Fuck no.
So I did what any sane man would.
I made a fake account and stalked the bastard. He only posted the gym and a couple of pictures of himself in scrubs.
Is that what she liked?I could post weights and have my friends record me lifting.
Even if I thought it was pathetic.
I’d never done this before. Sure, I’d had a girlfriend. And since that had ended — and I’d recovered from the crash — women flocked to me in clubs. We got what we needed from each other and moved on.
But my brain was stuck on her.Obsessed with her.
I was still scrolling when boots appeared beneath my phone. I locked my phone, but it was too late.
“Zsófia?” My brother and manager, Benedek, stood over me. “She not here?”
I shook my head, trying to be casual about it.
She was fiery, I didn’t want to contemplate that she might have asked to work for another team —another racer— because of what had happened between us.
“She pretty?”
I took a slow sip of water. “She’s not what I expected.”
“Not what Imre said about her?” He nodded in the direction of my mechanic. “I guess they don’t really speak.”
“I thought she’d be sweet and spoiled. A Ciclati girl.” She had been wearing that seductive green dress, but… her loyalty had been to my cock that night.
“Yeah, well, Imre’s going to be biased about how she’s raised, isn’t he? Seeing as he had minimal involvement.”
Despite being her biological dad.
I liked Imre, but that pissed me off.
Benedek looked at my phone. “What was it like meetingher?”
“She’s just a girl,” I sighed.
But I was still thinking of how she’d looked under the helmet. That green dress she’d worn to torment me. Her body flooded by my jacket. Her lips puffy from kissing me. Her thighs shaking around me. Her words annihilating me.
No, she wasnotjust a girl.
The room shifted, a ripple from the door as people formed a path, moving out of the way.
And I knew it was her without seeing.
The men in the pit box were taller than her, but all of their heads lowered, every set of eyes on her.
They dispersed, and I finally saw her, walking in like she owned the place, even if her eyes flickered across the room as if looking for someone.
She wore my colours.
A purple Lycra jacket zipped up so my logo was held tight above her heart. Her hair was up, and sunglasses were perched on top of her head. She looked comfortable, as if she’d been working here for years.
But as her gaze swept my way — not even snagging on me — I noticed her energy from last week was lacking. The spark I’d fucked out of her hadn’t returned. Or something had happened. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there in how she clutched the earpiece in her hand. The hesitancy in how she looked around the room.
She wasn’t looking for me.
