Page 7

SEVEN

Ella

IT’S NOT that I had high hopes that Blake was going to be the easiest person to work with, but suggesting we fool around was out of left field. He said it so casually that he may as well have been asking me to split an Uber with him. When I told Poppy, she said I was an idiot for shooting the idea down. She kept going on and on about how it’d be great if I could include his skills both on and off the track in the book. Whatever .

I wasn’t lying to Blake when I said I couldn’t do casual sex. I’ve tried and it doesn’t work for me. I like emotional intimacy too much. To his credit, he took my refusal with grace and hasn’t made me feel uncomfortable in the slightest since.

Our conversation did allow me to pass whatever weird test he was giving me. He’s sticking to his pinky promise and finally allowing me to spend time with him. We’re walking around the Canadian Grand Prix circuit, something Blake likes to do before each race, when he asks me the highest speed I’ve ever driven.

“I once went ninety mph and got pulled over,” I reveal as we near the end of the track. “The officer let me off with a warning, but I haven’t sped since then.”

“Have you ever been on a hot lap?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

A hot lap is pretty much the closest an average person can get to feeling even a quarter of what a Formula 1 driver does when they’re on the track. I’m sure the experience costs more than the car itself, and that’s saying a lot.

“How can you write a book about me without having experienced what being in a Formula 1 car is like?”

“Taking a hot lap isn’t in a Formula 1 car, though,” I point out.

“Close enough.” He stops walking and turns to face me. “You need to experience it in order to accurately write about me.”

“It’s called research. People write about astronauts without going to space. They write about presidents without having been elected.” I’m on a roll. “Do you think Eric Carle went through metamorphosis to become a butterfly before writing The Very Hungry Caterpillar ? No. He did research.”

“Ella.”

“Blake.”

Not a single bone in my body has any desire to go 250 mph in a high-performance sports car with Blake behind the wheel.

“Some people pay upwards of eleven thousand pounds to take a drive with a Formula 1 driver,” he says as if this will sway me.

“Yeah, but those people are clearly on crack.”

Blake looks at me with the confidence of someone who’s used to getting their way. He waves over Josie. She’ll have to side with me. McAllister doesn’t want to be culpable for my death, right?

“Hi!” Her smile is easy as she jogs over to us. “What’s going on?”

“Ella is claiming she has no interest in going on a hot lap with me.”

Great, now both Josie and Blake are looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. She shoots me an apologetic look before admitting, “I’m sorry, babes, but I actually think it’ll be great for our social media.”

“Traitor.” I narrow my eyes at her. “I am so watching the season two finale without you.”

We’ve been binge-watching Game of Thrones together, although Josie covers her eyes for half of the episodes leaving me to fill in the blanks.

“Don’t be mad,” she laughs, calling my bluff. “They’ve been wanting me to push the experience on our channels, and what better way than with a clip of what it’s like with Blake behind the wheel?”

He throws his arm around my shoulders. “C’mon, Ella. You can’t say no to Josie, and I’m the best there is.”

“The best at what? First-degree murder?” I snap, ignoring the flush prickling my skin thanks to Blake’s touch. “I’m pretty sure the content will get flagged for violating community guidelines when I fucking die on camera, anyway.”

“I’m seriously starting to worry about how much you bring up murder.” Now he sounds like my mother. There’s a reason that Law & Order has won so many Emmy Awards. “These cars have precautions on them. If they were really so dangerous, they wouldn’t be letting us take fans out in them. I promise you’re going to be safe.”

He sticks out his pinky, but I promptly smack his hand away. Excuse me for wanting to keep my organs in place and intact. They both spend the next ten minutes convincing me I’ll have the best time of my life. How the speed will make me feel invincible and it’ll give me an adrenaline rush like never before.

“Fine,” I reluctantly give in, glaring at a very pleased Blake. “I’ll do it. But if I throw up all over myself, I’m taking your credit card and buying myself a new wardrobe.”

His dark eyes settle on mine before he winks. “Whatever you want, love.”

Josie hums along to “Eye of the Tiger” as we make our way over to the Hot Laps tent. My heart is pounding in my ears. Everyone there is wearing so many lanyards, I feel unfashionable with just my single McAllister one.

“Do you want water?” Blake asks, tilting his head. “You look kind of faint.”

“If you want me to pee in my pants mid-drive then sure, I’ll take a water, Blake.”

There’s no way in hell he wants to be my fuck buddy now. I’ve mentioned throwing up, peeing in my pants, and shitting myself about twelve times on our walk over here. Nothing turns a guy off more than female bodily functions.

Fans paying for the experience lose their minds when Blake walks into the tent. He’s not one of the drivers set to take people out today, so his presence is an added bonus. Given the tight schedule for the track on race weekends, I’m surprised he’s able to get us a vehicle. I’m asked to fill out a waiver just in case anything should happen to me. Nothing makes me feel safer than signing my life away. You’d think I have chronic asthma with the way strangled air is fighting to leave my lungs as we walk over to the car. Its black paint glints angrily in the sun.

Blake tugs a helmet onto my head, making sure it’s snug. The way his fingers graze against my cheeks isn’t making breathing any easier.

“It’s going to be fun, okay? Trust me.” He lightly taps the helmet. “Safe and secure.”

Josie sets up her GoPro camera on the dashboard to capture my experience. It’s strapped down more securely than I am with the measly seat belt I click into place. I think my stomach is going to fall out of my ass. White knuckles grip the console as Blake checks the mirrors and makes sure everything is good to go. This is where it ends. Do I even have life insurance? Or a will? I never told Josie to clear my search history. Shit.

“You ready?”

“No.”

I try to whip my head around to face him, but the chunky weight of the helmet prohibits the movement as we speed forward. Blake takes the out lap on the track “slow” because 160 mph is apparently a great way to ease into the circuit. I scream at the top of my lungs the entire time, only stopping to incorporate some swear words into the mix. It isn’t until we get to the first full lap that he really nails the pedal to the metal.

The acceleration is so violent I feel like I’m being launched out of a slingshot. My stomach fully hits my spine as the car rockets forward. It’s like my entire body is in free fall even though we’re level with the ground we’re blazing over. Completely disorienting doesn’t even begin to cover it. The car’s engine rumbles through the seat, my helmet bouncing around like a stupid bobblehead.

“Having fun yet?” Blake asks.

“No!” I scream. “What part of my kidney and uterus switching places is fun?!”

In the second lap, I try to anticipate the braking force of the turns by leaning left or right and fail miserably. The way the car reduces speed so effortlessly knocks the wind out of me each and every time. I manage to turn my head to look at Blake and he’s cool as a cucumber. Only one hand is on the steering wheel, the other resting next to mine on the console.

“Ten and two, you maniac!” I shout. “Keep your hands at ten and two! What sort of driver’s ed did you go to?”

He makes no move to adjust his position. “Want to go faster?”

“This isn’t the fastest this thing goes?” I squeak out.

“We’re barely skimming the surface, baby.” He flashes me a grin that makes me press my legs together. “Get ready to burn some rubber.”

Blake happily rearranges my perception of what fast means. The high pitch of my shrieks as the wind blurs past us rivals only the squealing of tires against the asphalt.

“Finally ready to admit that I’m the best?”

I ignore him. He presses down on the accelerator, launching us through the straight faster than my brain can comprehend.

“What about now?”

My vision blurs as I’m pushed back into the cushioned seat, trapped by the force of an invisible hand. How is this thing still speeding up?

“Fine! You’re the best driver in the world!” I shout. “Everyone should bow down to how fucking fantastic you are! You’re a god among men.”

“You sound a little sarcastic,” he notes.

I’m going to kill him if he doesn’t kill me first.

“I, Eliana Jane Gold, hereby pronounce that Blake Hollis is the best driver in the entire universe. I will forever be impressed by the way he majestically handles a car! Happy?!”

“Very,” he says. I don’t even need to look over to know that fucker is wearing a shit-eating grin. “I thought you were a screamer. Glad I can now confirm.”

“Glad you now know what real screams sound like! Unlike Natasha the fake porn star.”

Blake’s amused laugh and my ear-piercing screeches cancel each other out as we finish the final lap. When we pull back up to the pit lane, I’m mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. Getting out of the car, my legs are like jelly. Blake has to unbuckle my helmet because my hands are too shaky.

Josie’s giggling at her phone where she’s been watching our drive in real time. “I have to edit out seventy-five percent of it thanks to Ella’s screaming and swearing, but this is high-quality content. You did it! Congrats!”

The only congrats I deserve is one for not throwing up all over my shoes. I shoot her a thumbs-up. She snaps a photo of me, although I’m probably so pale I’m translucent. Josie’s been attempting to convince me to let her “run” my Instagram. She says that no matter what I want to do post-Formula 1, I need to build a brand for myself and use Instagram as my résumé. I refuse to give her my login information, but I will let her take photos of me.

“I knew you’d have fun,” Blake says. “I sure as hell did.”

The corners of his lips tug up in a boyish sort of grin. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him since we met and I can’t help but savor the view. My parents warned me about drugs when I was a kid. They didn’t warn me about how addictive a smile could be. Ugh .