“Yeah, of course. What do you want to talk about?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
He looks at me with those intrigued eyes again, just like yesterday. He’s more relaxed than he was yesterday when he stormed in on us, and I have to admit, I like seeing him like this.
He seems much more approachable now.
“How about the way you were just trying to run off from here at the sight of me? Are you really that scared of me, princess?” Luke smiles, and I feel my pulse pounding faster again.
He quickly catches on to my actions, calling me out for trying to escape his presence. I really hoped he would get on with his life after I quite coldly turned him down during our last interaction, but apparently, no such luck.
“First of all, stop calling me princess. Secondly, I’m not scared of you. And third, I did not try to run off; I just happened to have someplace to be,” I say.
Luke doesn’t seem convinced, and he crosses his arms.
“Really? I would think that if the driver who just took pole position were hanging around the media station where you work, youwould want to stay, maybe get a comment? Or is your job really boring you already?” He’s obviously teasing me, and the smug bastard makes a fair point about doing my job as well.
I take a deep breath, plastering on my biggest smile, my reporter smile.
“The almighty Luke Hastings, the golden boy of Formula 1, I’m so pleased that you’re taking the time out of your day to bless us, reporters, with your presence. Now, please tell me all about how the weather conditions are an uncertain factor for Sunday’s race, but that you’re confident in your abilities behind the wheel. But I must say, the porpoising seems rather unpleasant from my point of view. But what do I know? I’m just a reporter hanging around, waiting for the big star to drop by and give me a minute of his time,” I finish, and Luke’s smile has dropped.
I make a point of repeating what he told Andrew in the interview, making it clear that I was following, as well as adding the element of porpoising, which was evident in the earlier practices.
Even though his presence stirs up a whirlwind of complicated feelings within me, an uneasy mix of attraction, irritation, and confusion, I wouldn’t say I’m a naive teenager with acrush who would easily swoon just because he pays me a little attention.
If Luke believes I am, he’s in for a surprise.
I can tell my remarks don’t sit well with him, but honestly, he only has himself to blame for wandering around here with an ego so inflated it rivals the size of the entire paddock.
The tension between us is escalating, thickening the air with unspoken words and lingering glances.
“Luke! Luke! Over here.” Before he has a chance to answer, another reporter calls him over.
“We’re not finished here. I’ll come find you, and what did you say, bless you with my time? Be ready at eight.” He walks away, and I stare dumbfounded at the spot he just left.
We’re not finished? Be ready at eight?
I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around Luke Hastings and the complicated feelings he invokes in me.
???
At seven, I’m freaking out, wondering if Luke will show up.
Should I be prepared just in case, and for what exactly?
Should I do my makeup again?
After the whole showdown in the interview zone, I went for a run to clear my head andtook a shower to wash away the day.
Now I’m standing in my small room, trying to decide if I believe he will show up or not.
Part of me knows he will.
Luke doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to give empty promises.
On the other end, I don’t really know him or what kind of guy he is. Maybe he’s the type who leaves women high and dry.
And what even is this?
Are we just talking so he can set me straight, make sure I don’t talk back to him again? Or is it more like a date?
