Against my better judgment, I peer over again at the pair, easing away from the bar to see Alyssia better.
Sure enough, there’s a twitch at play on her full, plump lips.
“I don’t know how you were with that man for almost a year. Every time you sent me a picture of him it was a jump scare. I was two seconds away from staging an intervention.”
“You’re not right.” This time Alyssia lets out a full-on guffaw before quickly covering her mouth with her hands.
Her laughter tightens something inside of my stomach. An odd fluttering that’s reminiscent of how I feel seconds before the lights go out at the starting line.
Shaking my head, I tighten my grip on my glass. It’s not that damn serious.
Nothing is as important as racing. As winning.
But even as that thought passes my mind, my body reminds me that it’s been over two months since I’ve had a woman in my bed. The busyness of the season, heightened by the fact that for the first time I’m in serious contention to win this year’s most coveted prize—the only championship I’m in contention for since my teammate doesn’t have the points to help us win the Constructor’s Championship—and dating has taken a backseat.
“You never said why he broke up with you, anyway,” the friend’s comment pulls me back into the conversation.
Alyssia drops her gaze, turning her head to the side before taking a sip of her drink.
“Mr. Townsend,” the bartender calls, before I can hear if she gives an answer. Then I remind myself it’s none of my damn business.
“Thank you.”
For the briefest span of time, I consider lingering at the bar. Why, I can’t put into words.
Then I get ahold of myself. It’s race weekend. Work takes priority over everything. And rest is a must.
Retracing my steps, the same way I entered, I exit the restaurant toward the bank of elevators to take me to my suite.
Me and one other person are on the gold-plated, mirrored elevator when the doors start to close.
“Please hold it,” a silky voice calls out a hairsbreadth before they shut.
I stab the button with my finger in time. The metal doors slide open, bringing me face to face with Alyssia.
Her eyes form perfect circles when they meet mine. Now, I’m able to give the color of her eyes a more precise name: toffee brown, like my favorite candy when I was a kid.
My gaze rolls over the powder blue sweater dress that hugs the generous swell of her breasts, fastens to her slender waist, and blossoms out to accommodate her curvy hips. The knee-high black boots she’s paired with the dress draw my attention to her thighs. Perfect size to accommodate my hands.
“Thank you,” she murmurs while sliding past me to move toward the back of the elevator.
I hit the door close button, and within seconds we’re rising up from the ground floor. The other guy gets off at the tenth floor, leaving me and Alyssia alone.
To get my mind off of Alyssia’s thighs, I start to think about the videos I’ve saved to watch once I get back to my suite. When that fails to keep my attention, I switch to thinking over this weekend’s strategy.
“Progressive corners, long straights, and problematic braking zones …”I talk to myself of what I know about the track, until there’s a sudden jolt.
I grasp for the wall, bracing myself, but there’s stillness, accompanied by silence.
The typical whirring that accompanies the upward movement has ceased.
One glance over my shoulder toward the button panel, and the two red dashes in the place where numbers of the floor level should be, tell me all I need to know.
The silence is broken by a tiny shriek from the only other person in here with me.
Alyssia turns to me. “Oh, my God, are we stuck?”
Her eyes wildly roam the unmoving elevator as if searching for a secret escape hatch.
