I nodded, understanding his hesitation. “You can try next time.”
We migrated to the living room, where Griffin transferred Hazel to me and perched on the edge of the sofa, watching intently as I settled into an armchair. The bottle slipped easily into her mouth, and she latched on with hungry determination.
He let out a long, slow exhale. “That’s better. She’s really going for it,” he muttered. “That means she’s okay, right? I read something about babies not eating if they’re stressed.”
The cocky, reckless driver was gone. In his place was a father completely out of his depth.
“She’s fine. She eats like you race. All or nothing.”
Griffin snorted, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Just an observation.”
I kept my focus on Hazel, determined to ignore the way Griffin watched me. Like I was something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.
“You’ve watched me drive?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying us with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The thin cotton of my sleep shirt suddenly felt inadequate under his gaze.
“Hard to avoid when my dad runs the team.”
Griffin hummed. “So, what do you think?”
“About?”
“My driving.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You want a performance review?”
His mouth twitched. “Might as well. Since you apparently have been watching.”
I considered him, then shrugged. “You’re aggressive. Calculated, but ruthless. You see gaps where other drivers wouldn’t dare, and half the time, I can’t decide if it’s brilliance or insanity.”
“You think I’m brilliant.”
I snorted. “Don’t confuse competence with genius.”
“Right. Wouldn’t want to mistake your approval for anything meaningful.”
“Good. We understand each other.”
“I always wondered what you thought of me,” Griffin said, voice lower now, more thoughtful. “Figured you saw me as just another overpaid playboy who likes fast cars and bad decisions.”
“You can be a good driver and an ass. Two things can be true at once.”
Griffin shook his head. “Brutal.”
“Honest.”
The truth was, I had watched him. More than I cared to admit. Not just in races, but in press conferences, interviews, celebrations. He was always the same. Cocky smirk, easy charm, zero accountability. A man who looked at life like it was something to be conquered, not managed. Nothing about tonight changed that assessment.
“Yeah, well.” He dragged a hand through his already-messy hair. “I guess I deserve that.”
I hummed, noncommittal. Hazel’s sucking slowed, her little hands going slack.
“How do you know all this?” he asked.
“I’ve always been good with kids. They make sense to me.”
