Page 45 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

The moment she left, I should have let it go, forced myself to be fine throwing back another drink and letting her have the last word.

But of course, I didn’t. I wasn’t done, so I drank more than I should have. I’d feel it tomorrow.

All night, I couldn’t stop watching her, wanting her, needing her. She just fucking left me after everything. The groping by the bathrooms. The fight. The dancing. That kiss, like I wanted to ruin her, and she let me.

I was fucking lying to myself. I hadn't just been feeling this tonight. This had been going on for so long that I didn't think I could ever want someone else besides her.

Marco and Kimi laughed, we took a couple shots, and they were completely unaware of the war zone in my head. The ache she left behind. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Felt her lips on mine, her hands in my hair, her body melting into mine.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe I’d just run out of rational thought hours ago. But before I could think about what a terrible fucking idea it was ?—

I was tossing my keys to Marco without a word.

I found myself in the back of a ride-share, knee bouncing the whole way there, muttering her name almost nervously.

Stumbling into the hotel lobby with tunnel vision and zero chill. The concierge gave me a look that said he was about to call security, and I didn’t blame him.

I braced my palms on the counter and said, “I need Aurélie Dubois's room number.”

He blinked. “Sir, I?—”

“She’s registered under Luminis GP. I'm not asking for anyone else. Just give me the number.”

“I'm afraid I can't disclose guest information?—”

“I’m Callum Fraser.”

Nothing. Not a spark of recognition. No, oh, of course, right this way, sir.

What the fuck else could I say?

I sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. "I'm a… Formula 1 driver." I cringed at how it sounded out loud. Not at all a humble brag, just a fact. One I never had to say because it usually spoke for itself.

It was strange having to disclose my credentials to someone. I was so accustomed to living in a world that paraded us around and put our entire lives on display. "So is she. We're colleagues," I added, nearly choking on the world.

Like hell we were.

We were rivals. We were chaos, a goddamn car crash I couldn't stop staring at. We were whatever-the-fuck this was, and right now, I needed to see her more than I needed my pride.

The alcohol made everything slow. I was sluggish, a little bit drunk. No logic was left in my brain, only heat and noise and her.

"Please," I pleaded, suddenly feeling the weight of every racing season on my shoulders. "I just… I need to see her."

Jesus. I could’ve stripped naked and offered him a signed helmet and he still wouldn’t have cracked. I pulled out my wallet, slid a couple hundreds across the counter, and then added two more. He hesitated, glancing from the bills to my face.

“Look, I'm also a guest staying at this hotel. I’m not asking again,” I said, low and wrecked. “You’ll save both of us a lot of grief. ”

He stared at the bills, and then he mumbled a number under his breath.

I was already halfway across the lobby before he finished. Nearly tripped over my own damn feet in the elevator. The number kept repeating in my head like a fucking code to salvation.

By the time I was at her door, my whole body buzzed. My hands shook. My heart pounded loud enough to drown out my common sense.

I was so far gone. Intoxicated. Not just by the alcohol—but by her.

My entire body was running on nothing but lust and want a nd that was so fucking foreign to me.

I had never chased down a woman.

First time for everything, I supposed. But Aurélie wasn’t just anyone. She’d be mine. I’d make damn sure of it. I'd beg. I'd bribe. I'd burn the fucking grid down.

I lifted my hand and knocked. No answer. I knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing.

My jaw clenched. My head swam. This was a bad idea. And just as I was about to turn away, the door cracked open.

There she was.

Glassy-eyed. Flushed. Breathtaking in a silk robe that barely covered anything, one shoulder hanging dangerously low.

I forgot how to breathe…. and then I heard it. The soft sound of running water.

For a split second, something wild and sick punched through me: she’s not alone.

I imagined it. Her in the shower. Someone else’s hands on her waist. Someone else getting what should’ve been mine and I saw fucking red.

It hit me brutally and fast, like a punch, and I felt a sharp, ugly jealousy I had no right to feel.

I was still drunk and thinking about how she walked away from me, the way she left me alone in that club after that fucking kiss, and now I was standing here, looking at her, thinking what I would do if she wasn't alone.

The question was like a match to gasoline.

I was already on fire, and she'd just lit the fuse.