“F2,” he clarifies, and it almost sounds like an apology. “My dad drove F1 and I’m going to one day soon. I’m not going to throw away my whole future by hurting anyone, least of all a beautiful girl like you.”
“That left hook probably hurt Dion.”
“Okay, I let me rephrase, anyone who doesn’t deserve it.” He winks again.
“Also, pompous panda?” I raise an eyebrow as my lips also raise in a smile.
“Have you met a panda? They can be real dicks,” Billy says with a deeply serious tone that has me bursting out laughter.
This all might be a ploy to get me to let my guard down, but the flutter in my belly falls for it hook, line, and sinker. I nod. “Take me to your private beach…”
I stop myself before I say his name because he didn’t give it to me. He extends a hand, like a perfect gentleman. “You can just keep calling me Aussie Hero. I like it better than my actual name.”
“I never called you that. Jennie did.”
“Yeah but I was saving you, so I’m yours.” He leans closer and I feel a cannon of butterflies go off in my belly because for a second, I think he might kiss me. But he pulls back and starts walking. “Feel free to give me your name though.”
I shake my head. “One day, but not right now.”
He’ll know who I am if I give him my name. Because he’s a driver I know he knows my dad. Between his championship wins and my mom’s death, which caused his retirement, and Mirabella Racing, which he named after her, my dad’s name and mine has been in the news a lot. Plus, Frankie is rare for a girl and he’s bright enough to make the connection. Lately, there’s been rumors swirling that I might take over one day for my dad as Team Principal, because I will. He wants it, and so do I – desperately.
Luckily, Billy seems to accept my lack of answer by giving me an easy-going, uber sexy smile. “I get it. I don’t want people to think they know me before they know me too.”
He takes my hand as we continue to walk, and it feels intimate this time because we aren’t running from anything. I think we’re running toward something. And I think I like it. I’m not wrong. The beach he takes me to is a sandy alcove between mansions. We perch on a tall, flat rock, sipping champagne and spilling our life secrets. What we think of the world, the sport of racing, our families, our hopes, fears, dreams, what makes us laugh, and what makes us cry. We make each other laugh, and we don’t judge each other when we both tear up. Him talking about his dad’s death, which only happened six months ago during a race in Tokyo, and me talking about my mom’s. We still don’t exchange names, even when the night ends with the orange and pink sunrise blanketing our epic make-out session.
I leave before it goes further because as much as I want it, I also have to get home before Jennie or my sister Lucia wakes up and sees I’m not in my bed. We’re all sharing the same hotel suite. Billy, my Aussie hero, begs me to see him again tomorrow night. “Meet me here again. Nine p.m.? This can’t end, you and me. There’s more to our story.”
“Nine p.m.,” I agree easily. There’s no point in playing coy. He’s got me. “I can’t wait.”
And the last thing I remember from that weekend was leaving that beach alone at ten-thirty because he never showed up. Everything after that was a blur until I woke up two days later in a hospital bed.
