Sadly, Sienna is there, sitting with her back to us, talking with one of the pit guys. Carrick is standing, facing our way, talking to Ben.
Almost like he hears me think his name, his eyes flicker straight in my direction, so I quickly look away, turning back to face the bar, hoping to get the bartender’s attention.
“Why don’t you go over to them?” I say to Petra over my shoulder. “There’s no point in both of us waiting here. It could be ages. I’ll come over with the drinks in a few. You can go chat with Robbie,” I say teasingly.
I told Petra what I’d said to Robbie and all about our fight. She was fine with it, and I was glad because the last thing I would ever want to do is upset her.
“Maybe I will.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “I might even pass up my plans for a French shag if Robbie acts like a normal person for once.”
I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “Go on.” I give her a playful shove.
Watching as she weaves her way through the crowd, I turn back to the bar, sighing at the sight of both the barmen down at the other end of the bar.
The DJ must have just turned up the music, and Calvin Harris’s “I Need Your Love” starts to pump through the speakers.
It’s impossible not to dance to this song, so I find myself moving to the beat, singing along with the words.
I feel a body press against my side. Turning my head, I find Leandro Silva standing next to me.
Holy shit!
Leandro Silva drives for one of the best teams in Formula 1. He’s brilliant, and he was considered number one for a long time—until Carrick came along and knocked him off his spot, that is. It’s rumored that they have a mutual dislike for one another.
I’ve admired Leandro’s driving for a long time. He’s one of my favorite drivers, and it helps that he’s Brazilian, not that I’m biased or anything. I’ve wanted to meet him for forever. Of course, I’ve seen him at the track, but I’ve never gotten up the nerve to go over and introduce myself.
I wonder what he’s doing here.
“Hello.” He gives me a panty-dropping smile, a sexy dimple appearing in his cheek.
Oh God.
Did I mention that Leandro is really good-looking? Like really good-looking. Not better than Carrick. Just different. To Carrick’s dirty-blond hair, Leandro’s is black. To Carrick’s blues, Leandro’s eyes are as dark as night. And to Carrick’s golden skin, Leandro’s is olive.
Okay, I’m guessing you get the picture.
“Hi.” I try to smile, but it comes off as more of a grin, and it feels awkward on my face. And that’s probably because I’m staring at him like a starstruck idiot.
It’s just…I’ve watched this guy race on the TV since I was sixteen! He’s a hero back home in Brazil.
“You’re Andi Amaro, right?”
He knows my name!
Hang on…he knows my name?
“How do you know my name?” It comes out sounding a little shorter than I intended, so I give a curious tilt of my head to play it off.
He lets out a deep chuckle. “You’re famous. Did you not know?”
“No.” I screw my face up. “Famous for what exactly?”
He angles his body toward mine. We’re suddenly awfully close for two people who have just met. So close that I can see the hint of chocolate brown that centers his eyes, and I can smell his musky aftershave. But then to be fair, there isn’t exactly a lot of spare room here at the bar.
“There aren’t many female mechanics in Formula One—and definitely none as beautiful as you.”
My cheeks redden.
What? I’m a girl, and Leandro Silva just called me beautiful. He’s a brilliant driver and a hot older guy—well, when I say older, I mean, he’s thirty—so, of course, I’m going to be flattered.
“Sorry, I forgot myself. I expect you to know who I am, but you might not. I’m Leandro Silva.” He holds his hand out to shake mine.
“Of course I know who you are,” I reply, my face flushing, as I slip my hand into his.
His hand is warm and rough. And I feel a spark of something. But nothing like what I feel when Carrick touches me.
Removing my hand from his, I turn back to the bar.
“So, I hear that you are a fellow Brazilian. Well, half-Brazilian. The other half is English, correct?”
I look at him, a smile tugging on my lips. “You know way too much about me.”
He shrugs, a grin touching his eyes. “When I find someone interesting, I make it my business to find out everything I can.”
Is he flirting with me?
It’s no secret that Leandro likes his women. He’s a serial dater, but the women are always models and actresses. Definitely not female mechanics.
And I don’t know why—maybe it’s the Jägerbombs or my feelings over Carrick and Sienna, the jealousy eating away at me—but I find myself leaning in and saying with a flirtatious tilt to my mouth, “And you find me interesting?”
A definite heat enters his eyes. “Very. I’ve wanted to meet you for quite some time now.”
I don’t know why, but I flicker a glance across to Carrick. And when I see that he’s not even looking but talking to Ben, it pisses me off, which in turn fuels me even more to flirt.
I look back to Leandro, giving him my undivided attention. “I’ve wanted to meet you for quite some time, too. I really admire your driving. I’ve seen all of your races.”
Almost like he hears me think his name, his eyes flicker straight in my direction, so I quickly look away, turning back to face the bar, hoping to get the bartender’s attention.
“Why don’t you go over to them?” I say to Petra over my shoulder. “There’s no point in both of us waiting here. It could be ages. I’ll come over with the drinks in a few. You can go chat with Robbie,” I say teasingly.
I told Petra what I’d said to Robbie and all about our fight. She was fine with it, and I was glad because the last thing I would ever want to do is upset her.
“Maybe I will.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “I might even pass up my plans for a French shag if Robbie acts like a normal person for once.”
I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “Go on.” I give her a playful shove.
Watching as she weaves her way through the crowd, I turn back to the bar, sighing at the sight of both the barmen down at the other end of the bar.
The DJ must have just turned up the music, and Calvin Harris’s “I Need Your Love” starts to pump through the speakers.
It’s impossible not to dance to this song, so I find myself moving to the beat, singing along with the words.
I feel a body press against my side. Turning my head, I find Leandro Silva standing next to me.
Holy shit!
Leandro Silva drives for one of the best teams in Formula 1. He’s brilliant, and he was considered number one for a long time—until Carrick came along and knocked him off his spot, that is. It’s rumored that they have a mutual dislike for one another.
I’ve admired Leandro’s driving for a long time. He’s one of my favorite drivers, and it helps that he’s Brazilian, not that I’m biased or anything. I’ve wanted to meet him for forever. Of course, I’ve seen him at the track, but I’ve never gotten up the nerve to go over and introduce myself.
I wonder what he’s doing here.
“Hello.” He gives me a panty-dropping smile, a sexy dimple appearing in his cheek.
Oh God.
Did I mention that Leandro is really good-looking? Like really good-looking. Not better than Carrick. Just different. To Carrick’s dirty-blond hair, Leandro’s is black. To Carrick’s blues, Leandro’s eyes are as dark as night. And to Carrick’s golden skin, Leandro’s is olive.
Okay, I’m guessing you get the picture.
“Hi.” I try to smile, but it comes off as more of a grin, and it feels awkward on my face. And that’s probably because I’m staring at him like a starstruck idiot.
It’s just…I’ve watched this guy race on the TV since I was sixteen! He’s a hero back home in Brazil.
“You’re Andi Amaro, right?”
He knows my name!
Hang on…he knows my name?
“How do you know my name?” It comes out sounding a little shorter than I intended, so I give a curious tilt of my head to play it off.
He lets out a deep chuckle. “You’re famous. Did you not know?”
“No.” I screw my face up. “Famous for what exactly?”
He angles his body toward mine. We’re suddenly awfully close for two people who have just met. So close that I can see the hint of chocolate brown that centers his eyes, and I can smell his musky aftershave. But then to be fair, there isn’t exactly a lot of spare room here at the bar.
“There aren’t many female mechanics in Formula One—and definitely none as beautiful as you.”
My cheeks redden.
What? I’m a girl, and Leandro Silva just called me beautiful. He’s a brilliant driver and a hot older guy—well, when I say older, I mean, he’s thirty—so, of course, I’m going to be flattered.
“Sorry, I forgot myself. I expect you to know who I am, but you might not. I’m Leandro Silva.” He holds his hand out to shake mine.
“Of course I know who you are,” I reply, my face flushing, as I slip my hand into his.
His hand is warm and rough. And I feel a spark of something. But nothing like what I feel when Carrick touches me.
Removing my hand from his, I turn back to the bar.
“So, I hear that you are a fellow Brazilian. Well, half-Brazilian. The other half is English, correct?”
I look at him, a smile tugging on my lips. “You know way too much about me.”
He shrugs, a grin touching his eyes. “When I find someone interesting, I make it my business to find out everything I can.”
Is he flirting with me?
It’s no secret that Leandro likes his women. He’s a serial dater, but the women are always models and actresses. Definitely not female mechanics.
And I don’t know why—maybe it’s the Jägerbombs or my feelings over Carrick and Sienna, the jealousy eating away at me—but I find myself leaning in and saying with a flirtatious tilt to my mouth, “And you find me interesting?”
A definite heat enters his eyes. “Very. I’ve wanted to meet you for quite some time now.”
I don’t know why, but I flicker a glance across to Carrick. And when I see that he’s not even looking but talking to Ben, it pisses me off, which in turn fuels me even more to flirt.
I look back to Leandro, giving him my undivided attention. “I’ve wanted to meet you for quite some time, too. I really admire your driving. I’ve seen all of your races.”
