger, focusing on her surroundings instead of the man who was watching her with tender, curious eyes.
She heard Kieran sing loudly, and she sucked in a breath as realisation hit her like a lightning bolt.
“Thiago,” she murmured, not recognising how soft her tone had become.
“Yeah?” he replied with equal softness.
He looked absolutely mesmerising hidden in the shadows of her café—like he belonged there. She couldn’t believe she was about to ask this. Couldn’t even control her own body as the words slipped out of her mouth.
“Kamari?” he called out when she didn’t speak.
The loud thumping of her heart was deafening. Good. She wouldn’t hear herself as she asked, “If we do this, can you do me a favour?”
CHAPTER TEN
📍SPA-FRANCORCHAMPS, BELGIUM
The smell of burnt rubber whiffed through his nostrils, despite the balaclava and helmet covering his face, and the heat coming off the circuit followed him like an invisible cloud of speed. Gloved hands were tightly gripping the steering wheel, his foot pressing down onto the throttle as he raced through Kemmel before decreasing his pace as he turned into Les Combes. His vision was entirely focused on his route, his surroundings and almost-full grandstands a colourful blur. He knew the circuit and its shape by heart. He could drive through the track of Spa-Francorchamps blindfolded.
“How does the car feel?” The race engineer’s voice rang through Thiago’s earphones.
“Feels okay so far,” Thiago answered Luke in a breath as he passed through Malmedy’s corner.
“Just okay?”
It was rather unusual to see the sun shining in Spa. Thiago was used to coming back from summer break to a cloudy, rainy track, usually preparing himself for a wet and chaotic race.
“I feel like I can’t reach top speed like I want to,” he replied just as he passed his teammate who had just driven out of the pit lane. “Agility feels perfect, though.”
“That’s good.” A rustling sound was followed by a few incoherent mumbles between Luke and another engineer. “Box on the next lap. We’ll go out for a sprint after looking at the stats if we still have time.”
“Copy.”
The second half of the season was Thiago’s personal favourite because he would race on some of his most-liked circuits: Spa where he won his first race his rookie year—the year he’d been identified as ruthless and heartless by multiple sports journalists; Monza where he’d won a race the day after his father’s death; and Abu Dhabi where he’d brandished his trophy high in the air, claiming his World Champion title just two years ago.
And that was this year’s main focus: secure his second championship. Get back on top. He was aware it was going to be a hard play, knew he had to push his limits to reach his goals. Surrounded by other ruthless and talented drivers, driving a car that had been struggling with the new regulations since the beginning of the season, Thiago wasn’t sure if he could brandish the trophy in a few months. He had hope though, and he wouldn’t yield just like that.
The second half of the season was like a fresh start. He had had four weeks to breathe, party, and disconnect. But now that there were only nine races left before the end of the season, he couldn’t take the risk of failing. Couldn’t lose the only thing he’d ever loved.
He drove through the pit lane slowly, the sun’s rays blocked by the visor of his helmet. The moment he stopped in front of his garage where four mechanics dressed in red suits were waiting for him to shut the engine off, he loosened his breath.
There was nothing like driving a Formula 1 car. Nothing like the thrill of the speed, the feeling of the heat coming off the circuit, the exhilaration and frissons jolting through his body as the world blurred around him. There was nothing like the universe of Formula 1. It was his life, and he’d make sure it would remain his future.
Once Thiago got out of the car, he received a few pats of encouragement on his back. He walked towards Luke, taking his helmet and balaclava off. Luke was furiously typing on his keyboard, a frown on his face, and didn’t so much as glance at the driver when he approached.
“Just tell me the bad news now,” Thiago demanded coldly.
Cal was now standing beside him. Gently, he grabbed the helmet from Thiago’s hands but stayed by his side.
Luke pivoted and slid his red headphones off his head to put around his neck. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush and said, “We might need to change the power unit.”
“Again?” Cal asked, baffled.
Thiago only nodded, jaw clenching for a flickering heartbeat. “That is going to cost me a penalty grid.”
Luke held his gaze. “Yes, but it’s better to change it now rather than later during the season. We still have the third session of free practice tomorrow morning, so we’ll wait to see the car’s performance and make the change then.”
He pushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Right before quali?”
“Yep. On a lighter and happier note”—Thiago scowled at the sound of Luke’s too-forced, joyous voice—“you made the fastest lap during this practice session. Now you need to be on pole so you won’t have to start too behind because of the penalty. The worst that can happen is that you’ll start sixth. Actually, now’s the moment to get your shit together if you want to win this championship.”
A surge of anger seeped through Thiago’s veins. He took a step forward, the roars of racing cars being tested by other drivers on the track zipping in the background. The loud noise of engines speeding wasn’t as deafening as his thrumming, angry heartbeat. “This is a team work, Luke. You want me to win? Then get to fucking work and build me a perfect car. We spent the last week testing on the simulator and we know what’s wrong with the car. Get me a perfect balance between agility and top speed, and I’ll get you that championship medal. Work overnight if you fucking have to, but don’t tell me what I have to do.”
Luke’s features flickered drastically—from a faux smile to a sneer. “Don’t be such a dick, Thiago. You’re on TV.”
“I’m well aware,” he said, all indifference and nonchalance. “Get to work.”
Luke dipped his chin in a small nod, though he held Thiago’s angry gaze. “There’s still fifteen minutes left before the free practice session ends. Don’t you want to go out for another few laps?”
He turned on his heel, accidentally bumping into Cal’s shoulder. “No.”
Thiago ignored the mumble Luke muttered under his breath as he walked towards the exit in the back of the garage that led to the paddock, where Primavera Racing’s motorhome was. Some fans were walking around the paddock, their VIP passes hanging loosely around their necks. Some were photographing Thiago as he passed by them, others were begging for his attention and demanding pictures. He ignored them, rushing hastily towards shelter.
Cal caught up to him, a firm hand grasping his shoulder before applying pressure on his tense muscles. The paddock was flooded with sports reporters, mechanics, workers, and engineers from all ten teams. The atmosphere during a race weekend was incomparable, sizzling.
“I know you’re known as the ruthless, heartless, untouchable driver, but you need to be nicer to your team.”
Thiago glared at Cal, wriggling himself out of his punishing grip. “How is that going to make them work harder?”
“They’re human beings just like you,” Cal spat. “You know you have to do better if you want to keep your seat.”
Thiago rolled his eyes as they stepped inside the motorhome. “They’re just bluffing. All of them. I’ll keep my seat. They’d be insane to let me go.”
“They will let you go if you don’t focus, Tito.” Cal lowered his voice and handed Thiago his helmet. “I might be your physiotherapist, but I’m also your best friend, and it’s killing me to see you so indifferent about the way everyone talks shit about you. We’re thirteen races into the season and I don’t think you’re realising the clock is ticking.”
Thiago’s breathing became shallow because he knew Cal was right. Truth was, he was scared to make another mistake. “Whatever. Let’s go on a run around the circuit when the sun is setting down.”
Thiago wasn’t sure if this was a good idea.
Saturday had come, queues of Formula 1 lovers forming lines of different hues as they wore their favourite team’s colours whilst waiting to enter the circuit. Saturday was the most anticipated day of the weekend—after Sunday, of course. It was qualifying day, meaning all twenty drivers would race, trying to make the fastest lap time to determine their position on the starting grid for Sunday’s race.
Thiago had to drive the fastest lap to be on pole position. But even if he made it, he’d start the race further down the line because of the changes his team had made to the car. Every driver was allowed to change their power unit three times during the season, but making such changes meant receiving penalties. That was one of the many rules of Formula 1.
Phone in hand, his knee bounced up and down as he kept his gaze focused on the screen, waiting for it to light up and indicate he’d received the so-anticipated response he’d been waiting for.
“Did she bail on you?”
Leo settled on the chair opposite Thiago, a cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand. They were sitting in the motorhome, sounds of chatter and laughter echoing in the background. Qualifying would start at four p.m., so Thiago had over three hours to sit and relax, talk with his strategist, and socialise with guests and other people who worked for Primavera Racing.
Thiago shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “She’s arriving with Ava.” Well, at least he thought she was. “She’s been busy with work and couldn’t come until now.”
Leo lifted an eyebrow, doubtful. “Can’t wait to meet her.”
“She’s the best,” he said with a forced smile. She’s the devil. It was a Herculean effort not to let bitterness weave into his tone. “You’ll love her.”
Leo’s grin was nothing but a vicious display of pearly-white teeth. He adjusted the collar of his linen shirt with his free hand, gaze narrowing on Thiago’s face. “I’m sure I will. You have the tendency of seeing women with, how should I say, particular styles.” Models. Influencers. Singers. Actresses. All of them being the exact, stark opposite of her.
Thiago’s jaw clenched. “She’s nothing like them. I assure you.”
Leo shrugged. “If you say so.”
Cal took a seat next to Leo and clapped him on the back with a force that made the hot liquid in the agent’s cup rattle like tidal waves. “What are we gossiping about?”
Leo gaped at Cal who was wearing his red Primavera polo. “Have you met Thiago’s girl?”
It was evident Cal was refraining from bursting out in laughter, but he only let his lips curl into a polite smile. “Yep. Lovely girl. In fact, Alex told me she was here with Indy.”
Thiago’s heart started to hammer erratically, and he hated how vulnerable he could become by the simple thought of Kamari Monroe.
He didn’t know if he could pull this off.
He didn’t know why he thought this was a great idea to begin with.
All he needed to focus on was winning a championship, on securing another multiple-year contract with Primavera Racing, and now he was allowing himself to be distracted by a girl who had zero interest in him.
His phone vibrated in the palm of his hand, and some kind of wave of relief coursed through his veins when he saw her name.
@kamari.monroe
I hate you so much.
His grin was all mischief and confidence—a king’s smile, triumphant, on the right path to redemption.
“She’s here.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
📍LONDON, ENGLAND
“What do you wear for a Grand Prix?”
Slowly, Indigo turned around. Her blue eyes were wide, her mouth nearly falling agape at the sound of Kamari’s question.
The door slammed behind Kamari as she walked further into Indy’s flat, the smell of Italian aromas swivelling in the small kitchen. She instantly reached for the bottle of wine placed atop the island and poured herself a much-needed glass.
“Why?” Indy asked slowly, narrowing her gaze on Kamari.
Kamari sipped on the Pinot Noir whilst keeping her gaze on the table where her friend had set up three plates, noticing the scented candle wasn’t placed in the exact centre. A heartbeat later, the door to Indy’s flat opened then shut.
