“What about it?” Sage asks, one corner of her mouth lifted.
“This is, I presume… some stripe of… feminine product?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve not… That is to say, I—” Clearing my throat, I press on. “I’m unclear on what this is. Or where I might procure it.”
“Drugstore, obviously.” Grinning, she adds, “Maybe you don’t know your way around a woman’s body as well as you think you do.”
“I know what a cervix is,” I deadpan.
“Congrats. Want a medal?” She takes a drink of her water. “Anyway, it’s for cramps. But it can be hard to find. Kinda expensive, so they don’t stock it right on the shelf. You have toask for it. Like at the pharmacy counter.”
“Ask for it?” I rotate toward Priya in appeal. “You mighthave better luck with this sort of thing. Or at least more experience.”
She lifts both hands. “Nope, busy. Enjoy your day.”
“Think of it as an opportunity to explore the city,” Sage tells me. A ringtone chimes in her pocket. “Shit, it’s Dagna—she’s gonna rip me a new one for being late.” Backing toward the bedroom, Sage wiggles her fingers at me. “Later, Sandy. Happy hunting.”
6
BAHRAIN
SAGE
Holyballs, this day is kicking my ass.
Dagna and the rest of my team “worked me like a rented mule,” as my father charmingly puts it. Intense cardio, strength training (neck day…I hate neck day), reaction drills, tests with Doc Bartosz, mental-conditioning activities (I have a trainer who’s specifically for playing speed rounds of the board game Go), two depressingly healthy meals (I hate sprouted mung bean burgers almost as much as I hate neck day), and four video events where—no pressure—I inspire the youth by representing All of Women in Motorsport (and try not to drop F-bombs).
I’m in my driver room in the paddock now, drinking a nasty kale smoothie in a foil pouch while I study the Go board, analyzing where I went wrong on the last round. My phone rings, and it’s Dion from security.
I tap it open to speaker. “What’s up, my dude?”
“Guy here named Alexander. A redheaded Brit. No pass, but he wants to see you.”
I hear Alexander’s voice, peevish in the background. “I’m not a sodding ginger, for fuck’s sake. My hair is dark auburn.”
Dion chuckles. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. You catch that, Ms. Sikora? His hair isdark auburn.”
I roll my eyes. “Give him a guest lanyard. I’m in my driver room.”
The last thing I hear before Dion hangs up is Alexander protesting, “Atemporarypass? Do you know who I—”
A self-conscious impulse spurs me to turn in a slow circle, taking in my room, wondering what it’ll look like through Alexander’s eyes. It’s messy, but that’s how I like it.I’mmessy. My driving style is about risk and possibility. It’s hot and full of hunger, not cool and calculated.
My “relationships” are messy too, but awesomely so. Undisciplined, wild, brief. I don’t stick with anyone long enough for emotionally ugly stuff to happen. I like fun, uninhibited people with larger-than-life style. Sexually adventurous sloppy loudmouths who throw themselves full throttle into a weekend of dancing and debauchery, satisfied to make memories rather than promises.
I pluck up a few articles of clothing draped like sweaty Spanish moss on a chair, hunting for an alternate place to toss them before deciding fuck it and setting them back down.
I finish the smoothie and jump-shot it into the corner trash can as my door flies open—no knock. I spin around with a bark of protest on my lips, which evaporates when I see the homicidal glare on Alexander’s face. He’s gripping the doorwaywith one hand, and from the other dangles a very large and heavy-looking shopping bag. He advances into the room—his once-pristine suit wrinkled, hair mussed—then calmly shuts the door. Near silence descends, aside from distant noises from the garage.
Alexander drops the bulging plastic bag at my feet. “It doesn’t exist,” he bites out. He takes another step, so close now that I can examine the freckles on his sculpture-perfect nose and cheekbones. I can smell his sweat, but weirdly in a good way. It’s like a combination of ocean saltiness and slightly overdone buttered toast.
After Phaedra and I got off that call with Alexander and Nefeli last week, Phae said,It’s really a shame a guy that hot is such a garbage-monster. Hell of a face on him.I pretended I couldn’t see the appeal, but from six inches away, there’s really no way to miss it.
“It. Doesn’t. Fucking.Exist,” he repeats. “Your ‘lady needs.’ Complete bollocks, dreamt up to make me look like an arsehole in asking for it at the shops.”
Oh God… I’d almost forgotten adding that to the list.Priceless.My lips quirk in a smile I cover with one hand. A bubble of laughter escapes. “Um, April Fool’s?”
