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“Are you staying?” Raj asks, hopeful. “We could get you a drink.” He’s already looking around for a waiter.
“No.” Jameson turns back to me. “I came for a word.”
His tone makes the hairs on my arms lift. “I’m off the clock.”
“A word, Townie.”
The others exchange a look. Theo opens his mouth to intervene, but I rest a hand on his sleeve.
“Go hang out with more adoring reporters,” I tell him with a smile.
Theo looks as if he’s going to protest but I shake my head. “I’ll be back.”
It’s the reckless look in Jameson’s eye that has me following him.
“What is this, Reign of Tyranny II: Revenge of the Hall Monitor?” I call after him.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he bites out.
“I mean you’re being a dick.” My most helpful tone doesn’t blunt the words.
I remind myself that no matter how incredible he drove today, I’m angry. He disappeared yesterday after qualifying. Then showed up at the party and had the nerve to glare at me and Theo like his brother stole his favorite toy.
This morning, he told me I couldn’t work on the car, the same one he publicly claimed me to work on. Then drove with calculated perfection, which only reminded me that when it comes down to it, nothing off the track matters.
Evidently, he’s the only one allowed to rattle another person. When someone dares to do it to him, it’s against the rules.
My heels click with every step until we reach the door to a concrete stairwell. It’s open air at the ends, cut away to show off the sprawling city and lights below. In the distance, the racetrack nestles in the hills.
In the quieter space, I strike first.
“If you want to give me shit about the setup for your car, rethink that.”
“Me?” Jameson looks around us at the stairwell, lit only by a sconce high on one wall. “You tried to change it mid-race.”
“Because you couldn’t handle it.”
He’s near enough I have to tilt my head up to meet his gaze.
“You were worried you’d look bad in front of the faculty handing out the internship.” His face is cast in shadows.
“I was worried about you. I thought you might have been in your head after last night, but you weren’t. After that pit stop, you drove so clean it’s almost embarrassing.”
A breeze has me wrapping my arms around myself. I’m feeling more vulnerable in the dark with him than I did in public with a camera in my face.
His square jaw works. “You thought that was clean.”
“Yes!” I sputter. “Plus, you left after qualifying with no explanation and you didn’t come back until late, and—”
“My dad was asked about the engineering students helping with the race,” he interrupts. “Apparently, he rubber-stamped it last week but didn’t realize the extent of it until now. He was furious, calling Vogel and threatening to pull the plug. It took most of the day to convince him not to.”
“Oh.” My mind is spinning. Shame fills my throat because I thought the worst of him. Again.
And he spent hours of one of the most important weekends of his life trying to keep me from being erased.
“Yeah, ‘oh.’ ”
Jameson’s mocking me, but it’s hard to process when his hand catches mine. A line of heat traces straight down to my stomach.
