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“One can never be too dressed up around this crowd. We’re moving with the glamourous A-listers tonight.”

Serena had been ecstatic when I told her that Nicky was coming out with us tonight. She said that meant a lot of the other drivers may join, expanding the pool of eye candy for us to peruse by an exponential amount.

I press a hand to my stomach, taking another look at my reflection in the mirror. “Are you sure this is okay?”

Bubbles of self-doubt try to work their way up to the surface, and I rush to pop them all.

I know I look good—great even—in this outfit, but my time with Troy definitely poked holes in my once-solid self-confidence.

Though it does feel good to know these doubts are fading into the background the further into the F1 season we go .

“You look amazing. All the men will clamour to talk to you. Nicky is going to hate it.”

I glare at her cheeky grin. I know she says stuff like this to get a rise out of me, yet I fall for it almost every time.

“Come on, let’s go.” I link my arm through hers, all thoughts about my appearance now gone as bubbles of excitement at spending the evening in Nicky’s orbit take their place. “The restaurant is just down the road; we can walk there.”

Seven minutes and many complaints about sore feet from Serena later, we arrive. From the looks of it, the place has been reserved just for the teams and their crew members and walking in, I feel amazed again that I’m even here.

“This is so cool,” I whisper as we pass Team Ferrari and Team Mercedes. The drivers from both teams are at the table and they nod at us as we walk by.

“I know,” she whispers back, clutching my arm to hers. “I’ve never been to a celebration like this before.”

The restaurant is heaving with people and we have to dodge our way around elbows and shoulders until we find our people.

Patrick jumps up as we approach. “Here, sit here.” He motions to the seats next to him and we do as he says.

“Thanks.” I look around the long table, smiling at Nicky, who nods back at me from his spot at the head of the table.

It’s like he’s holding court from up there. Like a king.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Patrick beams at me and I turn to give him my full attention.

“Yes, it’s so amazing. And congrats on your podium today.” He finished third in the race, his first podium position ever, and I can feel the excited energy pouring off him in waves.

“Maybe some of Nicky’s good luck has rubbed off on me as well?” He winks and I smile, unsure of what he’s actually saying .

More subtext without context.

“Well, cheers to the team,” Serena chimes in, saving me by holding her wine glass—her very full wine glass—up and cheersing with the people around her.

I follow suit, taking a big sip, and focus on surveying the food served up on platters in front of us.

Selecting an array of sashimi and sushi, along with a small bowl of miso soup and a piece of fresh tuna steak, I get busy making my concoction of wasabi and soy sauce mix.

It’s a delicate balance that one needs to get right, to avoid the risk of that nose-hair-singeing wasabi hit.

“It needs more soy sauce.” Nicky’s deep voice penetrates my concentration. He’s dragging a chair from the table behind us, wedging himself in the tight space between me and his teammate, while peering over my shoulder to watch me work.

“You think?” I add more sauce to my mix and stir it in with a chopstick. He’s right; the colour is now the perfect shade of greenish brown.

I swallow down the butterflies at having him so close to me, along with a piece of sashimi, and half-listen to the chatter around me.

Everyone is doing their best to not side-eye us, and failing, and I wonder what Nicky was thinking, inserting his big body so closely next to mine.

It’s like he’s waving an enormous flag around me, letting everyone know I’m off-limits.

I’m just not sure why he’s doing it.

“Too bad there’s no fortune cookies here,” he whispers into my ear. A smile tickles my lips at the reminder and I shake my head at him.

He returns my smile, his eyes squinting as he looks me over.

I watch, my breath hitching in my lungs, as he leans forward, reaching over to tug gently at my long curls where they’re lying down my back, trapped between my body and the chair behind me.

My heart stutters as his fingers leave a slow trail across my bare skin, lighting it on fire, and when he’s done, I risk a peek up at him, to find he’s not even paying me any attention.

He’s chatting with Patrick next to him, oblivious to the carnage he’s just left on my nervous system.

A small huff escapes me and I turn back to where Serena is watching this all unfold, her eyes twinkling as they bounce between me and where his hand is now lingering on the back of my chair. Not touching me, but still right there.

“Told you so,” she mouths at me. I take a deep swallow of my wine and place a hand over my racing heart. It needs to calm down before I have a heart attack and ruin whatever is happening here.

What is happening here?

“Should we go out after this?” Serena speaks up, pulling me out of my daze.

The trays of food on the table are mostly empty and the crowd has thinned.

We’ve finished a bottle of wine, just the two of us, and between the effect of Nicky’s hand near my skin and the high alcohol content of this expensive bottle of wine, I’m just tipsy enough to think this is a wonderful idea.

“We should go to the Skydeck. The giant Ferris wheel,” I suggest. I’ve been dying to get up in that thing since I laid my eyes on it.

She claps. “Oooh, good idea!”

We push our chairs back in unison and I turn to Nicky, like a flower turning to the sun. Like he’s my true north.

“We’re heading out,” I tell him, hoping he’ll offer to come with us.

His eyes bore into mine. “Are you good?”

I think I nod. Can’t be sure. I’ve lost all feeling in my body; the aftereffects of that gaze on me.

“Cherry?” He takes my hand in his, his fingers squeeze mine and I snap back to the moment .

“Yes, I’m good.”

He frowns, looking between me and a grinning Serena. “Okay, have a good night.”

I deflate somewhat and lecture myself not to be stupid. Of course he won’t want to come out with us. He’s probably got more important, less drunk people he’d rather spend time with.

“We will. Bye.” I wiggle my fingers at him and walk away from the table, feeling his eyes on me the whole way out.

“Wow,” Serena says as we burst out of the restaurant, clutching each other and giggling.

“Yeah, that was…” I stop. My train of thought is lost in my Nicky fog.

We start towards the giant Ferris wheel, the trip taking longer than it should as we walk in a zigzag motion that is suddenly hilarious.

“Hey, what’s he doing?”

I glance over my shoulder and sigh. I pull my friend to a stop and turn to face the man walking three steps behind us.

“James, you don’t need to be here.”

He grins. “Sorry, Cherry. I do what the boss tells me.”

“Nicky sent his bodyguard to watch over you?” Serena asks in a loud whisper. So loud she may as well have screamed it.

I tug her along, not sure what to make of the whole thing. On the one hand, it’s sweet that Nicky wants to make sure I’m safe. On the other, it’s annoying. And overbearing. And suffocating.

“That’s so sweet,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes in a dreamy expression.

I look back at James, watching over the two of us, and give in to the inevitable. Fine, Nicky wanting me to be protected and safe is sweet .

It’s so sweet I’m not sure what to think or do about it. I just need to remember that at the end of the F1 season all of this stuff, this time with Nicky, with his attention—and hands—on me, is going to end.

Whether I want it to or not.