“Oh god, I thought you were someone else,” she says, almost relieved.
“Expecting someone?”I ask.
“No.”She puts her pen down.
“Not a certain charmless snake in a fedora, perchance?”
“Jack?”she says, shaking her head at my tone, disapprovingly.“Well.Maybe.Last time I snuck down for a night-before-the-race drink, he joined me.That night you saw us,in fact.”
“Did you see him in the media circle?”I ask, lip curled as though even talk of him is like sucking on Bigfoot’s toe jam.
“At the press conference too,” she says, pushing her glasses back on her head.“I think I should talk to him.He’s getting jittery.Cutting off his access—”
“No fucking way,” I snap.
“I can handle him,” she replies, eyebrow raised.“He asked me out to dinner.So it’s an ego thing.”
“Hewhat?”My god, the ferocity with which that riles me up is a shock, even to me.
“Listen, buddy,” she interrupts, tapping her finger on the table.“You’re not the boss here.Of the team.Or of me.”
I smile.I think fiery Chloe is my favorite.“Fine.”I hold my hands up, willing myself to calm down.“Can’t a guy who likes a girl get a little possessive from time to time?”
“Shush.”She tries to contain a smile, then looks around the room.“Can you get me another drink?”
She pushes her empty glass toward me and I do as I’m ordered.I head to the bar for another cocktail for Chloe, a large ice water for me, and a plate of rice, beans, and chicken.
“I’m eating,” I say, sliding the drink toward her.
“Can’t you do it in your room?”
“You’re so paranoid, Bug,” I tease.
She flicks her eyes up to meet mine and grins.“How are you feeling?”
I sigh.“I’m okay.”I want to add that I’m thinking too much about Stavros, but I don’t want to worry Chloe just as we’re on a high.
“I see,” she says, glancing at every single person who enters the bar.She’s so jumpy.
“Pass me some papers,” I say, watching the way a lock of hair falls in front of her face.I fight the urge to pull the rest of her hair down too.I point, instead, to a stack of paperclipped notes.“That pile there.Then, Chloe, it looks like we’re having a meeting.We are allowed to do that.We worktogether.” I speak slowly, teasingly, as I keep my eyes on her, watching her every nervous twitch.
She scowls again, her grin widening, despite her attempt to appear fierce.She hands me a stack of paperwork.
“What the hell even is this?”I ask, flicking through the numbers, the charts.I spy the next season in small writing at the top of one of the pages.“Are you planning next year?Did Barry confirm you?”
“Just in case,” she mutters, her cheeks flushing.“Can we talk about something else?Just literally anything but work.”
“Anything?”I raise a single brow, leaning forward, elbows on the table.The music is jaunty—some kind of Brazilian jazz—and the bar is otherwise pretty quiet.
She breaks then, her face lighting up as she laughs hard.“You arerelentless.I’m trying my best to keep things discreet, and you’re not helping.”
But the mood has softened, and the conversation finally lightens up.For a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of us in the world, sitting in a bar, sharing a drink.
As the time hits eleven p.m.I try to hide a yawn, and Chloe spots it and yawns in return.
“Bed,” she says, gathering her things.Then she pauses and looks up at me.“Alone.”
“You’ve only got one thing on your mind, Coleman,” I say, standing.
