“Did I hurt your feelings?”
“No,” Scott said. “I just think it’s cute that you’re still pretending you don’t enjoy talking to me. Give me your phone.”
Bemused, Cam handed it over.
Scott unlocked it by holding it up to Cam’s face and quickly did something on it. “I texted myself from your number. And saved my email for you,” he said, giving the phone back with a wink. “So you know where to send the VIP pass.” And before Cam realized what he was about to do, Scott stepped forward and gave him a loose one-armed hug, clapping him firmly on the back. “It was great to meet you, Cam Richter.” He flashed him another of his absurdly pretty smiles. “Even though you can be a bit of a dickhead sometimes.”
“Says the pot to the kettle,” Cam said, earning another grin from Scott.
He watched the guy stroll away toward the club’s exit.
Once he disappeared out of sight, Cam shifted his gaze to the phone in his hand and checked his contacts.
He had a new contact saved as Obnoxious American. With the sunglasses emoji next to it.
Cam’s thumb hovered over the delete button. Obviously he should delete it. What use did he have for the number of a rich fan who barely knew anything about Formula One? A male fan at that. A gay one to boot.
“Mate, come on, everyone’s waiting for you,” Archie said, slinging an arm loosely around his shoulders.
“Coming,” Cam said, shoving his phone into his pocket, Scott’s contact still there.
He could always delete it later.
Chapter 4
British Grand Prix
Scott Palmer smiled when he saw the email. An official email from McLaren F1 Team, inviting him as their guest at the British Grand Prix, VIP pass included.
“Darling, are you listening?” His mother’s voice made him drag his gaze away from his phone.
“Of course, Mom,” Scott said with a distracted smile.
His mother gave him a long-suffering look. “No phones at the dinner table,” she reminded him gently.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Scott’s dad chimed in, without looking up from his phone. “As long as it’s business, not whatever young people get up to these days.” His tone wasn’t harsh. It was amused, even.
But Scott’s stomach still knotted up. He knew his parents loved him. He was incredibly lucky to have such doting, loving parents—it was actually pretty rare in their circle. Most of his friends’ parents were either divorced or treated their children like shit. Scott’s parents had a strong marriage and spoiled him rotten in comparison.
But. He felt the gentle, unspoken criticism and disapproval every time his dad commented on his lifestyle. Scott knew he wasn’t the son Patrick Palmer had hoped for. He was too...frivolous. Too unlike him. His dad wasn’t a raging homophobe, but “traditional” was probably the kindest way to describe his views. He would have preferred an heir who married a nice girl from a nice family and gave him a couple of grandkids to spoil.
But all he had was Scott, for better or for worse.
“I’m full,” Scott said, pushing his chair away from the table and getting to his feet. “I need to pack. I’ll be taking the family jet, Dad.”
His dad frowned. “You’re leaving the country again? I thought you’d be attending the board meeting tomorrow.”
Scott shrugged, tugging at his collar. It felt like it was choking him. “I don’t think you need me there. I’ll just be in the way. Besides, I was invited to the British Grand Prix by the Formula One champion. It would be rude to turn the invitation down.”
He strode out of the room before either of them could say anything.
God, he couldn’t fucking wait to leave.
***
England greeted him with a dreary, rainy day.
Low gray clouds hung over the countryside as the chauffeur drove him from the airport toward Silverstone.
