Page 58 of Off the Grid

Elise moves out of the conference room, and I hit play on the video again. She’s right. Riggs’s videos are addictive.

I watch a skydiving one. A mountain climbing one. But I’m drawn back to replay the advice video.

I watch him.

I listen to his words.

Is this his way of non-apologizing, apologizing? His olive branch extended to me to smooth over what happened?

The angel and devil war on my shoulder. Wanting to believe the best of him as a person but also knowing how racers are, how guys like him are, more than I’d like to admit.

Isn’t that what drew me to Brandon all those years ago?

I glance back at the screen and Riggs frozen in place. Is that why he popped his head in here out of the blue?

To see if I’d seen his post yet?

To see if I forgave him?

I stare at his bright smile and handsome face and know the answer. Yes. I probably already do.

But there’s no way in hell I’m letting him know that yet.

Where’s the fun in that?

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Riggs

My eyes burn and hands ache.

My shoulders are tight, and my neck is stiff.

Is it from all the extra cardio and neck isometric exercises we’ve been putting in to try and prepare my body for the g-force?

Or is it simply from hours sitting in this simulator, memorizing every curve of the racetrack I’m going to be starting on this week?

Regardless, I need to work on not being so tense in my neck and shoulders. Or it’s going to be a long race. I’ll get a headache from the tension. It will affect my reaction time. It will add a few hundredths of a second in a sport where that blink of time matters.

Omar comes into my periphery as the screen goes black, and the simulated racetrack in front of me disappears.

“That was impressive. Better than I expected,” he says in his deep baritone.

“I’m going to take a break and then get back at it for a few more hours.” I extricate myself from the sim. “But I want my helmet and gloves on. A full dress rehearsal so I can replicate the race with the things I can control.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Noted. I’ll let the crew know.”

“Thanks. I don’t mean to keep them here—”

“Yes, you do, and we’re all more than okay with it.” He smiles for the first time. “No one at Moretti is going to frown upon dedication.”

I don’t know how to respond to that without sounding like a kiss-arse, so I don’t. Rather I go through my stretches to unlock my muscles, one by one, with the routine the physio has written for me.

“Tell me something,” he says.

“What’s that?” I look up at him from where I’m touching my toes.