I hate the way things are between us. I just don’t know how to get them back, so I’ve decided to give up trying.
I figure it’s for the best anyway.
I’m just counting the minutes until this weekend is over, so I can get away from them both.
But, mostly, I’m counting down the minutes until this day is over.
It’s race day, the day I’ve been dreading since I arrived here.
Petra and I did go out last night. She wasn’t taking no for an answer two nights in a row, and as it turned out, Carrick was at some sponsorship thing. The drivers always have loads of them that they have to attend throughout the racing season.
So, Petra and I went out for a few drinks with the boys, and then we broke off on our own to go have some girlie fun.
And we definitely had a lot of fun, judging by the stonking headache, dry mouth, and aching body I’ve just woken up to.
“Ugh,” I groan, rolling over, feeling like there’s a pneumatic drill going off in my head. I blink open my eyes that seem to have lost all moisture, and immediately, I close them again, squinting at the sliver of light coming in from the blinds.
I hear a similar deathly sound coming from Petra’s bed.
“Fuck,” she moans. “I’m dying. Actually dying.”
“Same here. And I’m blaming you,” I grumble. “It’s race day. I’ve got a tongue like sandpaper, and I can’t currently see straight.”
“We’ll get some coffee down you, and you’ll be fine.”
I turn my head on the pillow and give her a look. God, that hurts. “I’ll need a gallon of coffee to sort this out.” I point to my head.
“Greasy fry up and coffee, and you’ll be golden.”
“Ugh, don’t talk about fried food right now!” I cover my mouth with my hand, feeling sick. “I’m never going out drinking with you again,” I utter between my fingers.
“Hey, don’t blame me. It was your idea to drink Sambuca.”
“Was it?” I give her a look of surprise.
“Yep.”
Images of last night start to come back to me—us doing shots, singing karaoke, dancing on tables.
Ah, fuck.
“Oh God…” I sigh. “Did I make an arse of myself last night?”
“A little bit of an arse.” She chuckles. “But so did I, so you’re not alone, and it wasn’t like anyone we knew was there. But you had a good time, and it took your mind off of you-know-who and the pop princess.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I mumble.
“Look, Andi.” She rolls onto her side, facing me. “I know you said that what happened with Carrick was a one-time thing…but I just wonder if you said that because you know what he’s like, not because it’s what you wanted. Because it’s bothering you an awful lot, him being here with her.”
“It’s hardly bothering me at all.”
“You hid behind a tree yesterday, so you wouldn’t have to talk to them.”
“You saw that?” I cringe.
“Yeah, I saw that.”
I let out a sigh. “It’s just…sure I like him, and I know we could never be together. Yet knowing all that, it still—”
“Hurts to see him with another woman.”
“Yeah,” I exhale, rubbing at my dry eyes.
“Why could you and him never be together?”
“Because he’s a man-whore.”
She chuckles. “I don’t know. I think, with the way it went down with you two and from what you told me how Carrick behaved…maybe he did want more with you.”
“I doubt it. Irrespective of that, I don’t get involved with drivers anyway.” I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.
“Why?”
“I just don’t.”
She blows out a breath. “You can tell me, you know. You can trust me. I won’t tell anyone. I know you might think I’m a gossip, but I can keep things private that truly matter.”
I stare at her and suddenly find myself in a rare moment of honesty. “I lost someone I loved to Formula One. He died in an accident on the track.”
“I’m sorry, Andi.”
“It was a long time ago.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter, but it’s all that matters.
“Is that why you work for Formula One? To somehow still be close to this person?”
Petra is more perceptive than I give her credit for.
“Partly. I studied engineering at university because I wanted to learn how to build better engines. People are always going to race, but I want to be able to help make a car be as safe as it can be before they take it out on the track. Also, I work here because I love it. Cars are all I’ve ever known. I grew up with my head under the hood of a car.” I chuckle, a hint of sadness in it. “Yeah, I guess being here, doing this, does make me feel close to my dad.”
I realize my slip up immediately, and I freeze cold.
“It was your dad who died?”
I flash a panicked glance at her, suddenly feeling like I can’t breathe.
“It’s okay, Andi,” she reassures in a soothing voice. “I won’t say anything to anyone. I just—why do you keep it a secret?”
I let out a long sigh, and then I turn to her. “I keep it a secret because my dad is—was…William Wolfe.”
“Oh.” She looks taken aback. “Oh. Fuck. Andi…why didn’t you tell me? But wait—” She shakes her head like she’s clearing it. “Didn’t he…your dad…didn’t he…die…here in Monaco?”
I figure it’s for the best anyway.
I’m just counting the minutes until this weekend is over, so I can get away from them both.
But, mostly, I’m counting down the minutes until this day is over.
It’s race day, the day I’ve been dreading since I arrived here.
Petra and I did go out last night. She wasn’t taking no for an answer two nights in a row, and as it turned out, Carrick was at some sponsorship thing. The drivers always have loads of them that they have to attend throughout the racing season.
So, Petra and I went out for a few drinks with the boys, and then we broke off on our own to go have some girlie fun.
And we definitely had a lot of fun, judging by the stonking headache, dry mouth, and aching body I’ve just woken up to.
“Ugh,” I groan, rolling over, feeling like there’s a pneumatic drill going off in my head. I blink open my eyes that seem to have lost all moisture, and immediately, I close them again, squinting at the sliver of light coming in from the blinds.
I hear a similar deathly sound coming from Petra’s bed.
“Fuck,” she moans. “I’m dying. Actually dying.”
“Same here. And I’m blaming you,” I grumble. “It’s race day. I’ve got a tongue like sandpaper, and I can’t currently see straight.”
“We’ll get some coffee down you, and you’ll be fine.”
I turn my head on the pillow and give her a look. God, that hurts. “I’ll need a gallon of coffee to sort this out.” I point to my head.
“Greasy fry up and coffee, and you’ll be golden.”
“Ugh, don’t talk about fried food right now!” I cover my mouth with my hand, feeling sick. “I’m never going out drinking with you again,” I utter between my fingers.
“Hey, don’t blame me. It was your idea to drink Sambuca.”
“Was it?” I give her a look of surprise.
“Yep.”
Images of last night start to come back to me—us doing shots, singing karaoke, dancing on tables.
Ah, fuck.
“Oh God…” I sigh. “Did I make an arse of myself last night?”
“A little bit of an arse.” She chuckles. “But so did I, so you’re not alone, and it wasn’t like anyone we knew was there. But you had a good time, and it took your mind off of you-know-who and the pop princess.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I mumble.
“Look, Andi.” She rolls onto her side, facing me. “I know you said that what happened with Carrick was a one-time thing…but I just wonder if you said that because you know what he’s like, not because it’s what you wanted. Because it’s bothering you an awful lot, him being here with her.”
“It’s hardly bothering me at all.”
“You hid behind a tree yesterday, so you wouldn’t have to talk to them.”
“You saw that?” I cringe.
“Yeah, I saw that.”
I let out a sigh. “It’s just…sure I like him, and I know we could never be together. Yet knowing all that, it still—”
“Hurts to see him with another woman.”
“Yeah,” I exhale, rubbing at my dry eyes.
“Why could you and him never be together?”
“Because he’s a man-whore.”
She chuckles. “I don’t know. I think, with the way it went down with you two and from what you told me how Carrick behaved…maybe he did want more with you.”
“I doubt it. Irrespective of that, I don’t get involved with drivers anyway.” I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.
“Why?”
“I just don’t.”
She blows out a breath. “You can tell me, you know. You can trust me. I won’t tell anyone. I know you might think I’m a gossip, but I can keep things private that truly matter.”
I stare at her and suddenly find myself in a rare moment of honesty. “I lost someone I loved to Formula One. He died in an accident on the track.”
“I’m sorry, Andi.”
“It was a long time ago.” I shrug like it doesn’t matter, but it’s all that matters.
“Is that why you work for Formula One? To somehow still be close to this person?”
Petra is more perceptive than I give her credit for.
“Partly. I studied engineering at university because I wanted to learn how to build better engines. People are always going to race, but I want to be able to help make a car be as safe as it can be before they take it out on the track. Also, I work here because I love it. Cars are all I’ve ever known. I grew up with my head under the hood of a car.” I chuckle, a hint of sadness in it. “Yeah, I guess being here, doing this, does make me feel close to my dad.”
I realize my slip up immediately, and I freeze cold.
“It was your dad who died?”
I flash a panicked glance at her, suddenly feeling like I can’t breathe.
“It’s okay, Andi,” she reassures in a soothing voice. “I won’t say anything to anyone. I just—why do you keep it a secret?”
I let out a long sigh, and then I turn to her. “I keep it a secret because my dad is—was…William Wolfe.”
“Oh.” She looks taken aback. “Oh. Fuck. Andi…why didn’t you tell me? But wait—” She shakes her head like she’s clearing it. “Didn’t he…your dad…didn’t he…die…here in Monaco?”
