“You’re a man of many talents,” I say.
“Apparently.” He turns to glance at me, and I realize too late how close we are. His blue eyes are warm, irresistible. My face heats. Seth’s gaze hasn’t left mine.
“You smell different today,” he says quietly, low enough that Hazel might not hear.
I look away. “Do I?” I say, playing dumb.
“Stronger. Sweeter.” He pauses. “Like yourself.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. Don’t know how to handle the intensity in his eyes or the way my body is leaning toward him without permission.
“Why are you in town?” I ask, changing the subject. “Shouldn’t you be training?”
“Had to meet with my lawyer. The sheriff’s trying to move my court date to the same day as my main ride next week. We’re getting it pushed back.”
I should pull away, put some distance between us before my body does something embarrassing. But his closeness feels so grounding and steadying that I can’t bring myself to move.
Seth’s eyes shift to the bar, then back to me like he’s making a decision. “I’m going to grab a drink,” he says, low. “You want anything?”
“I’m fine,” I manage, which is a lie. I’m not fine. I’m sitting here trying to act normal while his scent keeps teasing me.
He pushes to his feet, and I study him as he goes, because I can’t help it. At the bar, the owner leans in, and they start talking like they’ve got history. Seth laughs once, shakes his head, says something I can’t hear, and it turns into one of those conversations that drags on.
I’m still watching when the TV mounted on the wall with Hazel’s photos start flickering.
Then snaps to black-and-white, grainy, security-style footage.
Seth reappears at our table fast, sliding in beside me, eyes already locked on the screen. He leans forward, forearms on the table, and his voice goes quieter than the music.
“That’s from the night I was here,” he says. “The night I remember up to the first drink… and then nothing.”
The air shifts around us. We all go still, attention pulled up to the silent footage.
On the screen, Seth approaches the bar, looking sober and steady. The place is packed, bodies everywhere, people pushing to get closer to the circuit star who just walked in.
And there, hanging on his arm like she belongs there, is a woman.
Dark hair. Pale eyes. Dressed in something tight and low-cut. She’s pressed against Seth’s side, touching his shoulder, his arm, leaning into him with aggressive familiarity. There are a couple of other women behind him.
Something hot and sharp twists in my chest.
You’re jealous of a woman in security footage from days ago. Get it together, June.
“She wouldn’t leave me alone,” Seth mutters, watching his past self try to create distance. “I remember that much.”
On the screen, Seth orders his drink. The bartender sets what looks like a Coke in front of him. He turns to respond to someone calling his name from behind?—
And the woman’s hand moves toward his glass.
“There.” The bar owner pauses the footage. “Did you see that?”
We all lean closer. It’s not definitive—she could be reaching for her own drink, could be stretching, could be doing a dozen innocent things. But the timing and angle are suspicious.
“She could have spiked your drink,” I say.
“That chick looks super familiar,” Hazel admits. “I swear I’ve seen her.”
She’s hunching over her laptop, scrolling through photos, then turns it toward us. “I knew I’d seen her. She was at the carnival too. I remember her face.” We’re staring at the same dark hair, the ice-blue eyes, lurking in the background of one of the fan photos. “You guys might have a stalker,” she adds.
