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CHAPTER THREE

ROCCO

R occo stood alongside Dario in the parking lot of Maverick Racing headquarters and looked around. Nothing but miles and miles of desert.

Why hadn’t he thought to stop for another espresso on the drive out here? He was beat. He felt as though his head had just hit the pillow when Dario woke him up.

The team principal asked if they could move the meeting up and stop by today—New Year’s Day. It seemed something had come up.

It pissed him off they would change things on a moment’s notice.

Dario placed his hand on Rocco’s shoulder. “It’s a good sign. They want to sign you before someone else gets the chance.”

“It’s not like anyone’s been knocking down the door. You and I both know that.”

Dario grinned. “Yeah, but they don’t know that.”

Rocco was doubtful. He’d raced for just about every top flight F1 team there was. And over the past couple years, he’d burned bridges with all of them. Given the damage he’d done to cars with nothing much to show for it, he’d become more of a liability than an asset.

Maverick Racing must have some inkling none of those teams wanted him back. People talk. And they didn’t seem to think twice about moving up the appointment at the last minute—and on a holiday, no less.

Normally, at this time of year, Rocco would have been at home in Italy with his family.

But when this offer from Maverick Racing had come through, he’d convinced Dario to come out a few days prior to the appointment to celebrate the New Year here.

It was difficult being around his family right now, given it looked like he might not be racing this upcoming season.

It made it even worse that none of them would broach the subject.

Not that he wanted to talk about it. It was obvious his grandfather had forbidden anyone to bring it up.

Even his two nieces, not known for being quiet or tactful about anything, had been mute.

But it didn’t matter. Rocco could hear the questions and the concern in his own head when he looked into their eyes. It was easier to be away from them.

Dario placed his hand on Rocco’s shoulder. “They want you, Rocco. You’re a proven entity.”

In some respects, that was a good thing. In others, not so much—especially if you were going by the past couple of years.

They walked toward the building, but Rocco stopped when he heard the roar of an engine—not just any engine—a Formula 1 engine.

Dario was about to open the door, but Rocco stopped him.

“Hold on a minute. Come on.”

He walked around the building. Out back was a makeshift track. He watched as a car zipped past.

It couldn’t be the car they planned to race this upcoming season. That was against regulations. It must be an older model they’d bought at auction.

He watched the car hug a turn. It looked as though the driver had yet to hit the brakes. Rocco rubbed his hands, feeling that itch just beneath his skin.

“Did they tell you who the second driver would be?”

Dario shook his head. “Every F1 driver is set. They’ve all signed contracts with other teams. So, I’m assuming it’ll be an F2 driver.”

“You’re sure no one else from F1 was cut loose?”

“I suppose it’s possible.” Dario paused. “But it’s more likely going to be an F2 driver being promoted to F1. And as for that driver there”—he nodded toward the car that flew past them—“the guy behind the wheel could be the second driver, or he could be a #3—someone to help test the car.”

No way is that a #3.

Rocco watched the car make another lap.

He drives like a Formula 1 driver.

Just then the throttle roared even louder.

He’s really going for it.

Rocco sniffed as the smell of exhaust and dust kicked up by the spinning tires met his nostrils and the car swept past them. It looked like it was going to skid off the track and hit the embankment before the turn, but the driver made a swift and calculated correction.

He didn’t even tap the brakes.

Who the hell is in there?

Whoever it was, there was no way that was a #3. That must be the second driver. And then he had a scary thought. They weren’t bringing him on thinking he was #2, were they? If whoever was in that car had already signed up, then they’d gone to him first.

“Not a bad idea to have a third driver,” said Dario. “Not only to run tests, but what if one of the drivers gets injured?”

“Maybe a driver getting injured is more likely to happen if there’s a third driver.”

“Why? Because he would make it happen?”

“Exactly.”

“Man, you really don’t trust anyone. Well, outside your family, my family, and me, of course.” Dario paused. “You don’t even trust yourself.”

He’d muttered that last part. Rocco figured he hadn’t meant him to hear it.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I just said you only trust a small circle of people.” Dario turned to him. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

This made Rocco smile. “You know I do. I trust you with my life.”

Dario made a mock gesture, staggering back and clutching his heart. “That’s a relief.”

“Except when it comes to my supply of GoGo squeeZ. I know I didn’t finish that last case on my own.”

Dario sighed. “I think we’re going to have to write something about that damn GoGo squeeZ into your contract.”

They had a good laugh and then were silent watching the car speed past them again.

“Celeste is right,” Dario said. “You have trust issues.”

Celeste was Dario’s girlfriend.

“For good reason.”

“Fair enough.”

Rocco hesitated. “I saw Carolyn last night at that party.”

“No shit! Why didn’t you say something? Did she—see you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. She texted me.”

“What did she say?”

“Just that she wanted to talk and she wished me a happy New Year.”

“Did you text her back?”

“No.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry I brought her up.”

“You didn’t. At least not directly. But you did bring up the issue of trust. I’m sure she won’t be the last woman I can’t trust.”

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, thinking of that woman at the bar. He’d never been bitten by a woman before.

He wondered what her reaction would have been had he been the one to do that to her, recalling his attempt to swing her around and put her back up against the wall. That slick move of hers had caught him off guard.

He wished now he hadn’t kissed her. If he hadn’t, maybe he wouldn’t be thinking of her now.

Then again, he hadn’t kissed her. She’d kissed him.

“Carolyn always needs to be in the driver’s seat,” Rocco muttered. “Like that woman last night.”

“What woman?”

“What’s that?”

“You mentioned a woman last night.”

Rocco hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud. He hadn’t meant to.

He shrugged. “That woman at the bar.”

“The one who took all your money?”

Rocco nodded.

He could shake off the loss of the money.

But the woman. She was like a thorn that had gotten under his skin. Thinking about her now was like picking at that thorn—not to remove it but just to drive it in deeper.

He didn’t like that things had ended on her terms, both inside and outside the bar.

“Why do you suppose she chose me?” Rocco asked.

“Carolyn?” Dario laughed. “Because you’re a pretty boy?”

Rocco’s brow wrinkled as he surveyed Dario’s perfectly symmetrical features, sparkling blue eyes, and dazzling smile. “That’s you, not me. And I didn’t mean Carolyn. I mean that woman at the bar.”

“What do you mean, chose you? She probably played pool with lots of guys. Wasn’t she playing when we got there?”

Rocco shook his head. “No, she arrived after us. But you’re right, she did play with a couple other guys. Only she didn’t play them like she played me.”

“You mean she was sharking you.”

“Yeah. She was a pool shark, all right. But why me?”

“Maybe because you look like a bonehead?”

“I’m serious.”

Dario shrugged. “Probably because she figured you’d have money, which you did. I don’t remember seeing anyone else in that bar wearing a Hugo Boss suit.”

“You were wearing Armani, so why not you? She knew who I was. She said my name when I met up with her outside the bar.”

“Well, there you have it. She knew you were a Formula 1 driver, so she figured, reasonably enough, you’d be loaded.”

“But if it was just money, then why not you? Your suit was just as expensive, maybe more.”

Dario remained quiet, looking as though he were trying to come up with a reasonable answer. Suddenly he grinned. “You said it yourself. I’m pretty.”

Laughing, Rocco shoved him. “All the more reason. You look sweet, like a pushover.”

“I do not.”

“We’ll ask Celeste. Let her settle the question. Trust me.” Rocco laughed. “She’ll see it my way. No one has ever called me sweet besides my grandmother.”

“And yet I’m not the one who took in two scraggly, flea-ridden, almost feral strays I located in a dumpster behind a club.”

“That makes me a humanitarian, not sweet.”

“I thought we were talking about a dog and a cat, not humans.”

“You’re right, it’s an insult to them. They’re better than humans.”

Dario sighed. “It’s not going to be that kind of conversation, is it? If it is, I need some coffee or a shot of whiskey. Maybe both.”

Rocco chuckled, shaking his head. “Forget it. I’m just saying I don’t know why she would pick me over you.” He paused, grinning. “Unless of course, she was choosing which one she’d like to sleep with.”

Now it was Dario’s turn to grin. “Oh, really? Righteous fail there! If she’d wanted to sleep with you, she would have missed that last shot.”

The driver slowed down, and the car finally stopped. Rocco saw a man walking toward it.

“That’s the team principal,” Dario said. “His name is Casey.”

Rocco watched as the driver got out and removed his helmet.

He blinked before turning to Dario. “Do you see what I see?”

“I. Think. So.”

Rocco’s mouth gaped at the sight of a long, wild, and disheveled mane of raven hair that looked almost blue in the sunlight.

“A woman?” he cried.

“Maybe she’s a #3,” Dario ventured. “A driver from Formula 2.”

“There are no women drivers in Formula 2,” Rocco snarled, his teeth clenched.

“Formula 3, then,” Dario said matter-of-factly.

Rocco glared at him. “And that would somehow be better?”

“Well,” Dario said and then paused. “Oh.”

Now he gets it.

“Yeah,” Rocco hissed. “Oh. Fucking. Oh.”

“It couldn’t be. How many women drivers are there in Formula 3?”

“Exactly one,” Rocco said, his jaw tight.

“Do you know what she looks like?”

Rocco shook his head. “All our interaction has been on social media. I suppose it’s possible we might have crossed paths somewhere at some point.

But if we did, I don’t remember. I don’t have any image of her in my head except something to the effect of an annoying, arrogant, asshat, bitch,” he spat.

“Yeah,” Dario said, a tone of amusement in his voice.

Rocco watched his cousin’s face crimson until that olive complexion of his resembled a hothouse tomato. He was holding his breath. And Rocco knew why. He wanted to laugh.

He wanted to laugh.

Real.

Bad.