Page 36 of On The Edge

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“And I can’t believe we’re not important enough to you to pick a name for us.” His boyish grin is in full effect as he flashes it my way.

Everything about him is a juxtaposition right now. His dark hair and bronzed skin in the middle of a field of vibrant colors.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re being ridiculous.”

“And I think you need to step into the role a bit more and have some fun with it.”

Our gazes hold, that smile of his winning me over.

“Fine. Sure. Okay. We’ll figure a name out for us. But . . . we might need some time to come up with a good one because the two you just offered up are horrible.”

“Creativity is not my strong suit. It’s supposed to be yours if I’m not mistaken.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Hey. Wait. Are you saying yes simply because you think I’m going to forget?”

“No. I’m saying yes, but we need to come up with something way better than Cruddix.”

“Deal.” He holds his hand out and I shake it, ignoring the sudden heat his touch brings.

“Deal.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Maddix

Our ride back to the city is filled with much the same. Me pointing out things while he explains the little he knows about the city and its customs. The sun begins to set, the sky deepening in its colors in this alluring city.

“I told you, I rarely get free time in a city, so we’re taking advantage of it,” Cruz says as he eats a poffertjes, a miniature, fluffy Dutch pancake with icing, from a street vendor.

“Why do I not like the sound of that?” I tease and avert my eyes from the couple across the pathway who is staring at us.

For the most part, we’ve escaped recognition most of the day. Either that or people here are just damn polite and Cruz’s penchant for driving through the countryside has kept us out of the public eye.

Either way, I’m all for it because it’s rather unnerving when people are staring at you but pretending not to stare at you. It’s an awkward dance of do you smile and acknowledge that they see the person you’re with or do you avert your eyes and possibly come off like an asshole?

“You get used to it,” he murmurs before taking another mouthful.

“Used to what?”

“People looking. People squinting their eyes as if it’s going to help them realize that it’s really you. The nudges. The people walking back and forth several times in a row. The people obscuring their phones to take a picture and the ones blatant about it. You just get used to it.”

“How? It’s weird. It’s—”

“Not every city is like this. The people here are pretty chill. Other places not so much where the people are pushy and in your face. Enjoy this while we can.”

“Other places as in America?”

“As in a lot of places. This is a sport where people grow up rooting for the team their grandfathers loved. For some it’s a pride over heritage thing. For others it’s a car thing. And for even more it’s a popularity thing. Everyone has their reasons why they love their team and their driver. Regardless, Formula 1 is the one constant in their life when everything else seems to continually change.”

“Oh.”

He turns to look at me. “You really don’t know much about the sport, do you?”

I shake my head. “Were you under the impression I did?”

“No.” He smiles. “And you really didn’t know who I was in the hallway?”

“Nope. Not a clue.”