“Come on, Chloe,” she said, as our eyes met.“Fuck your history with Matt Warner.Eyes on the damn prize.You can do this.”
“I can do this,” I repeated.
“Good.You’ve got your professional pants on,” she said, glancing at my green pantsuit with amusement.“Now it’s time to professionalize.Go!”
Looking around the garage at the crew now, I realize Keyla was right.No matter how furious I am, I need to focus.The eyes of the FIA and the whole racing community are on me.The very public Matt situation?I have to suck it up and pretend this is all part ofmyplan.
Then tomorrow I’ll unleash hell on Barry fucking Arden.
“Just waiting for the star of the show.We’ll give you a shout,” Barry explains cheerfully to the team, who have been standing obediently for the past five minutes.The pit crew drop their heads and move quickly, livery polishing, rear jacking, tire wrapping, and rolling under the chassis to do final checks.I glance worriedly over to our second driver, a young Australian by the name of Noah Blacklock, wholooks positively lacerated by Barry’s description of Matt asthe star of the show.
“What am I, chopped liver?”Noah says to Barry, sulking.
“Nothing wrong with liver,” Barry replies, stroking one of the two dogs who are permanently at his feet.“You’ll have your time, Noah.When you’re out of nappies.”
I shoot Noah a reassuring nod, which he seems to appreciate with a half smile shrug, before returning to his neck stretches.He’s young, twenty-one years old, with all the talent in the world, wasting away at Arden Racing.I had hoped to bring in someone who could help mentor Noah, and instead I have Matt.
Where is Matt?I glance at the clock, nerves starting to pique.
“You should be out there romancing the beasts,” Barry says, nodding at the press out on the pit lane.
“I will, I promise,” I say, recoiling at the idea.“Let me get through this first qually.”
Barry isn’t listening.He is already scrolling his phone.I glance at the screen and watch his mouth curl into a big grin, as he revels in the drama of an earlier racing headline.
ARDEN STUNS F1 WITH NEW HIRE(S)
Below, a close-up photo of Matt Warner from his glory days, atop a podium, colorful ticker tape falling around him, a magnum of champagne in his hands.
I suppose I made the story.Sort of.That’s me in the headline, the(s)inhire(s).
There is a thud and a slow crank as the main garage door onto the pit lane rolls open.
The sky outside is darker now as the sun begins to set over the waterside track.I can see the press, bloggers, and those famous enough or lucky enough to get a ticket outside starting to mill around on the grid.Above, the first of the crowd makes their way into the towering pit lane grandstand and unfurls their flags, drinks full and anticipation bubbling.There is simply nothing like the thrill of a night race.
And while I watch those first fans, giddy with excitement, the grid floodlights spring on, and I remember why we do this.We come to win, yes.Of course, everyone is here to win.But also, we’re here because we love the thrilling, high-speed show of Formula 1 racing.We live for it.And so do those guys over there in the stands.
I feel a little of my earlier excitement return.
“Chloe Coleman in the flesh,” says a husky voice behind me.I know exactly who it is before I spin around to see him, but the suddenness of his presence still makes me jump.I quickly take in his unzipped Arden Racing suit, the arms hanging from his waist, his black Nomex undershirt tight against his hard chest, with a crudely cut stripe of silver gaffer tape covering an ex-sponsor’s badge.He’s still got that imposing, magnetic presence that he’s had since we were teenagers.My head has to tilt upward to meet his eyes.He seems taller and leaner than he used to be, but his forearms, which are now tightly folded across his chest, have thickened.Racer’s arms.Firm.Strong.
It steals my breath to see him like this again.
Be cool.Be cool.Be coooooooool.
“Matt,” I say, hand to my chest.“Shit.Hello.”
Well, cool Chloe crashed and burned before she began.
He hesitates for a moment, a curioussomethingpassingacross his face.A brief softness in his gaze toward me.But before I have a chance to reach out to shake hands, he leans in and kisses the air next to both my cheeks.I get a nutty, caramel hit of coffee and some kind of earthy cologne as his warm breath skims my cheek.It is almost instant, my body’s reaction to him, a pulse of heat that rushes straight through me and travels all the way downthere.
Damn my traitorous body.
I stand perfectly still until he has pulled back.“I can tell you’ve been living in Italy,” I say loudly, as though explaining the kiss-greet to him, or myself, or anyone watching.I fight the urge to touch my cheek, which is still tingling.Oh, this is not a good start, Chloe.
“I have,” he says.The right side of his mouth curls up in a half smile.“It’s um...it’s good to see you.”Instinctively, I find myself examining his face for evidence of teasing but find none.
Instead, I find a different Matt.His once sun-kissed golden skin is paler, and that sallowness in his cheeks tells me he’s not eating properly.By the look of those dark circles under his eyes, he’s not sleeping much, either.Still, the depth of his attractiveness is undeniable: piercing hazel eyes with green flecks, surrounded by impossibly long lashes.His black hair is seriously in need of a tidy, but irritatingly, that, his lazy stubble, and the grown-up age lines around his eyes only add to the all-around rugged sex appeal.
