All lies to comfort myself, and I knew it with each passing and progressively desperate thought.
Then, a ray of sunshine distracted me from my cloudy mind.
A man, no older than twenty-three, with golden blonde hair spiked up as if he had just risen out of bed, was grinning down at me.
“Luca,” he said, offering me his hand to shake. I struggled to put my cup of tea down quickly. “Nice to finally meet you, Olivia.”
I swallowed my mouthful and corrected him. “Livie.”
“LivieandLuca,” he said, voice whimsical as he sat beside me. “We sound like we’ll be a good duo.”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled, sitting up straight. He was a younger version ofAlv, and it took me a second to look past the similarity. The blonde hair, tanned skin, dimples. Just a touch more bad boy.
LucaMendes had been racing since he could push a peddle. The only reason he’d not been dominatingStormSprintfor far longer was that he was a boxing champion. He had a cut across his eyebrow, and a nose that looked like he’d had more than just one breakage, but it didn’t take away from his good looks. It made him more rugged.
No one knew why he’d given up boxing in the last couple of years, butCiclatiwere grateful to have him.
“Though I heard you may have more on your plate than you first expected taking this job,” he commented. His eyes were the brightest, light blue. Icy yet warm. “You thought you’d only have to deal withArmas’ shit. Now you’ve got to deal with mine, too.”
“I would have had to deal withAlv’sas well.”
He didn’t stall at the mention of his cousin in critical condition. His smile only became fond. “He would never give you any trouble. The man is a saint.”
His accent was less strong thanAlv’s. More American than I expected, though I knew he’d gone to a private school in the US at twelve.
“You have a bloody good reputation yourself,” I remindedhim. “Boxer and racer extraordinaire.”
He sighed, drumming his fingers along the back of the chair next to me. “Not so much the boxinganymore.” He looked up with a strained smile. “So, we’re leaving in twenty? Do you want to ride in the coach together?”
“Sure,” I said and pursed my lips to fight the smile. It was about time I made some more friends.
His grin matched mine. “Look forward to it,Livie.”
And he got up, putting me back in the present.
I surveyed the court—still no Nix.
And noCris, either. Abbe’s head was bowed into his beans, nearly half asleep.
There would be no help for me.
Fuck sake.
Holding back a groan, I got up, threw my bag over my shoulder and stormed to his room.
The organisers always put the teams together on these occasions, so Nix’s room was opposite mine. I hammered on the door. This was hismanager’sjob, not mine.
“Pas aujourd’hui,” he called.Not today.
“Right now!” I shouted and slammed on the door with my palms. “Right now, Ass-mas!”
I continued to knock, so when the door flew open, I hammered my fists onto his chest. His bare chest. His furious face filled my vision. “Don’t call me that again.”
“What, because it suits you so perfectly?” I snapped, pushing past him into the room. It stank of alcohol and smoke, and if I could be anything other than angry, I would be disgusted.
“Because it’s rude,” he bit back and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. He looked tired, lifting his hand to massagehis eyebrows. “You can call meThree-Time-StormSprint-ChampionorArmas.”
My anger saw past his half-naked state for a second longer. “Not coming to an event I’ve planned for your team is rude! The coach leaves in five minutes!”
