As I chat with them, I notice theBuzzFeedguy is recording me with his phone. I try not to be annoyed by that. He’s just doing his job, but I prefer they tell me or ask before just hitting the video button. Then Andrew looks up from his own phone. “Your dad’s race team won the Vancouver Grand Prix. Just now.”
I smile and nod. “Cheers to Mirabella and Billy James.”
“Ah, so you’ve been paying attention.” Andrew looks amused. “I never said which driver won.”
Oops.
“Lucky guess,” I say and lick the rock candy swirl stick. His eyes go straight to my mouth. Good, hopefully it distracts him.
Unfortunately, he’s a sport reporter, so he’s like a dog with a bone even though I’m basically putting my blow job skills on display with this stupid candy. “You know Antonio crashed. Got too aggressive with Samuels.”
“Samuels was as greedy as De Luca was aggressive. The stewards will review his track position if they haven’t already. He should have given him space.” I wish I could stop my mouth from talking. I lighten my tone and try to sound less knowledgeable and passionate. I’m not in the race world anymore. I abandoned it, and people who follow me don’t necessarily give a shit about racing. “Anyway, accidents happen.”
“That Billy James is the definition of eye candy,” Amy gushes, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. It’s true, but I am so sick of women everywhere telling me this like it’s news or something I need to bond with them over. Or like they are hoping I will volunteer to introduce them. I won’t. I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve seen Billy James in person since that fateful night on the beach.
“Only Formula One driver to hit number one on our top ten hottest athletes list,” Mike notes, and his eyes, swimming in Midori, meet mine. “You know, I’m shocked you haven’t dated a driver. I mean, you grew up around them, right? There’s pics of you in the pit and everything as a teenager. No one got your hormones racing back then?”
I laugh at the thought. “I dodged that bullet on purpose. It wasn’t luck. Drivers are needy, aggressive, and greedy as I just explained, and it doesn’t stay on the track. I realized from a young age that they’d likely date me for a shot at a seat on my dad’s team, not because of me. I deserve better than that.”
Everyone is staring at me wide-eyed and silent now, even Jennie. I jump up, hoping to lighten the mood again. “I love this song!”
And with that, I dance my way out of the VIP area to the dance floor, Nick trailing silently behind me. Jennie is by my side moments later. “Good job back there.”
“Really?” I reply, confused. I thought for sure she would be pissy about the race talk.
“You gave them something real,” Jennie says. “They ate it up. And that ‘I deserve better’ line screams self-care and confidence, and all that shit that sells right now. So seriously, good job.”
She starts to dance right along with me. I smile. Yeah, all that shit sells because people should believe it. Believe in themselves, but they don’t. They just like to hear it anyway. And I’m there to peddle the image of someone who has what they want… even though I don’t. Truth is, I used to fantasize about a driver. I used to want my whole life to revolve around racing forever. The reason it doesn’t was because someone shattered that dream for me without my consent. And I still don’t know who. But it was someone in that world. So I left my family’s legacy to start a new one that I controlled completely. And I had no… well, nota lotof regrets.
