“Right,” Cam said, clearing his throat. “I have to go. Team briefing.”
“Okay,” Scott said, giving him a mildly curious look. “Don’t let me keep you. See you around, Cameron Richter.”
“It’s Cam,” he said tersely.
A smile lit up Scott’s eyes before spreading to his lips. “Cam,” he repeated, as if tasting the word.
Cam frowned, unsettled by the strange swooping sensation low in his stomach.
With a clipped nod, he stalked away. He had the oddest urge to look back, but he quashed it and forced himself to stop thinking about irrelevant things.
Because that was what Scott Palmer was.
Irrelevant.
He had a race to think about.
Chapter 3
Cam was still buzzing from the champagne as he arrived at the club after the race.
He wasn’t much for partying these days, but a post-win celebration was a time-honored tradition he didn’t mind. Thankfully, the club was high-end, so there was less of a chance of being accosted by fans here. Most drivers were present, as were many team members.
Cam didn’t know why he was surprised when his gaze landed on Scott Palmer seated at the bar. Of course he would be here. He was rich enough to get access to whatever club he wanted, and he clearly didn’t lack connections.
Scott was dressed even more... eye-catchingly than usual. His black leather trousers clung to his long legs like a second skin, and his white shirt was sheer, revealing his broad, sculpted shoulders and leanly muscular torso. And nipples. And tits. For such a lean guy, Scott had very full pecs.
Cam dragged his gaze away—back to Scott’s face—and found him already looking at him.
Lifting an eyebrow slightly, Scott cocked his head in wordless invitation.Come here.
Cam found himself moving toward him before he made a conscious decision.
“Hey,” he said, his tone laced with annoyance, more with himself than Scott. Why was he talking to this guy again, exactly?
“Hi,” Scott said before gulping down his shot and setting the glass on the bar, his eyes focusing on Cam. “Congrats. You were incredible.” He rolled his eyes with a rueful grin. “If the opinion of a clueless American counts for anything.”
“Thanks,” Cam said, his gaze dropping to the nipples beneath the sheer shirt. They looked kind of big for a man. Very pink. Did Scott let gay men suck on them?
The thought was vaguely revolting, and Cam quashed it, uneasy.
“Leading the championship now, huh?” Scott said, flicking him a lazy glance before returning to people-watching. “How does it feel?”
Cam shrugged, leaning against the bar too. There were a few inches between their shoulders. “Business as usual.”
“Arrogant dick,” Scott said with a small grin, knocking their shoulders together.
The contact made him twitchy.
“Not that I’m not happy to talk to the man of the hour,” Scott drawled. “But aren’t your buddies waiting for you?” He nodded toward the big booth where the other drivers were seated.
“You’re the one who invited me over here.”
Scott raised his eyebrows. “Did I? I remember no such thing.”
Cam glared at him, his annoyance spiking. His hands twitched with the urge to—to wipe that casual smirk off Scott’s face. That dickhead would look good with a split lip, his mouth red and wet and—
“I’m pulling your leg, mate,” Scott said before grinning. “How’s my British accent?”
