“Why did you choose F1?” he clarifies. “You’re smart. You must’ve had a lot of options. What compelled you tochoose applying your skills to a sport instead of something corporate? Something with more money?”
“It’s not about the money.” I shake my head. “I didn’t grow up rich, but I was always in the vicinity of wealth, and money only ever seemed to represent a pair of golden handcuffs.”
“Right. So, why F1?”
“Why do you ask?” I’m suddenly suspicious. I was asked the same question during my interview, and I gave a half-assed answer at best.
He shrugs. “You forced me to spill my heart on the table last time we were out. It’s only fair if I return the favor.”
“I wasn’t forcing you to spill your heart; I was trying to understand you.”
“NowI’mtrying to understandyou.”
I frown. “Why?”
He rolls his eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Just answer the fucking question, intern.”
“If you insist.” I pick at my fingernails. “I didn’t spend a lot of time with my father growing up. Not too much with my mom, either—she was focused on trying to provide for me. It was mostly my brother and I. He sort of became the parent. But he also went away to college when I was just 11, which left me with a lot of free time.”
“What’s up with your parents?” he asks dubiously.
I shake my head. “I need a lot more alcohol to talk about that.”
His lips quirk. “Alright. Back to F1. Will you get to the point soon, or are you set on reciting the story of your childhood?”
I cast him a droll look. “Fine, I’ll get to the point. There was a mechanic shop not far from my school. I think I was twelve when I first strolled in there during school lunch. I wanted to find somewhere I could eat in peace, and this place seemed mostly abandoned and had a little table out front. The owner was there, though, and he joined me. Introduced himself. He was working on a shitty car at the time, and I remember staring at it through the window, fascinated.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I was the kid who took apart any piece of technology I could get my hands on and put it back together. The inner workings of things fascinated me, and a car waswaymore interesting than an old phone. Sal caught my stare and offered to show me around. Lunch hour ended, but I came back after school that day.” I pause. “And the day after that, and then again. I’d spend most school day afternoons with him, working on cars. He taught me everything he knew, which was actually alot.” Memories of warm and cold days spent in Sal’s garage, learning how to change a tyre, fiddling with a battery, or working on suspensions flit through my mind and bring a smile to my lips. “Turns out he was a mechanical engineer and extremely well-educated. A string of bad luck landed him as the owner of an obscure mom and pop car shop, but…” I shake my head. “He wasn’t upset about it, even though he could’ve made anamazingliving in an adjacent field. He seemed happy with how his life turned out. He was just so…balanced, so willing to take on every problem with calm authority. I grew up in a house with a lot ofimbalance, so that left an impression.” Realizing that I’m ranting, I meet Asher’seyes again. “So, that was that. I learned about cars, racing, the lot. Fell in love with it. Always wanted to go into it.”
Asher stares at me for several long, drawn out moments. “Are you still in contact with him?”
An old ache reignites in my chest. I look down. “No. He passed away a few years ago.” When I was still in undergrad. “Lung cancer.”
Asher’s quiet for a while. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he finally says. “I guess that’s not the shittiest call to action I’ve ever heard.”
“What sparked your love of F1?” I ask, needing to shift topics before I cry. I was horrified when Sal got the diagnosis, and devastated when it stole him from the world such a short time later.
Asher shrugs. “I won my first race when you were still in diapers—Go Kart. I grew up in and around luxury and flashy, materialistic things, and the only thing that ever interested me was cars. Driving them, racing them, conquering with them. F1 was a natural choice—I got into F2 young, worked my way up rapidly, and came to F1.” His brows furrow. “I guess that’s been part of my problem. I just want torace. I want the high that comes with it. I don’t want to deal with a bunch of bullshit.”
I grin. “You did pretty well with that bullshit today. Seriously. That was…”Fucking hot, is what it was. Seeing Asher in the car is enough of a turn on when he’s screwing everything up; seeing him show some real competence and skill almost resulted in me having to change my panties. “Really good.”
“It was easier with you in my ear.” He says the words like an accusation or insult, but I see them for what they are;progress. And an acknowledgement of what I’ve done.
I can’t hold my blush back, but thankfully, our food arrives before he can notice. The burgers are surprisingly delicious, and we eat in calm silence. I sneak glances at him every so often, but he seems far more focused on his food than me.
“Considering you’re so big on cars, I’d have thought you would want to examine my McAllister.” He pauses. “Or ask to drive it.”
I pull the antibacterial wipes I always keep on me out of my bag and start wiping down my fingers. “If I thought you’d say yes, believe me, I would’ve. But you seem like the possessive type.”
“Trust me,I am.”
I cast him a startled glance. His words almost sound like they have some hidden meaning. When I catch his gaze, though, he just looks angry.Typical.
His scowl makes his already-pretty face gorgeous; I can’t imagine what he’d look like if he smiled. Stunning, probably.
“Only child?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Older brother, like you. Not that big of an age gap—only two years. But we were sent to separate boarding schools growing up, so we only really spent time together during the summers.”
I lean forward, interested. “What does he do?”
