Page 23 of On The Edge

The media paints a picture-perfect image of the Navarro family. One of affluence, pedigree, and expectation. Sergio Navarro, Cruz’s grandfather, reached the pinnacle of the sport at age twenty-five. After that first world championship, he went on to win four more during his career. Then there was Dominic Navarro, Cruz’s father. A man who was thought to be just as skilled and devastating on the track as his revered father, but never seemed to win a championship during his eight-year tenure as a driver. A disappointment was the description in one article that stuck in my head.

And now there is Cruz. The third in line to a Formula 1 dynasty with the weight of the world on his shoulders to reclaim the greatness with which his grandfather once dominated with. Skilled. Technical. Cunning. Fearless. All four words were used to describe him. All four a means to explain why he’s placed second in the points championship twice already in his short tenure, and that the world championship is so close that everyone in his camp can all but taste it.

He’s been slated to be the racer his father was supposed to become but never was.

Talk about pressure. About being under a microscope when an entire sport and its worldwide fan base watches your every move, waiting and wanting it for you.

Maybe that’s why his antics have been documented for all to see. His indifference toward those transgressions shown in interviews. But his pull among the younger demographic is strong despite nonchalance—or maybe because of it—hence Genesee Capital’s pursuit of him.

Cruz is the one thumbing his nose at the patriarchy despite benefitting from the Navarro patriarchy.

But as I sit here across from him and question what the next few weeks if not months will hold, I don’t see any of those warring traits.

I’m a people-watcher. Always have been. And over the past twenty-four hours I’ve consumed endless clips, interviews, even Cruz’s own social media posts, that show me that Cruz has a distinct on persona.

I’m also starting to believe there is an off persona that’s rarely seen too.

It’s the man in the break room having a panic attack. It’s the talented driver continuously compared to his noteworthy family. I’m wondering if the seeming difference is possible defiance—a man unapologetically trying to be Cruz Navarro and no one else.

That man who is utterly devastating with his flashy smile and rumbling voice. It’s no wonder women throw themselves at him.

His chuckle interrupts my thoughts. So does that slow crawl of a smile that does funny things to my insides, when it’s stupid to even think whatever it’s doing is real.

“One can work and sow oats at the same time. I won’t tell your boss if you don’t.”

“You’re not funny. This is important,” I say to try and even the footing of the ground it feels like he’s trying to tilt beneath my feet.

I straighten in my seat, not wanting to continue on this topic. This isn’t a get-to-know-you session as I expected. And maybe I anticipated Cruz Navarro to be more aloof, more of a pain in my ass, when he’s being neither.

“I live in important,” he teases and motions to my drink. “Are you afraid to drink around me? Afraid I’ll take advantage of you or is it more you might believe some of the rumors out there about me, and you’re not sure if you want to or don’t want to?”

“Rumors?”

“That’s a lot of baggage to go through for a first date. Maybe we should start with something simple.” He nudges my leg beneath the table when I’m already fully aware that his leg is positioned casually between mine. “Like—”

“Like rules and parameters. What you expect from me. What I expect from you. Kevin gave me a list of what—”

“Jesus. Can we not be so uptight on the first go-round here? Kevin is nowhere in sight. Therefore, his list doesn’t matter. So tell me something, Madds—”

“Maddix,” I huff.

“Hmm. You’re strung so tight, it’s going to be fun plucking your strings one by one until you come undone.”

Our eyes meet, his flirt game in full effect. But is he flirting to prove a point or is he flirting because he really thinks there is chemistry here?

You shouldn’t care, Madds.

Shit. Maddix.

He already has my head in circles.

“We should lay down our boundaries.”

“Lay down?” He smirks.

I huff. “Discuss. Determine. Outline. That kind of thing.”

“You know the Miss Priss thing is kind of a turn-on for me.” He leans back and sinks his upper teeth into his lip. “Continue. By all means. I’ll just sit here and watch.”