Page 23 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)
The phone slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering onto the marble countertop as I gawk at him.
"Fuck!" I scramble to pick it up, my hands shaking for entirely different reasons now. "WHAT? You're the Formula One champion four years in a row and I almost ran you off the road?"
His smile takes on a self-satisfied edge that should be illegal.
"If it feels like some sort of accomplishment, I can go along with that instead of the obvious—me avoiding you and you almost going off the road. But whatever makes you look good."
"Fuck off with your cocky ass," I snap, but my brain is already racing ahead to the bigger implications. "SHIT! You're a twin with my ex... well, not ex... not boyfriend... lover... whatever the fuck we are!"
The realization hits me like a freight train, and suddenly I'm looking at him with new eyes, cataloging the similarities and differences.
Same bone structure, same incredible eyes, same general build—but where Lucius is all sharp edges and barely controlled chaos, Lachlan carries himself with a confidence that comes from knowing exactly who he is and what he's capable of.
"Oh my God," I breathe, horror and curiosity warring in my chest. "Have we fucked?!"
The silence that follows my outburst is deafening.
Lachlan just watches me with those intense eyes, neither confirming nor denying, and the lack of answer is somehow worse than either option would have been.
"Fuck," I curse, groaning and pressing my free hand to my forehead. "This has to be a chapter in the memory failure handbook. 'Memory Loss for Dummies: What to Do When You Can't Remember Which Twin You've Slept With.'"
I press the phone back to my ear, desperate for some grounding in reality.
"Wren, am I dreaming, or what?"
Her laugh is both sympathetic and slightly evil.
"Girl, you wish. But apparently, you're not supposed to be anywhere near lover boy 2.0, which, by the way—between the two, he's the better one in bed from your very detailed observations."
"WREN!" I shriek, my entire face bursting into flames. "SHUT UP, YOU'RE ON SPEAKER!"
I look at Lachlan, who's now smiling like he's just won the lottery, his entire face lit up with masculine satisfaction that makes me want to throw something at him.
"Go the fuck away," I tell him, pointing dramatically toward the other side of the room.
But instead of listening, he steps closer, and I'm suddenly very aware of how much taller he is, how he manages to make me feel small without making me feel weak.
It's a delicate balance that should be impossible but somehow isn't.
"Go take a bath," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "The water's already ready for you. You can talk to your friend in there to figure out your decoy plan."
Before I can argue, Wren's voice pipes up from the phone speaker.
"Lachlan, you better fucking behave, 'cause I know where you live."
"Yeah, yeah," he responds with amused exasperation. "Everyone seems to know where I reside, it seems. But I know you're a crazy Omega bitch, so I'll avoid chaos and misery, thanks."
"I can probably beat your ass in a race," Wren threatens, and I can hear the grin in her voice.
"Probably," he agrees easily, "but I don't need the embarrassment, especially with Omegas now entering the competitive field. So no thanks."
I want to argue, to defend Omega racing abilities or point out the inherent sexism in that statement, but Lachlan sighs and walks up to me before I can form the words. He stills my chin with gentle fingers, tilting my face up to meet his gaze, and suddenly I can't breathe properly.
He leans in close, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that his scent wraps around me like a physical embrace. When he whispers, his lips brush the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with being cold.
"Go take a bath, Sugar, or I'm gonna have to join you if you keep smelling so damn good."
My entire face erupts in crimson heat, and my brain short-circuits completely.
"Y-Y-Y-You're ugly!" I blurt out, which is possibly the most ridiculous thing I could say to a man who looks like he was carved by Michelangelo specifically to torment women.
I run away— literally run —my feet carrying me toward the staircase I spotted earlier while Wren's laughter echoes from the phone still pressed to my ear. I take the stairs two at a time, my wet dress making the journey more difficult than it should be, but I'm too mortified to slow down.
"Oh boy," Wren says once I'm safely in what appears to be the master bathroom, "don't tell your parents you're with him."
"Why?" I ask, but before she can answer, another call is trying to come through. I look at the display and curse violently. "Fuck, it's them. It's my parents."
"Tell them you're with me," Wren instructs quickly. "I can make a whole AI simulation if need be, so just go with the flow and convince them."
She hangs up before I can thank her, leaving me alone in this gorgeous bathroom that's—of course—exactly what I would have designed for myself.
A freestanding tub sits beneath a window that offers the same spectacular view of the city, while the shower could easily fit four people and features rainfall showerheads that look like they cost more than my rent.
I take a deep breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
My makeup is ruined, my hair is a wet mess, and I'm standing in a Formula One champion's bathroom trying to figure out how to lie to my parents about where I'm spending the night. With the man I’m not supposed to say I’m with.
Who I've apparently slept with but can't remember.
Who kisses like the world is ending and owns a house straight out of my dreams.
The phone continues to ring insistently, my parents' contact photo smiling at me from the screen like an accusation. I know they're worried.
I know they're just trying to protect me. But I also know that I'm tired of being protected from my own life, tired of everyone else deciding what I can and can't handle.
Then again, I have to be smart about this if I want to win the long haul of this game of chess.
Another deep breath, and I swipe to answer the call.
"Time to face the music."