Page 19

“You said that I was saying you weren’t a serious driver with that stupid tweet.

And that you had just as much hope and dreams and drive as I do and that you’ve worked really hard to get here.

” He paused and drew a deep breath. “And I realized then what an asshole I’d been, and I felt like shit about it.

” He looked up with a clenched jaw. “Okay?”

She swallowed. “Okay,” she said in a softer voice. “But I think my exact words were that I worked my ass off to get here.”

His eyes narrowed. “If you remembered what you said, why did you ask me?”

“Because I wanted to hear you say it,” she said, trying hard not to smile.

He stared at her a moment. Now not only was his jaw clenched, he’d fisted his hands, and she saw his chest rise and fall as though his breathing were picking up momentum. Looking at him made her wonder what the next words out of his mouth would be.

Suddenly he stood up, unzipped his suit, and slipped his arms out so that the upper part of the suit was left hanging off his hips.

“It’s fucking hot in here,” he grumbled.

Nico stared.

That undergarment shirt hugged him.

It hugged his chest. It hugged his torso. It hugged his arms.

It was like milk dripping over every ripple, every muscle, every everything.

It is hot , she thought, wiping beads of sweat from above her lip.

She knew the undergarment pants were made of the same material as the shirt.

She noticed how fragile his hips’ hold on that suit was.

It could slide down.

It might slide down.

Was it going to slide down?

If he kept walking back and forth like that, it was bound to.

Slide.

Down.

And if it did.

Got milk?

Yes, please.

Sliding down his legs. Sliding over his ass. Maybe even pooling in those dimples above his ass, if he had them. She wondered if he had them. He must have them , she thought, looking at his torso. There was probably some direct connection between a torso like that and above-ass dimples.

Thinking of his backside made her suddenly wonder about the frontside.

The milk would be all over that too.

The milk would be gripping that.

Dripping over that.

Gripping and dripping. Gripping and dripping. Gripping and dripping.

She blinked. He was staring back at her, and she’d been looking at just the place where the gripping and dripping would—

Did he see where I was looking?

She turned away, wiping the back of her neck. It was hot in here. Too hot.

When she turned back around, he had his arms over his head.

He was stretching.

Stretching.

Stretch—ing.

That suit, which was dangling off his hips, was perilously close to slipping, even an inch, and she’d see— Eyes north , she told herself, wiping her forehead.

But when she lifted her gaze, all she could do was stare at the shirt and wonder why he didn’t take it off.

It was hot.

Hot. Hot. Hot.

Why didn’t he take that shirt off?

Take it off.

No. Stop thinking that.

And yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself from thinking that.

Take. It. Off.

If she told her brain to stop thinking something, it should stop.

But her brain couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop.

Maybe her brain really was floating in a vat, and Dr. Wily was poking and prodding it, producing her lecherous thoughts.

Poke.

Take.

Prod.

It.

Nudge.

Off.

Take.

It.

Off.

“Hey!”

Nico blinked. “What?!” she shouted.

He frowned.

Had she just shouted? She’d just shouted. Why had she just shouted?

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It looked like you might faint.”

Her heart started pounding. There it is. Return of the annoying, arrogant, asshole, prick.

“Why would you even— Oh, of course, I’m a woman, and that makes me weak.”

“I didn’t say it because you’re a woman and I think you’re weak. I said it because you looked unsteady. Your pupils looked as though they might be dilated.”

“I’ve never fainted in my life!”

“Good for you.”

“What makes you such an expert?”

“I never claimed to be an expert.”

“Well, how do you know what to look for?”

“Because I’ve fainted.”

“Oh.”

“There you go. You have me beat. You’ve never fainted, and I have.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

There was a moment of silence.

He grinned. “You want to know how it happened, don’t you?”

She shook her head. “No. Uh-uh. I don’t. I have absolutely no interest. Zero. Interest.”

He chuckled. “Yes, you do. The question is practically tattooed across your forehead.”

Another moment of silence.

He sighed. “Let’s see. Well, my family was vacationing in the South of France.

My sister and I were left to play while my parents had lunch in the hotel restaurant with some friends.

I was six years old, and my sister was twelve.

They had saunas in the hotel—one for men and one for women.

And of course, some people would sit in the sauna naked.

My sister dared me to go into the women’s sauna and said I was chicken because I didn’t want to.

She shoved me in and held the door closed.

I was relieved no one was in there, but I wanted out.

I was about to bang on the door when I heard a woman telling my sister to stop playing around.

The door began to open, and I hid under one of the benches.

The woman entered, and I quickly turned around so I was staring at the wall.

I was too afraid to say anything. I kept waiting for a moment when I could escape, but women kept coming in. ”

Nico laughed.

He grinned. “That’s funny, is it?”

She shook her head and swallowed her laughter. “Sorry. How long were you in there?”

“I don’t remember. By the time they found me, I’d fainted.”

“Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like I’m a starving puppy.”

“I’m not looking at you like that.”

He chuckled. “You are. Anyway, I got my revenge. My parents were furious. So, of course my sister was punished.”

“How?”

“For the remainder of the trip, I got to decide what we would eat for dinner, what dessert would be, and what we would do each and every day.”

Nico smiled. “And I’m guessing you made certain to choose things she hated.”

He nodded. “I did.”

She laughed and then grew silent, staring at him.

I bet they were furious. Especially your mother. I bet you were a beautiful boy. Your mother must love you something awful. How could she not?

She blinked, suddenly realizing she was staring. He was too. He seemed to become aware of it at the same moment she did. They both turned in unison and began pacing in opposite directions.

Rocco mopped the sweat on the back of his neck. When he reached one end of the room and turned around, he stared at her, standing in the corner.

“Aren’t you hot in that thing?”

“I’m o-kay.”

“You know, that’s probably why you looked like you were going to faint. You must be sweating gallons. Why don’t you take it off? Or at least do what I did and unzip the top part.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She looked down. He waited.

“Because,” she muttered, “I don’t have anything on underneath.”

His heart began to pump faster, and it had already been pumping plenty fast.

“What do you mean? You took the undershirt off? This?” He indicated, pulling on his shirt.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was sweating like crazy. There were huge sweat stains on it. And Casey said I didn’t have time to go change. So, I slipped into the first-floor restroom and took it off. I left it there.”

“Oh.”

He looked at her zipper and swallowed.

“Do you have a—a bra on?”

“Of course I have a bra on.”

Now he was trying to imagine it. Was it black? White? Red? Pink? Maybe something entirely different like lilac. Was it lacy? See-through?

He blinked, suddenly realizing he was staring at her chest. He lowered his eyes.

“Oh, well,” he said as though speaking to the carpet, “a bra is just like a bikini top. I mean, they cover up the same amount of skin. It’s just this idea that one is a bra and the other’s a bikini.

There’s really no difference. Not really.

” He ventured a glance and met her eyes.

“Unless, I mean, I guess sometimes, bras can be, um, lacy.” He paused and then added hastily, “I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing. ”

The shirt and pants he wore under the racing suit were supposed to be flame-retardant, but now he felt as though he’d traveled to a world that was the polar opposite of this one—the south pole was pointing north, and anything flame-retardant was now flammable—highly flammable.

Hastily, he removed his shirt and tossed it to her. “Here,” he said, “you can wear this. It probably doesn’t smell very good.”

Shit! Is she going to faint? She had that same look. It really looked as though her pupils were dilated. But then her eyes were so dark.

He took a couple of steps toward her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m, I’m okay.”

He nodded.

She was looking at the shirt in her hands. He was looking at the shirt in her hands. And then it dawned on him. “Oh, right. I’ll turn my back.”

He did. He was glad to have the racing suit on down below. That crankshaft was really squirrelly now. It wasn’t looking just to point north but east, west, and all points in between.

Finally, she said, “You can turn around.”

When he did, he blinked.

She’d taken off the racing suit.

The. Entire. Racing suit.

Not just the top part but the bottom as well. It lay in a heap next to her. And not only that. She’d taken off the flame-retardant pants too.

All she was wearing was that shirt. It covered her thighs, but only a portion of them.

She sighed. “Thank you. That feels a lot better. Your shirt’s big enough, it’s like a dress.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, staring at her bare legs.

A short dress.

She sighed. “Much better.”

He bit his lip. “Yeah. Better.”

He sat down on the ground, picked up his bottle, and brought the straw to his lips just to give him something to do—to distract him from those thighs. And then he pulled it away. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you thirsty? It’s not water.”