Page 65 of Off the Grid

“You’re insane.” But I’m laughing and isn’t that something that he seems to bring out of me more than anything else?

“Perhaps.” He shrugs and winks. “But let’s not tell anyone. We’re busy pretending we hate each other, remember?”

“That’s not going to stop people from assuming we’re screwing around. Life’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is. Why complicate it? Sometimes making people guess or wonder adds to the intrigue. There’s a reason in my videos the towel drops every once in a while, but they never get to see what’s beneath.”

“Oh Jesus. We’re full of ourselves, aren’t we?”

My comment is met with a grin and that’s it. I hold his stare and take him in. His hair is fresh from the shower. He’s wearing a black V-neck shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans.

“Why are you up here?” I ask.

“I could ask the same of you,” he says. “We probably have the same answers. We’re both taking in our first race under our belts in our new positions.”

“I thought you’d be out partying on the town with your friends.”

He shrugs. “I went out with them. Watched them kick back a few—I’m in training mode. I’m trying to keep my girlish figure.” He lifts his shirt up to show off abdominals that look like they were cut from alabaster. “You think it’s working?”

The fact that I have to force my eyes up to meet his says his exercising is most definitely working.

“You don’t drink during the season?” I ask. Most drivers give themselves a cheat day every now and again. I’m curious what Riggs thinks.

“Not now, no.” He purses his lips and toggles his head from side to side. “I did promise my friends that we’ll have one night of reprieve, one night of celebration. That’ll be my one slip.”

“Your friends. Those friends, I presume?” The dare card friends.

“Yes. The ones you were so nicely mingling with today. Total monsters and arseholes, right?”

I level him a look. Of course, they weren’t monsters or assholes. They all seemed to be pretty stand-up guys. But I’ll hold my grudge a bit longer.

“You never answered. You’re here. Why?”

His expression softens, almost becoming nostalgic. “I don’t know, something drew me back here.” He sets down the duffel bag he has on his shoulder and steps up to beside me so he can get a full view of the track. “Maybe it was the quiet after such an absolute high. Maybe it was your dad’s advice: to soak it all in—each moment as they come. Maybe it was . . .”

“Maybe it was what?” There’s a quiet calm to Spencer Riggs right now that I’m experiencing for the first time. I saw it pre-race today and simply thought it was his preparation. But it’s here now and there’s something about it, a realness, that’s endearing in a way I don’t want to admit.

“Maybe I’m just saying goodbye to some old ghosts. Or possibly thanking them. Maybe hoping I can stop finally chasing them. I’m not sure which one’s better.”

The raw honesty in his tone is unexpected and captivating. The sigh he emits soon thereafter says he wishes he could take his confession back. His attempt to change the subject reinforcing it.

“Why are you here, Camilla?”

I fall quiet for a beat and look out over the dark, desolate track and think about earlier today before the race.

In a startled panic I push open the bathroom door and shut it at my back. My heart races and the anxiety feels like fingers clawing their way up my throat. Closing off my airway. Strangling me.

Breathe, Cam. Just breathe.

I can hear my therapist’s soft voice repeating the words over and over as I bend over and put my hands on my knees and focus on my breathing.

It was the capped head of blond hair I caught sight of and that distinctive laugh I heard from across the way. I stood there frozen as he looked over at me and grinned. Fucking grinned like what happened never happened.

The panic took hold then. The trembling. The memories replaying through my mind.

I freeze when I hear the distinctive sound of someone throwing up in the stall on the far end of the bathroom. Before I can pull myself together, the door flings open and Riggs is standing there pale as a ghost, sweat dotting his hairline, and the same shakiness I feel exemplified in his exhale.

He looks shocked to see me in here. To be caught in a vulnerable moment. But he narrows his eyes at me and chuckles as he bends over the sink, splashes water on his face, and rinses his mouth out.