“At least there’s no dead person in the room,” she said dryly.“Yet.”
“Just a dead career,” I muttered to myself.Chloe’s head spun around so fast it nearly did a 180.“Mycareer,” I said quickly as I took in her mortified face.
“Are you really done?”
“You didn’t watch the race?I’m done.” It came out uneasy, my voice hitching slightly.Chloe’s eyes narrowed on me, and she folded her arms across her chest.
“I’m afraid I just don’t believe you, Matt,” she said.
“Believe what you want.As soon as we’re out of here, I’m on a plane back to England.”
“Going back to Brackley?Finally.Gracing your family with your presence at last.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Chloe didn’t answer, she just pulled on the door for the hundred and first time.
“It’s locked,” I said slowly, irritated, dropping my head into my hands.“I think we’ve established that.”
Chloe rolled her eyes and tossed her hands in the air.“Fine.Let’s wait for a janitor.Or maybe next year’s circuit?Perhaps therewillbe a dead body or two in here by then.”She shoved at the door, before shouting, “Barry, you are a monumental shit stick!”
Then she blew hot breath onto the glass window that looked out across the garage, steaming it up and writingHELPbefore kicking the wall and then whimpering like an abandoned puppy.
Now we are trapped in this box until such time as Barry decides to let us out.I accepted that half an hour ago, and now Chloe finally has, stubborn as she is.
I’m sitting on the floor, elbows resting on each knee, head in my hands, flight-ready in my chinos and Lacoste tee.Chloe is against the opposite wall playing with a discarded screwdriver she found among a sea of construction junk littering the room.The sweet smell of the doughnuts and coffee is tempting, but I’ve cornered myself into a one-way silent standoff with Chloe, so I’d rather starve than move first.I hear only the sound of a low electrical buzz and a vacuum somewhere in the distance until Chloe breaks the silence and taps the glass with the screwdriver.
“Shall I smash the window?”
I sit quietly, waiting for her to come to terms with the fact that she’s not going to do that.Her shoulders slump.
“Never ceases to amaze me how quickly they pack down the garage and get everything into the crates ready to move on to the next country,” she says, her whispery voice trailing through the silence.
“Especially if they lose.”
Chloe looks at me and tips her head, raising an eyebrow.“Are you speaking now?”
“No,” I say quickly, trying not to grin as I look away.“Thinking aloud.”
She huffs.Then she slides down the wall and lands on her bum.I glance sideways at her; she’s in coffee-colored soft cotton joggers and a matching T-shirt, her hair down and still damp from the shower.Traveling clothes, I suppose, for the jet we’re due to catch after lunch.She’s casual but there’s something about the soft fabrics that adds tohersoftness,her effortless beauty.I suddenly want to be closer and feel her for myself, but then I quickly snap out of my unexpected daydream and back to reality.
“Is he even coming back?”she says, finally seeming to lose her temper, tossing the screwdriver against the wall and glancing up at the coffee.“Fuck it.”
She pulls herself back up and walks past me to the box of doughnuts on the little table, a cloud of sweet-smelling perfume trailing in her wake.The light catches on a thin gold ankle bracelet sitting just above her left trainer.I let myself imagine holding that ankle for a moment, sliding my hand up her bare calf.Fuck.Why am I even having these thoughts of her?Where is this coming from?
“It’s still kinda warm,” she says, nodding to the coffee after she takes a sip.“Tastes like a punch in the throat, though.”
I want to laugh, but I’m also stubborn.
I push myself up the wall and swipe the other coffee and a chocolate-glazed doughnut with all the visible reluctance I can muster.Then I struggle not to spit out the coffee.
“Was this filtered through Barry’s underwear?”I say, and Chloe laughs, a high, fluttery giggle that warms me through.I’m hit by this sudden wave of nostalgia, recalling that sweet laugh when it was so easy to extract from her, way back when we were kids.I smile at the thought, and our eyes meet for the briefest of moments before she looks swiftly away, her grin vanishing.Just as I catch her, the old Chloe, she slips through my fingers again.
“We need to talk, Matt,” she says, serious now, biting into her doughnut, then removing the sugary glaze from her lips with a finger.I narrow my eyes on that finger, assomething begins to uncoil in the pit of my stomach.Jesus.One minute she’s that teenage girl I grew up with, the next she is a very adult woman who is doing very adult things to my body.
“I know,” I concede, my eyes firmly on the floor now.I have to get a grip.
“We should have talked earlier.”I watch as she pulls out one of the chairs and drops herself heavily down into it.“You wanted to, and I fucked up.”
