Page 25 of Drive Me Wild (Drive Me #2)

TWENTY-FIVE

THEO

Silverstone is always a massive race. It’s McAllister’s home race, as well as Blake’s. This year it also happens to be a race that James Avery—and his family—will be attending. The thought of having to see Christina again after so many years makes my stomach churn like butter. If only time would speed up and allow me to rush through this weekend. Hit fast forward on my worst nightmare sneaking out from the depths of my mind and unfolding in front of me.

The cherry on top of the very stressful sundae is that Josie’s parents will also be at the Grand Prix. I’ve met the Bancrofts before at previous races, but haven’t spent much one-on-one quality time with them. Her dad scared the living shit out of me before we became official, so there’s no doubt he’ll intimidate me ten times more now.

It’s going to be a weekend of kissing one man’s arse while avoiding another’s entirely. Oh, what fun.

The sheets rustle as Josie rests her head on my chest, snuggling into me. “Morning, babe. How’d you sleep?”

I kiss the top of her head. “I slept alright. What about you?”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Josie hums. “You were tossing and turning the entire night.”

I’m well-aware of this, but I hadn’t meant to keep Josie awake. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She rolls over so her chin is resting in the middle of my chest. Toying with the small patch of chest hair, she asks if I’m okay.

“Mm-hmm. No dramas. Big race, is all,” I reply coolly.

“Your pants are still on fire, Walker.”

“I’m not wearing pants,” I cheekily remind her. “Or did you forget last night?”

Her nose digs into my chest as she hides her face. Josie was so desperate to get my pajama pants off me last night that she ripped them straight down the seam and they’re now in the trash. I laughed for thirty minutes straight at how flushed her cheeks were.

“I would never forget my newfound Hulk-like strength,” she mumbles, embarrassed. “Plus, you’re practically rubbing your dick against my leg.”

She’s right about that. My dick wakes up a little before me, excited for morning sex to start my day. I’ve completely given up on any type of coffee—there’s no need for it when Josie’s moans are the only alarm clock I need. “Are you not going to say hello back to him?”

“Stop referring to it as him.” She giggles. “It freaks me out.”

“He turns you into a freak, maybe, but I don’t think he?—”

My teasing is interrupted by Josie giving my right nipple a titty twister. I yelp at the suddenness of the pain. “You’re going to pay for that, Miss Bancroft,” I tell her, my eyes darkening with desire. I flip over so she’s pinned underneath me. “You know that, right?”

She nods quickly, her lips parted ever so slightly. I’m pressed against her and can already feel how wet and ready she is for me. Fuck.

Theo Junior is rewarded for his morning alertness in no time.

“Let’s just skip the race,” I mumble into Josie’s neck as we lay there in a post-sex haze. “Stay in your flat all day, making love and having orgasms.”

“That sounds lovely, babes, but they’d notice if you were gone since, you know, about one hundred and fifty thousand people are here to watch you race.”

One hundred fifty thousand and three people, if you include the Avery family. One hundred fifty thousand and five , if you include Josie’s parents, too. I debate texting Blake for one of his emergency anxiety pills, but decide against it. I don’t need anything affecting my performance.

“What’s going on?” Josie asks, her lip screwing up into a pout. “Talk to me, baby.”

Hmph . Josie’s smart. She knows I’m more pliable after sex, especially if she uses a pet name. My new nickname should be Whipped Walker because she’s truly mastered the art of seduction.

“Did you purposefully tempt me?” I ask, lifting my head and glancing at her with disapproval clear on my face. “That’s not fair.”

She laughs, her body vibrating against mine. “Did it work?”

I grunt and relax against the calm feeling of her hands running up and down my back. My tension soon begins to dissipate under her touch. As much as I don’t want to talk about Christina, the image of her confronting Josie—saying God knows what about me—is even worse.

A few minutes later, I rip off the Band-Aid. “Christina may be there.”

She briefly pauses her massage. “Christina Avery?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” She presses her lips against my shoulder. “You can tell me what happened, you know. I’m aware that you’ve slept with most of the female population, so it’s not that big of a deal. I can handle it. And I’ve already stalked Christina on social media, so I know what she looks like. I won’t be jealous or anything. Not that she’s not gorgeous, because she is. Her hair is Pantene-commercial worthy, so I’m jealous of that. I just meant I’m not, like, worried you’ll rekindle anything and run off with her or whatever. I trust you.”

“Good, because what I have with you, I don’t want with anyone else. You’re it for me, baby.” I pause as the full impact of her words hit me. “Wait, how did you stalk her? Do you follow one another?”

Christina’s profile is private. Trust me, I’ve checked.

“Oh, uh, no. She has a public TikTok account, and I watched some videos,” Josie admits, her cheeks flushing. “Are you upset with me? I didn’t mean to overstep or?—”

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, I reassure her I’m not. I don’t blame Josie for being curious; I’ve visited Andrew’s profile quite a few times since they broke up just to keep tabs. Josie’s way out of his league: looks, personality, humor, all of it. He’s a decent-looking guy, but my girlfriend’s a knockout. She said herself that’s she’s the full kit and caboodle.

“We started seeing each other during my last season with Ithaca,” I reveal with a resigned sigh. “We were both in Milan, and a mutual friend in the party circuit introduced us. She knew I wasn’t looking for anything serious when we got together.”

Josie flicks up a brow. “And she was okay with that?”

They always said they’re okay with it, but they never really were.

“Or so she said, but after a month or two, it was clear she wasn’t. Things started getting intense. She’d show up at Ithaca’s headquarters to bring me lunch. She texted me all the time and would freak out if I didn’t answer, despite knowing how busy I am. Every time she noticed I liked something, she took it to another level. She saw I used citrus-scented shampoo and conditioner, so she changed her perfume to a similar fragrance. I showed off my AC/DC album collection and the next time we hung out, she was wearing one of their concert shirts. If I made an off-handed remark about craving a cookie, the next day there’d be an entire basket full of every type of cookie at my front door—chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, snickerdoodle, sugar cookie. It was a lot.

“I should’ve ended it before I did, but I was traveling all the time and ignored how invested she was in me. I thought it was a girlish crush she’d get over, but then she told me she would move to London to be closer to me when I moved there for McAllister. I knew I had to end it then, but when I did, she told me she was pregnant. Five weeks.”

Josie’s face blanches and her eyebrows pinch together, slowly shaking her head as she processes my words. I can tell she’s too shocked to say anything, so I keep going. I want to tell her the full story. I need to tell her everything.

“When James found out I got his daughter pregnant,” I point to my scar, “shit got ugly. I told her I’d support whatever she wanted to do, but a baby wouldn’t change my feelings about being in a relationship with her. It wouldn’t fix anything because nothing was broken; we just weren’t compatible. I didn’t even know who she was because she was too busy trying to be who she thought I wanted.”

I draw in a shaky breath, surprised by how emotional I’m getting. Josie sits up and brushes her lips against mine, momentarily calming my nerves. She’s like an inhalation of oxygen, warming the icy memories of what happened in Milan.

“Turns out she wasn’t pregnant,” I say wryly. “I went to an appointment with her. No signs or traces of a pregnancy. She made the whole thing up. I honestly have no idea what her plan was or how she thought things would play out because you can’t come back from something like that.”

I feel Josie’s eyes on me, searching my face for answers I don’t have. Maybe Christina was hoping a baby could convince me we were meant to be? That I wouldn’t care that she manipulated me? I don’t know. Lying is one of the few things I don’t tolerate, ever. It’s a breach of trust in the highest regard.

“I cut off all communication, and I thought that’d be the end of it. When she wouldn’t stop calling and texting and showing up wherever I was, I filed a restraining order. Didn’t know what else to do, you know? From what I heard, she took some time off from school and checked into a Swiss wellness center afterward.”

“Bloody hell,” Josie murmurs pensively, almost to herself.

“Mm-hmm.”

I focus on her dresser, which is filled with perfume bottles and a few framed photos: her and Ella in Barcelona, a McAllister team photo from the Austrian Grand Prix, her parents grinning next to her at university graduation. I make a mental note to frame a photo of us to add to the collection.

Josie rests her palm against my chest. “You should talk to her. Say hi.”

Shock bolts down my spine. “What—and I mean this in the nicest way—in the actual fuck?”

She bites her lip in a valiant attempt to not laugh at my flustered response. “I’m not saying take her out to drinks and have a heart-to-heart, but if you see her, I think it’d be good for you to clear the air. Get some closure.”

I stare blankly. “Did you not hear me the first time when I said what in the actual fuck ?”

She places a chaste kiss on my lips to settle me. “It’s just… God, this is so embarrassing to say, but I’ve been the girl in a relationship who’s insecure and loses who she is for a guy, okay? The girl who changes who she is without realizing how damaging it is.”

I stay quiet, wanting to know where she’s taking this. Besides Andrew, I don’t know much about Josie’s other exes. I can’t even think of their real names because I mostly refer to them as Officer Fuck Face and Deputy Dick Head in my thoughts.

Josie sits up and crosses her legs, her knees grazing against my side. “In Year 10, I auditioned for the school play. Keep in mind, I have no theatrical talent or background. The only reason I auditioned was because this Year 12 named Gregory was the student director, and he was so cute. My friends and I all had the biggest crush on him.”

“Ah, Sergeant Simpleton ,” I mutter to myself. Forgot about him.

“Hmm?”

“Never mind. Sorry. Did you get a role?”

“Nope,” she acknowledges with a shrug. “No surprise there, since I’m not well-suited for memorizing lengths of Shakespeare’s work, but Gregory offered me the director’s assistant position. It was the best-case scenario because I didn’t have to act, but could still spend time with him.”

“I can’t imagine you enjoying directing. At all.”

She raises her finger in the air in an aha! kind of way. “Exactly my point. I find Shakespeare mind-numbingly boring, yet I spent four months going to play practice every day after school just because of Gregory. Logically, it makes no sense, but I had a crush on him, and he liked theatre, so I pretended to as well. We ended up dating for over a year, and I pretended to love plays the entire time. To this day, I can talk about Death of a Salesman in-depth all because of that.”

“Wow,” is all I manage to say.

“And don’t even get me started on the fact that, when I was dating Andrew, I would miss brunch with my mum to watch golf with him and his brother. Golf, Theo! I hate golf. It’s the most boring sport. Watching someone put away their dishes is more interesting than that.”

Andrew’s name is like nails on a chalkboard, sending goosebumps across my skin. “I’d never make you watch golf, angel. Promise.”

Josie rewards me with a breathtaking smile. “I know, but that’s the thing. Andrew didn’t make me; I did it because it was something he liked and I wanted to, I don’t know, be a part of that, I guess?”

She runs a frustrated hand over her face as if washing away the memory. I hate that she changed for them—compromised her own wants for what she thought they needed. Anyone who doesn’t love Josie for exactly who she is, is an idiot who doesn’t deserve to have her in the first place.

“What Christina did is messed up, and I’m not condoning it at all, but I do think you’ll feel better if you at least see how she’s doing,” she admits quietly. “When else will you ever get the chance to?”

Tapping my fingertips against my lips, I consider it. The worst that happens is that I’m in the same position I am in now, right? It’s not like her dad can add another dumb clause into my contract if she still hates me.

Right?

At first glance, Mr. Bancroft looks like some type of body builder-slash-mobster-slash-professional-boxer. Seriously. I’m almost positive he could snap my body in half like a pistachio shell with two fingers. If he told me he was Kelsey Wells’s bodyguard, I’d believe him.

Josie waves off my concern that he’s going to put a hit out on me. It may be dramatic, but he stares at me like I’m his worst nightmare come to life. I may as well be. I’m not sure what father in their right mind would want their only daughter—their only kid—to date a guy whose antics have been featured in the tabloids around the world. I feel a desperate need to redeem myself and prove I’m worthy of her, but so far, it’s not working.

I got her parents added to the list for tonight’s gala, but Mr. Bancroft seems entirely unimpressed. None of the high walls with crown moldings, the impressive floral centerpieces, or the waitstaff dressed in black and white filtering through the crowd passing out Veuve and caviar seem to wow him. The only thing that warms him up a bit is when he meets Lucas, who happens to be his favorite driver. Of course. God forbid he shows any type of interest in the driver who just so happens to worship the ground his daughter walks on.

Grabbing a flute off the tray of a passing server, I quickly take a sip. I wasn’t planning on drinking much, but I need something to loosen the chokehold Mr. Bancroft has on my tongue.

“Josie said you’ll be watching the race from the paddock this year.” I shift my weight from one foot to the next. “That should be fun.”

By the way her dad appraises me, you’d think I said something serial-killer-sinister instead of sincere. Watching the race from the paddock is a VIP experience that costs more than some people make in a year. I may get my form of thanks in a body bag.

Mrs. Bancroft replies with a warm smile, “We’re very excited, darling. I was hoping to make it to the qualifying round tomorrow, but I have an emergency session with some clients.”

“No dramas,” I reassure her. “The race is where all the good stuff happens, anyway.”

Unlike next year, where I’ll be constantly bowing down to Blake.

Her silky-smooth hair bounces as she nods. “Speaking of the good stuff, did Josephine ever share the package I sent for the two of you?”

“Mum,” Josie mutters under her breath. “Can you not do this right now?”

I’m too curious to let it go. Josie doesn’t like presents, but me? I love gifts. A lot. “What package?”

Mrs. Bancroft narrows her eyes at her daughter, clearly displeased she’s been withholding from me. “I sent the two of you some goodies to try out. Josephine can confirm, but I believe it was a panty vibrator, a cock ring, and a double dil?—”

As if rehearsed, Mr. Bancroft shouts, “Caroline!” Josie turns white as a ghost, and I spit champagne all over myself. Never in a million years did I think my girlfriend’s mum would buy me a cock ring. Quite frankly, never in a million years did I think I’d hear my girlfriend’s mum even say cock .

Mrs. Bancroft laughs, the sound light and airy. I’m glad she finds it funny because if I thought Mr. Bancroft hated me before, reminding him I do indeed have male genitalia has made things twelve times worse. Josie shoots me an apologetic smile before I excuse myself from the conversation, waving to my champagne-soaked navy dress shirt.

I’m opening the restroom door when a familiar voice calls out my name. I turn around slowly, silently praying that someone else has the same exact voice as her. Of course, my prayers go unanswered. That seems to happen a lot around the Avery family.

Christina Avery stands before me, looking as gorgeous as ever. Her dark eyes are almost identical to her father’s, albeit less menacing, and the red dress she’s wearing hugs every curve of her hourglass figure. She still has loose, buoyant curls that resemble a lion’s mane, and they bounce as she makes her way over to me.

“Christina. Hey.”

“Promise I’m not stalking you,” she says, holding her hands up. “Again.”

I’m not sure if it’s too soon to laugh or not, so I just give her a small smile. Having to file for a temporary restraining order on a twenty-year-old woman is not something I’m proud of, but at the time, I didn’t have another option.

Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and stand tall. I can do this. If Josie has faith in me, the least I can do is try to have a conversation with her.

“So, uh, how are you?” I ask awkwardly. “Been a while.”

We’re now face-to-face, so I take a step away from the bathroom door. I don’t think she’ll shove me in there and torture me, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. Waterboarded by toilet water is not how I want to spend the rest of the night.

“I’m good. How about yourself?”

A single bead of sweat drips down my back. “I’m… with someone.”

Maybe my nickname should be What the fuck, Walker?

“I’m not here to flirt with you, Theo,” she explains with an uncomfortable laugh. “I saw you walking this way and figured I should come over to apologize.”

I tilt my head like Champ does whenever Blake crumples up his water bottles. “Apologize?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m not sure if you remember or not, but I faked a pregnancy and then continued to show up to your house unannounced. Pretty positive that qualifies as legally bat-shit crazy.”

How could I forget? “Oh. That.”

“Yeah,” she says lightly, her cheeks flushing pink against her tanned skin. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t okay. I wasn’t okay.”

Whatever I was expecting from this conversation, it wasn’t an “I’m sorry.” A bitch slap or a glass of water being thrown at me are more like it.

“I appreciate it,” I say after an extremely long, tongue-tied pause, courtesy of me. “And I’m sorry, too. I should’ve realized you weren’t okay with the kind of casual I was looking for. It wasn’t my intention to lead you on or give you false hope.”

Josie’s right. It feels good to say that. Really damn good. Maybe Blake’s onto something with the whole “boyfriends are never right” thing.

Her lips curl into a grateful smile. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

I wipe my clammy hands against my pant suit to distract myself from the silence between us.

“Your dad still hates me,” I blurt out. “A lot.”

Like hates me so much, he may’ve accepted this job just to ruin my career.

She doesn’t disagree with me, which makes the pit in my stomach sink even deeper. “Our relationship went downhill after everything in Milan. It’s easier for him to blame you than to take any real responsibility for what happened.”

My brows scrunch up. “How was he responsible?”

“Things at home were really shitty when we first got together,” she says, looking away. “Found out my dad was cheating on my mum, and I ended up in the middle of their fighting. You were the only stable, consistent thing I had at the time, and when you tried to end things, I freaked out. My therapist calls it ‘anxious preoccupied attachment;’ I just call it embarrassing.”

I stare at her, dumbfounded. I may not have wanted to date her, but it wasn’t like we had sex and that was it. We did the whole pillow talk thing, too. “You never said anything.”

“I definitely did.” Christina lets out a low laugh like it’s no big deal. “You tend to like when things are on your terms, with you at the center. My family drama didn’t really fit into that box.”

Ouch . Her words slap me across the mouth before wrapping around my throat, humbling me to the highest degree. I may like attention, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of letting other people have their moments in the sun.

“I’ve grown a lot since then,” I say defensively. I mean, I have a girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. How much more personal growth can a bloke have?

She nods. “So have I. I’m only here as a sign of good faith to my dad that I’m ready to rebuild our relationship.”

A deep breath I hadn’t realized I was holding rushes out. “I thought you were here for me,” I admit with a shrug. “To tell me I’m a horrible person or something.”

“Cocky as ever, I see.” She gives me an easy smile. “I should probably head back in there, but it was good seeing you. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Yeah, you, too,” I murmur.

Walking into the bathroom, I splash cold water against my face and repeat my new mantra: Christina is the past and Josie is my future.

Now I just need to figure out which of those categories McAllister falls into.