He’s talking again, but whatever he’s saying is lost on me because Grady pivots in one graceful, continuous motion and walks back down the runway and damn his ass is fine. I’m used to seeing it in his race suit. And don’t get me wrong, it looks damn fine in that, too. But in a tailored suit? It’s fucking perfection.
“Earth to Ben.” Stefan nudges me with his shoulder. “Have you heard a word I said?”
Grady disappears behind the curtain at the end of the catwalk, leaving my cock aching for attention and my brain free to focus on my best friend. “You wanted to know how much longer we’re going to be stuck here.”
“After that.”
“Not so much,” I admit grudgingly. “Sorry, I kind of zoned out for a second there.”
Stefan stares at me for a long moment, and I’m convinced he’s seen through me. That it’s obvious to anyone with eyes how I’m lusting after Grady and he’s going to call me out on my bullshit. Then he laughs and calls me Grandpa again—in German, of course—and my overactive imagination goes back into neutral. Too bad my dick won’t do the same.
“I asked you if we could go somewhere a bit more quiet and grab a drink after the show. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“What about Lina?”
“She’s back at the villa, taking a nap. Turns out pregnancy really zaps your energy.”
“Drinks sounds great,” I lie. Spending time with Stefan in a crowded nightclub is one thing. A one-on-one conversation in a quiet bar where we can get talking about who knows what? I’m not sure I’m ready for that. “But I can’t. We’re going straight from here to a yacht party.”
“Yacht?”
“Owned by some oil baron.” I think Elodie said he’s part of the FIA, racing’s governing body. I try not to pay attention to details that don’t directly affect me. “He’s hosting an event for the drivers and team principals. Attendance is mandatory.”
He eyes me up and down. “So that explains the monkey suit.”
I tug at the collar of my tuxedo shirt. I’ve never been comfortable in dress clothes. But this shindig is black tie, so it’s not like I have a choice. Which, come to think of it, means Grady will be wearing a tux, too. The image of him in formal wear, his typically unruly sandy blond hair—tamed for a change—in stark contrast to his midnight-black tuxedo, has my dick, which was finally starting to flag, perking back up.
It’s definitely time for that bathroom break.
“You know how I hate these things.” I give my collar another tug before releasing it. “But when Elodie says jump—”
“You say how high.” He looks up at the catwalk, where the drivers and scantily clad female models are returning en masse in what I can only presume is the finale, then back at me. “Then I suppose I have no choice but to ask you here and now.”
Fuck.
“Ask me what?” My mind is running a million miles an hour. Does he want to ask me about the accident? We’ve never really talked in detail about what happened that day. More like danced around it. I wince inwardly at my word choice, since it’s not like Stefan’s ever going to actually dance around anything ever again. But I assumed he got the rundown on the accident from someone else on the team. Maybe now he wants to hear it from me. Wants me to admit to his face that I’m responsible for him being in that chair.
“Lina and I would like you to be the baby’s godfather.”
I must have heard him wrong. Yeah, that has to be it. Because there’s no way he just asked me what I think he asked me.
“Godfather?” My heart swells and I’m embarrassed to find myself blinking back tears. Real men don’t cry. That’s what my father—may he rest in pieces—drilled into me from a young age.
“Yes. You know, like that movie you Americans love. Except without the guns and drugs. Or the horse head.”
“Are you sure?”
“About the horse head? Of course.”
“You know that’s not what I mean. Lina—”
“We are both sure. She doesn’t blame you for this—” he thumps the tire of his wheelchair—“any more than I do. Racing is inherently dangerous. We both understood that going in. And what happened that day was an accident. Nothing more.”
“I don’t even know what a godfather is supposed to do,” I say, still stunned by his request. Doesn’t it have something to do with religion? I haven’t been inside a church in ages. I’m afraid I’d be stuck by lightning the second I crossed the threshold.
“We can figure all that out later,” he insists. But his tone is more warm than demanding, and his eyes are looking misty, too. “I just want my best mate to be an important part of my child’s life.”
The audience bursts into applause, and reflexively I join in, realizing that the show is over. Which means I have only a few minutes before I have to meet Grady backstage so we can—what was that phrase Elodie used?—make nice in front of the VIPs.
