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SIXTEEN

Blake

BARCELONA’S one of my favorite cities—the people, the culture, the food. I always make sure I spend a few extra days here after the Grand Prix. I was pleasantly surprised when Ella asked to tag along with me. Part of me was expecting her to keep her distance after my temper tantrum at the last race in Austria, but she seems determined to prove that everyone’s allowed to have bad days. Even if my bad days make me act like a “petulant four-year-old who lost their iPad privileges.” Her words, not mine.

It’s also nice to have the company after losing the race this Sunday. I’m aware that coming in P2 is technically a win since I still placed podium and secured eighteen points, but it’s not the win I wanted.

Ella’s never visited Spain before, so I take her to all the touristy hot spots. Park Güell, Casa Milà and Casa Batlló, Ciutadella Park, La Sagrada Familia. Her eyes widen in child-like appreciation at everything we see. The amount of sugary sweet churros she consumes as we tour the city is mildly concerning. I swear she has one in her hand in almost every cheesy photo she asks me to take of her. She takes photos of me too. Not because I ask her to, but because fans recognize me and ask if she’ll snap a picture. It amuses her more than it annoys her.

I invite her to hang out with Theo and me at the beach today, but she and Josie are going to Girona for a Game of Thrones tour. I guess they filmed some scenes there or something. They meet us at dinner instead, showing up almost twenty minutes late. It’s very unlike them both. Josie always says she’d rather show up at the airport three hours early than risk being five minutes late for a flight. I’ve never had that issue since I fly private.

Ella settles into the open seat next to me. Her cheeks are highlighted with a sunburn, her eyes twinkling.

“The tour was so cool.” The familiar curve of her smile appears. “You guys should’ve come with us.”

“We even got to try a Game of Thrones inspired ice cream flavor!” Josie adds. “It was amazing.”

It’s a toss-up which one of them loves ice cream more. Sipping sangria, we listen to Ella and Josie joyfully tell us about the tour. They might as well be speaking gibberish, but it’s hard not to be excited by Ella’s excitement. She can get me interested in paint drying.

“Have you ever thought about podcasting outside of sports?” I ask Ella.

She hesitates before answering. “No, why?”

“You’d be good at it.” I place a croqueta on my plate, my fingers getting greasy. “Take today for example. You could do an entire episode with the tour guide you met and talk all things Game of Thrones .”

“Yeah,” Ella says slowly. “But what if people don’t find that interesting?”

“Who cares?”

“Uh, sponsors, the audience, the studio. Me.”

“I’d totally listen to a Game of Thrones podcast,” Josie adds encouragingly. “I’d listen to any podcast you do, babes.”

Ella shifts in her chair, swirling the straw in her drink as if it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. I know Play-Media left a bad taste in her mouth, but I don’t know why she’s so hesitant to podcast again. It’s clear she loved doing it, and she must know she’s good at it. Right?

“Well, I think you should at least try it,” I suggest. “You have all the podcasting equipment after all.”

“Do you want me to give it back?” Ella asks. Her mouth draws into a tight line as her body goes rigid. “Because I will if you’re pissed I’m not podcasting with it.”

The table gets unnaturally quiet, the only noise coming from Theo slurping the remains of his drink. I’m not trying to be a dick. If anything, I’m trying to help Ella find her footing again.

“No. It was a gift, Ella. I’m simply saying you should think about it.”

“Noted.” Her tone is flat and sends a chill down my spine. “Can we move on now?”

“Anyone want to play ‘Never Have I Ever’?” Theo breaks the tension. “I want to know if Josie’s ever had sex in public.”

Josie scoffs with an eye roll. “Bugger off, Walker.”

No one’s more thankful for his distraction than Ella, who quickly kicks off the game. Three rounds later and we’re all tipsy. Ella messes up numerous times, putting a finger down when she hasn’t done something versus when she has. The first time is when she puts a finger down after Theo says, “Never have I ever done anal.” I nearly fall out of my chair before she quickly declares she has not, burying her face in her palms from embarrassment. After that, she keeps a finger up when Josie says, “Never have I ever lied about my body count.” A few seconds later, she swears and puts a finger down.

“In my defense”—Ella shrugs—“there are some people I don’t want to count.”

I wish we never played this game because I’m lying my arse off. Never have I ever had a sex dream about someone at this table. Lie. I’ve had numerous about Ella. Never have I ever thought about another person while fucking someone else. Lie. Thought about Ella while fucking the redhead she claims faked an orgasm. Never have I ever lied during this game. Lie. Please see above.

Josie and Theo get into an intense argument about the semantics of what constitutes sending a “nude.” He says Snapchat doesn’t count because it disappears. She claims if it can get you hard, it counts. The two of them are bickering like it’s a mock debate of the United Nations. If Josie didn’t have a boyfriend … she’d stand no chance against Theo’s flirting. Andrew seems like a nice enough guy, but I think she can do better.

“Do you think they’d even realize if we got up and left?” I whisper to Ella, testing to see if she’s still upset with me.

She digs her fork into her paella as she considers this. I wait patiently for her answer, pulling out the fleshy meat of a mussel and popping it into my mouth.

“We can put it to the test,” she proposes. “Want to go get ice cream? Jos and I passed a place on the way here that looked really good.”

I stare at her in disbelief. She’s eating seafood paella and is somehow craving gelato at the same time? I wish this is the most surprising thing she’s ever said to me, but it’s far from it.

“I didn’t realize clams and chocolate went together.”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s a yes,” I confirm. Theo can cover the bill. “Count of three?”

“Last one there buys?”

She grins at me, knowing damn well I have no idea where we’re going, so I’m obviously buying. She’s up and out of her seat before I even count to one. I’ve got to hand it to her, though, the shop she leads me to is amazing.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable earlier,” I tell her as we walk down the cobblestone street. “About the podcast.”

“It’s okay,” she says, a flush creeping across her cheeks. “I’m sorry for being rude.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of my thing, love,” I tease her. “I’ll grant you my forgiveness if you answer a question for me, though.”

“Theo asked me what’ll happen to him if he ‘accidentally ate a birth control pill,’” she says, struggling to keep a straight face. “So as long as your question isn’t as concerning as that … ask away.”

As much as I’d love to know how my idiot friend “accidentally” swallowed birth control, I can’t focus on that right now. Understanding Theo takes an extreme amount of brain power.

“Did you apply to other jobs before accepting George’s offer?” I’m only slightly worried she’ll bite my head off. “As amazing and handsome as I am, I can’t imagine moving across the world to interview me was your first choice.”

“A few, but not ones I was super interested in,” she admits. “I signed a non-compete agreement with PlayMedia, so when I left the company, I was limited in where I could actually apply.”

I lick my ice cream to hide my surprise. That rules out all the big sports and media companies—ESPN, Barstool Sports, Sports Illustrated, Fox Sports. Those are just a few of the ones I know and I’m not even American. “How long does the non-compete last?”

“One year, but there’s a chance I’m blackballed anyway, so I’m not sure that matters.” She snorts although I’m not sure I find the humor in the situation. “Connor told me he was going to ruin my career, and he’s well-connected enough to make good on that threat.”

My mouth opens and closes. The fact that my cone is still in one piece is a miracle. Ella’s chin dips down as she stares at her fingernails. I hate how her confidence dissolves the moment Brixton the bastard or her old job come up.

“When I called George for advice and he told me about your biography”—she waves her free hand in front of us—“I decided some time away from everything was a pretty good idea. Get back to writing and build up my résumé so people don’t actually think I’m lazy and difficult to work with.”

I don’t even have to ask to know that’s what Connor told people. I’m going to fucking kill the little prick. “What a bloody cocksucker.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mumble. “I’d never want to be a journalist after all of that.”

“Blake.” Ella chuckles, the dimple I’m so used to seeing making an appearance. “You’d make a horrific journalist.”

“Would not!”

“Um, yes, you would. Your interview skills suck.” She deepens her voice and starts talking in the worst British accent I’ve ever heard. “Why do you smother your coffee to death with milk? Do you even know what a biscuit is? Good God, must you be so bloody rude about my celery?”

Before I can help myself, I’m laughing so hard I’m having trouble not dropping my ice cream. “If I sound like that, please just shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

“Nah.” She nudges me with her elbow. “You can be a massive dick, and I may find you obnoxious at times, but I’m not going to shoot you.”

I refrain from adding that I also happen to have a massive dick. Instead, I say, “I find you obnoxious at times, too.”

“Have you been working on your compliments, Blake?” Ella shakes her head in mock annoyance, her brown hair shining under the streetlights. “They’re slowly getting better.”

“I know how to compliment!” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Just don’t want you trying to sleep with me if I give you too much positive reinforcement.”

“It’s cute that you think everyone wants to sleep with you.” She seductively licks her ice cream while maintaining eye contact in a tantalizing way. It sends a direct message straight to my dick. “Because I don’t.”

“So if I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t want to tear my clothes off?”

She snorts. “I promise your clothes would stay on.”

“Want to make a bet?”

It’s a quiet night, making Ella’s lack of response even louder. She stops in the middle of the street before turning to me. Conflicting emotions plague her face.

“You really think if you kiss me right now, I’m going to want to pull you into an alley and bang your brains out?”

I nod. Yes, yes, I do. The chemistry between us is undeniable. She may not want to be my fuck buddy, but she wants me. I’ve caught her admiring me more times than I can count. It’s not like I don’t do the same, although my cheeks don’t turn a vibrant pink when I’m caught.

“What do I get if I miraculously manage to keep my hands to myself?”

I try not to let the shock show on my face. I did not think she would take the bait. My dick twitches in my pants. “I won’t complain about you interviewing me.”

“Deal.”

I don’t have time to respond before Ella wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me toward her. I have to bend to meet her lips. They’re softer than I imagined, and I’ve imagined them a lot. Her kiss is light and gentle. I run my tongue against the seam of her lips, silently begging for entrance. She parts them just enough for me to slide my tongue inside and taste her. Vanilla, just like her ice cream. Mine’s a goner, dropping onto the ground as I wrap my arms around her waist. I lower and lower my hands until I’m squeezing her arse. Bloody fuckin’ hell, it’s a great arse.

She explores my mouth tentatively with her tongue, growing more determined with each moment that passes. Fuck, I want more. I need more. The quiet moan she releases lets me know she wants more too. My hands grip her waist, pulling her against me. I don’t give a fuck if she can feel how hard I am. I want her to know how hard she makes me. Our tongues wrestle, trying to gain dominance over one another. My mind is in overdrive trying to focus on the feel of her. She bites down on my bottom lip, causing an animalistic growl to escape my throat.

The kiss is electric and delicious and over way too soon. Ella pulls back, staring at me with angelic purity.

“Sucks that you dropped your ice cream.” She laughs with a gleam in her eyes.

How the actual fuck does she still have hers in her hand? I’m frozen in place. That is not how you kiss someone you don’t want to sleep with. That is a kiss that leaves someone breathless and overwhelmed and wanting more.

She continues to walk down the street as if nothing’s just happened. “You coming?”

I’d fucking like to be coming, but clearly that’s not going to happen.