Page 19 of Drive Me Wild (Drive Me #2)

NINETEEN

THEO

I prefer spending the nights I’m not on the road at my house, but Josie prefers her own space. That’s why, instead of hanging out at my ten-million-pound, seven-thousand-square-foot house that has both a movie theater and a bowling lane, I’m waiting outside of Josie’s one-bedroom, one-bathroom walk-up flat in Shoreditch.

My hands are too full to properly knock, so I kick the toe of my shoe against the door. Her blonde head pops out as I’m rounding up kick three.

“Uh, hi?”

Her voice is hoarse and a pitch lower than I’ve ever heard it. Probably because I avoid people like the plague when they’re sick. I wouldn’t talk to Lucas for an entire week after he inadvertently gave me the flu. Then there was the time Russell was drinking tea instead of coffee for a sore throat—which was due to allergies—but I aggressively bullied him to go to the medical tent to get a strep test.

I grin at her, although she can’t see it behind the medical mask I’m wearing. “‘Ello, gorgeous.”

Despite the faded gray pajama set, bright red nose featuring some sniffling, and paler than usual skin, she’s still stunningly beautiful. “I thought you weren’t coming over.”

When she called me this morning to reschedule our plans, citing congestion and a cough, I told her to rest up and feel better. I was planning on just ordering soup to her apartment as a “get well soon,” but then realized if I didn’t see her tonight, it’d be another few days before I could. The past five days have been long enough, so here I am.

“I changed my mind,” I inform her. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have a common cold, and you’re dressed like I’m radiating toxic waste.” She gives my outfit another once over and laughs, the sound raspy. My hands are encased in bright yellow dishwashing gloves, and disinfectant and cleaning supplies are tucked into the large pockets of the bib apron tied around my waist. I’m a sexy version of Mr. Clean.

“Okay, well, once I sanitize and disinfect your flat, I’ll be fine.”

Her jaw drops. “You’re not cleaning my flat just to… Theo… that’s absurd.”

“Absurdly chivalrous. Now, are you going to be a polite host and let me in or am I going to have to barge past you? I’d prefer option one, as I think the contents of the bags will spill if there’s any sort of collision.”

She takes the brown paper bags from my hands and peeks inside. “You brought soup?”

“Lots of soup,” I confirm. “And crackers.”

I’d ordered every type of soup UberEats had available: chicken noodle, minestrone, tomato basil, creamy potato, carrot ginger, lentil, curried cauliflower.

“You don’t like soup,” Josie points out, opening the door so I can come in. “You think it’s a fake food with questionable motives.”

“That’s because it is.”

Soup is not my thing—never has been, never will be. It’s confusing and makes no sense. It’s a liquid that we eat. And the little pieces of soluble food? Hard pass.

“Well, I have some whole wheat pasta in the pantry if you want to make that,” Josie offers. “Otherwise, I have a frozen veggie pizza in the freezer.”

“Sounds good. Now, go back to whatever you were doing while I get to business.”

She stares at me momentarily before walking back to the couch. I’m aware that this is a bizarre situation, and she’s aware I’m stubborn enough to see it through. Curling up on her couch under a chunky knit blanket, she warily watches me take out my supplies. When she’s satisfied I’m actually going to clean and not just move all of her shit around, she resumes writing in the same notebook she carries around every race weekend.

I spray down her counter with something that smells lemony and promises to kill ninety-nine-point nine percent of viruses and bacteria. “I thought you took the day off?”

“I did.” Josie simultaneously yawns and shrugs. “I’m just jotting some ideas I have for Gemini.”

An unwarranted pang of jealousy hits me like a bullet to the chest. It was nice that Lucas thought of Josie for the freelance opportunity—Kelsey’s a solid guy; I’ve met him a few times when I’ve boxed with Lucas, and Jos can easily bring his bar to life—but I don’t like that my friend has spent more time with her this week than I have.

I walk over to the couch, leaving the spray to soak on the counter. Josie doesn’t stop me when I politely grab her notebook. I’m not sure if she just doesn’t care or if she knows I’ll talk my way into seeing it anyway, and she’s just saving her energy.

I flip through the pages—which is hard in rubber gloves—but don’t even make it to her Gemini ideas. My hands immediately stop moving when I see “McAllister marketing brainstorm” in her cursive handwriting. There’s a long list of ingenious ideas and campaigns—well, I’m sure they’re brilliant. There are a lot of technical terms and phrases way out of my wheelhouse: lifecycle engagement, SMART objectives, resource segmentation, reporting and targeting.

I turn the notebook so she can see what I’m looking at and then “ooh” and “ahh” as I make my way through the list. The fact that McAllister hasn’t implemented these ideas is a crime against the sport.

“Word to the wise,” I say with a frown, noting the last thing on the list. “I would remove social media takeover.”

“Maybe not with Blake,” Josie says with a cute pout. “But you’d be great at it. You don’t want to?”

Oh, the irony.

“My new contract has a clause in it prohibiting me from posting about McAllister on my own account without prior approval,” I admit, handing her back the notebook. “So I don’t think they’re going to like the idea of me taking over the actual McAllister account.”

Josie’s lips part. “Excuse me?”

I shrug like it’s no big deal, even though it’s been eating at me. It’s not unheard of for athletic teams to manage their drivers’ or players’ social media, especially if their antics tend to attract public attention, but it is unheard of for me . Half of my brand is my outgoing personality and candidness. I have hundreds of thousands of people tune into my Twitch streams and weekly workouts.

“Is that even,” she pauses to sneeze into a tissue, “legal? Because that’s major bullshit, babes.”

“It’s complicated. But yes, it’s technically legal.”

Formula 1 contracts are under strict lock and key—not even the media knows the details of them. Hell, if you Google my name, I make anywhere between eight million and forty-five million. I earn seventeen million a year, excluding performance bonuses and personal sponsorships, although McAllister is trying to slash those.

“Is this because of you-know-who?”

“Hmm?” I tilt my head before putting two and two together. “Oh, Avery? You can say his name; he’s not Voldemort, angel.”

She shakes her head. “If he put that clause in your contract, he most definitely is.”

Can’t disagree with her there. If Avery was out of the picture, then my contract would already have been signed, sealed, and delivered.

“Have you showed these to Rhys?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. There’s no need for Avery to occupy any more of my headspace.

Josie pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders like its protective armor. “Not yet. Waiting for the right moment, I guess.”

Giving her a taste of her own medicine, I belt out the chorus of Kelly Clarkson’s “A Moment Like This.” Serenading a woman isn’t my usual go-to, nor should it be based on the way Josie’s trying not to laugh at my nails-on-chalkboard singing voice.

She sticks out her hand and wiggles her fingers once I’m through singing. I hand back her notebook, despite my urge to get into the working mind of Josie, going through and analyzing every page.

“Back to cleaning,” I announce. “Time to make this place sparkle and shine like a goddamn gem.”

Josie rolls her eyes, but her lips curve into the smile I’ve come to know so well. Considering the size of her flat, it doesn’t take me too long to sanitize and sterilize to my complete satisfaction. Taking off my mask and cleaning gloves, I toss them into the trash before joining Josie on the couch. After an extra-lengthy workout with Russell this morning, my tight muscles sing in joy as they sink into the comfy material of her couch.

When Josie still hasn’t curled up into me after five minutes, I grab the clicker and pause the movie. “Excuse me, miss. Why aren’t you cuddling me?”

Josie tilts her head up at me and laughs. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to. I’m trying to be respectful of your boundaries since I’m under the weather.”

I reach out to brush a stray piece of hair away from her face. It’s warmer than usual, probably due to a low fever. “I appreciate it, but I definitely want cuddles.”

“Good,” she says, snuggling up against me. “Thanks for coming over. And cleaning. I know you prefer to not be around people when they’re sick.”

“You’re not people,” I say simply. “You’re you.”

I’ve always been super vigilant about not being around germs, viruses, infections… anything that could trigger a flare-up of my dad’s MS. After he suffered a particularly bad relapse when I was sixteen, my dislike for germs spiraled into a neurotic fear of any sort of illness-inducing exposure. My parents strong-armed me into therapy for it so it wouldn’t impact my career and I’ve gotten better, but if given the choice, I tend to err on the side of caution. Except with Josie. None of my usual rules apply to her.

Josie presses her warm lips against the underside of my jaw, rewarding me with a few quick kisses. My dick still stirs in my pants at her touch. It’s like I’m eleven-years-old again and unable to control a boner that’s popped up at the most inopportune time. I shift my position to try to hide the fact that I’m getting semi-hard, but Josie’s quick to take notice.

She swallows back a smirk. “Looks like someone wants to say hello.”

Fuck . I didn’t come here with sex or seduction in mind, but my brain seems to have forgotten to relay that message to my nether regions.

“I swear I’m not here for anything but PG activities. My dick just has a, uh… very unhealthy obsession with your body. But don’t worry, he’s going in a time-out.” I point a finger at my crotch and scold it, “Bad, Theo Jr., bad .”

Josie giggles at my weirdness. “According to my mother, orgasms are actually very good at boosting your immune system while you’re sick.”

Maybe Theo Jr. doesn’t need to go in a time out after all. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. She dropped off a vibrator earlier with a lovely little note.”

My jaw drops. “No, she didn’t.”

Josie nods and sighs, motioning to a small notecard tucked beneath a candle on her coffee table. I pick it up, bouncing my legs as I scan the card.

Josephine,

You know what they say—an orgasm a day keeps the doctor away.

Seriously. It’s scientifically proven.

Feel better and happy masturbating, darling!

xx,

Mum

Aggressively loud laughter rips through me, and I topple over onto my side. I reread the note three more times, but it just keeps getting better every time I do. Josie plays with my hair as I attempt to get ahold of myself.

“This is gold, Bancroft,” I howl, my abs constricting. “And she gave you another vibrator?”

Josie’s shown me the large plastic container under her bed that houses the various vibrators, dildos, lube, anal beads, and sword-looking things her mum has given her over the years.

“It’s called the Buzz Lightyear ,” Josie admits with a small smile. “Not only does it have seven vibration settings, but it glows in the dark.”

I lose my cool all over again. I’d break my fingers before I ever let my mum say the word masturbation in front of me, but Josie seems relatively unconcerned, used to her mum’s intrusion on her sex life.

“Can we watch a horror movie or something?” I ask, still laughing. “This vibrator talk is just making my predicament worse.”

Thankfully, Theo Jr. manages to stay on his best behavior for the rest of the night, even when Josie takes a shower before we head to bed. Yep. I’m sleeping over. Even though Josie swears she changed her sheets this morning, she does it again just to make me feel better.

I shoot Martin a text as I snuggle into Josie’s warm, clean bed.

Theo Walker

Any update on the contract?

Martin the Manager

Not yet, but it’s only been two weeks. You know this can take months.

Theo Walker

I’m impatient.

Martin the Manger

I’m aware. I was there when the server told you your plate was hot, and you ignored him and burnt the fuck out of your fingers. Almost missed a race because your hands were out of sorts.

Theo Walker

In my defense, he didn’t clarify it was “you’ll literally get third-degree burns and scream” hot.

Martin the Manager

Just keep your Gucci knickers out of a twist, eh? No need to prematurely burn yourself this time around.

Theo Walker

Only Lucas wears Gucci. Mine are Tom Ford. But I’ll try.

Josie pops her head out of the bathroom with a mouth full of toothpaste thirty minutes later. She starts talking but I have no idea what she’s trying to say. Holding out a finger, she disappears from sight. The moment she’s gone, I place my phone face-down on the bedside table. It feels slimy, but Jenna’s in town and has been persistently calling me for the past twenty minutes. The hornier she gets, the more nude photos she sends. I told her I was indefinitely busy, but she’s not taking the hint.

“Are you discovering a new scientific element or something?” I call out. “You’ve been in there for five hours.”

Her skin care routine has more steps than an Ikea furniture instruction manual. She probably puts sunscreen on before bed to protect her skin from the moon’s dangerous glow.

A moment later, Josie slides into the other side of the bed. As I move my arm to wrap around her, I’m reminded of a very important question I have to ask her. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to have a threesome?”

Josie’s mouth immediately falls open, her upper lip curling back. I’m glad the bedside lamp’s still on so I can watch how horrified she seems by the idea.

“Absolutely not,” she says abruptly. “I don’t know where you got that idea, but?—”

I cut her off by showing her the plush piggy that’s been concealed behind my back. It was hidden underneath the pillows, and I only discovered it when I went to switch them because I like the flatter one on top.

“I wonder if this counts as a ménage à trois ,” I tease lightly. “You, me, and Miss Piggy.”

Her cheeks flush bright pink and she lunges for the piglet. I hold my arm up so it’s out of her reach.

“Theo!” Her lower lip pushes forward. All I want to do is nibble on it, common cold be damned. “Give me back Mademoiselle!”

Mademoiselle? My arm briefly bends as unrestrained laughter pours out of me. Josie takes advantage of my lax muscles and pounces on me. Being straddled by a bombshell with a low-grade fever while I’m holding her stuffed pig named Mademoiselle hostage isn’t how I ever imagined myself spending a Friday night, but here we are.

When Josie reaches up to grab her prized possession, she accidentally grinds against my cock. The soft moan I let out as she continues to wiggle around makes her pause briefly. Suddenly, she begins moving her hips in a very strategic manner. I’m Play-Doh—complete and utterly at her mercy as my cock hardens under her touch. She easily recaptures Mademoiselle and rolls off me.

I’m now uncomfortably turned on, but what else is new? It happens every time I’m thinking about or around Josie. I rest my hand on her hip, but she smacks it away. “Leave me and Mademoiselle alone.”

“Jos.” I chuckle, snaking my arm around her. “I think it’s adorable that you still sleep with a stuffed animal.”

“Lots of adults sleep with their childhood stuffed animal,” she huffs. “Almost forty percent of the population, according to studies.”

“I believe you.” I press slow butterfly kisses along her shoulder blade before letting my lips take their final place on her neck. “It’s sweet.”

Despite her quiet grumbling, I can hear her breathing become shallow as I continue to tease her neck with my tongue. Knowing I turn her on just as much as she turns me on makes my head spin.

“Is Mademoiselle the one you got from your birth mum?” I pronounce the name with a French accent.

Josie turns around and when her eyes meet mine, my brain gets fuzzy. “Yes,” she says simply.

I press my lips against her collarbone. “This is a horrible segue, but do you want to go to Rosalie’s birthday party with me in a few weeks?”

I ended up buying my goddaughter all three dolls I was comparing at the store. It’s not like I don’t have the money for it.

Josie scrunches up her nose. “Why is that a bad segue?”

“Because it’s Peppa Pig-themed.”

She smacks me in the arm, an adorably angry pout on her face. “Sod off, Walker.”

“Please?” I ask in a whiney voice. I love my goddaughter but quite frankly, I’d like to drop kick Peppa Pig into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. I don’t know what it is about that damn pig, but she drives me up a wall. I find her insufferable. “Did I mention there’s going to be an ice cream cake?”

Her features relax slightly at the mention of this. “I’ll think about it.”

We both know that’s a yes. Josie rolls her eyes at my wide smile and flicks off her bedside lamp. My body immediately finds hers in the dark and I wrap my arms around her, feeling the smooth warmth of her skin. Her still damp hair holds the intoxicating mix I associate with her, and I nuzzle into it.

“Jos?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want Mademoiselle to sleep on your side or mine?”

She kicks my shin with the heel of her foot under the blanket. “You’re not going to have a side if you keep up your teasing, Walker.”

That shuts me up immediately. Besides landing pole for a race and the Crocodile Corkscrew , spooning is now one of my favorite positions. And I don’t want to lose that privilege anytime soon.