“One.”
I open my mouth to say my name but the boat erupts in cheers and whistles so loud I swear the floor and walls quiver. Then his mouth covers mine. He isn’t shy. This is no sweet, cute peck. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, his hand wraps around the back of my neck, and his hips bump mine. I grab them to hold us together and do my best to keep up with the pace and emotion of this kiss. It’s a tornado of lust and desire and nothing about it feels foreign, even though everything about him is.
This New Year’s kiss tumbles into a New Year’s make-out session. We’re pawing each other as our mouths crush each other and our tongues battle for dominance. I can feel his dick hardening against my thigh at the same staggering rate as my own and then the swoosh of a door behind us has us jumping apart.
Someone yells his name. A needy, tipsy female voice. We both glance up and there’s a pretty brunette in a halter dress. She calls out something in French and the only word I understand is “papa” which is French for dad.
“I have to go,” he tells me.
“I thought that was my line.” Oh. I’m witty when I’m aroused. That’s new.
He grins. “Unlike if you leave, I’ll be back. Carina over there just told me my dad is looking for me. He found out I’ve been parading around as a waiter and he doesn’t think it’s as funny as I do, apparently.”
What? I blink. “Who is your dad?”
"My dad owns the boat," Gabriel grins at me like it's no big deal. "Louis Allard."
The party is being hosted by Allard Couture. The boat is owned by fashion mogul and self-made billionaire, Louis Allard. And I just had my tongue down his son’s throat. Oh shit. This guy is officially, one hundred percent, out of my league. And I’m one thousand percent panicking.
He holds out his hand. “Come with me.”
“Happy New Year,” I croak out then rush down the hall to my left, pushing open the door and finding myself in a gaggle of people on a back deck. I start swimming through the crowd again and don’t stop until I find the stairs that lead off the boat.
I never look back.
4GABRIEL
Present day
Yeah, I’m drunk and just sang in front of a group of strangers in a foreign country, but unless that guy trying to get into my pants slipped something in my drink, I amnothigh. Still, I swear I just hallucinated a guy I once kissed. Because why on earth would the tall, dark, and handsome Aussie from five years ago in Monaco be at a drag queen karaoke show in Montreal?
My feet move toward the hallucination in question. He’s got his back to me now. Leaning on the bar, shoulders in, head bent like he’s trying to hide. From me? I remember the way he grabbed at me, needy and rough, while I explored that perfect mouth of his. That’s not something he should be hiding from.
He’s holding up a hand talking to the bartender, ordering a drink… no wait. Another finger goes up. Two. He’s with someone. Like I give a fuck. I hold up my own hand as my other one lands on his firm shoulder. “Make that three.”
His muscles tense and I drop my hand as he turns around. Now I’m chest-to-chest with my former mystery kiss. He smiles, but it’s tight and nervous. I smile back—all spice and heat.
“Hi,” he croaks
“Hello. Again.” He doesn’t reply so I’m forced to add, “Remember me?”
“Yes,” he replies swiftly before my ego can take a beating. “Of course.”
I put my hands on either side of him on the bar, his head brushes past mine on the left, so close our cheeks scrape against each other. And then, with our bodies essentially pressed together, my voice is low and deep against his ear as I say, “This is crazy.”
“You have no idea,” is his response. He pulls back just enough so we’re able to make eye contact again and then he says two blunt, bold words. “Listen, Gabriel.”
“You can call me Gabe,” I reply, which isn’t a nickname I actually condone from just anyone. But him… yeah he can call me whatever he wants. “But you’ve never told me what I can call you.”
“Axel.” Finally after years of thinking about my mystery kiss, albeit not every second of the day but enough, I have a name. It feels like a victory for all of fourteen seconds until…
“Hey, Gabriel!” Billy James, a fellow F1 driver, tucks himself against the bar beside Axel.
The bartender drops the whiskeys on the bar, and Billy scoops one up. Axel grabs his but when I reach for mine he warns, “Do you really need another?”
I don’t, but I grab it anyway. And then, without another word, I stalk off. Because I feel like a fish who was yanked out of the ocean and tossed onto the deck of a ship. Completely out of place and panicking. Billy James. He iswithBilly James? Billy is my competition in more ways than one, it seems. And that kind of makes my stomach lurch. Not because I give a shit about both of us wanting the same man. I have no problem taking that on with anyone. But Billy is dating someone. A woman. His team principal. And I seriously doubt she knows about this. I wish I didn’t. Not just because I’m gravely disappointed that my hot random hook-up bounced back into my life on this awkward wave, but also because I actually like Frankie. And Billy. Those two are on the very short list of people who don’t go out of their way to remind me that I didn’t earn my spot in F1. Frankie and Billy seem so in love. Like real love. The shit that is as elusive as a unicorn to me.
My thoughts are getting darker and darker, and so is my mood, which I would have thought impossible. Fuck, this world is full of shitheads. I swallow back the whiskey, which I hate, and decide to find that guy who wanted me. I need a distraction.
