“You haven’t been with a guy in two years?”
I can’t tell if he’s shocked or appalled. Maybe both. It makes me feel uneasy and embarrassed.
“No. I said I haven’t been in a relationship in two years, not that I haven’t been with anyone.”
That’s actually been…shit. Okay, it’s not far off from two years—about eighteen months. What the hell have I been doing? No wonder I’m as hot for him as I am. I’ve been depriving my body of sex for way too long.
“I’ve been busy.” I sound defensive, but I can’t help it. “And there’s not a lot of time for dating when you work in racing, if you haven’t noticed.” Not that it stops him, but then he doesn’t exactly date.
“What was his name?”
“Whose?”
“The guy you dated two years ago.”
“Marcelo.”
“Sounds like a ponce.”
Laughter escapes me, shaking my shoulders. “He was all right. What about you?”
“Me? I’ve never had a boyfriend, especially not one with a poncy fucking name like Marcelo,” he deadpans.
I playfully swat his shoulder. “You know what I meant. Girlfriend. Spill.”
“One.”
I feel a sharp stab of jealousy. If he’d said ten, I’d have felt better. But one girl means that she had his heart. Maybe she broke it, and that’s why he’s the player he is today.
I focus my stare over his shoulder, like something’s caught my attention, so he can’t see what I know is readable in my eyes. “How long were you together?”
“A day.”
“A day?” I say, aghast. I look back to him, my eyes wide with shock. All trace of my jealousy is gone.
“Yeah…” He lets out a wistful sigh, which punches me straight in the chest. “Her name was Payton Ahearn. Totally loved her, and she dumped me for fucking Tommy O’Connor, all because he got her a necklace. I never did get over it. She ruined me for all other women.”
My face creases in confusion.
“I was six.” He grins.
“You’re an idiot.” I giggle. I actually fucking giggle. What the hell is wrong with me?
Aside from the fact that I’m turning into a total girl, I’d say it’s relief. I’m relieved because no one has held his heart yet.
Why, Andi? Because you want it, him, for yourself?
“I am an idiot.” The seriousness in his voice moves through me, bringing my attention back to him.
His eyes hold mine, and something unknown in them captivates me. But I want to know. And it’s how badly I want to know that is scaring the hell out of me right now.
Usher ends, and Rihanna begins singing “Diamonds.”
“I’m sorry about China,” he says the words so softly.
My eyes dip, right along with my heart. The grip my fingers had on his dinner jacket loosens. “I know.” I sigh lightly. “You’ve already said. And I already told you, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
His fingers find my chin, lifting my face to his. “Yes, I did. I proved to you that I’m everything you think I am. You stopped our kiss because you think I’m a player, that I use women.”
“You do use women, and you are a player. But that’s not why I stopped kissing you.”
His brows pull together as his hand moves back to my waist. “So, why?”
“Because I don’t get involved with drivers.”
“You say that a lot.”
“I say it because it’s true.”
“And why exactly don’t you get involved with drivers?”
“Aside from the fact that I work for them…for you.” I flash him a serious stare before looking away. “I have my reasons.”
“Ones you’re not going to tell me?”
My eyes come back to his, giving him my answer.
“And what if I wasn’t a driver? Would you have sex with me then?”
My body jolts at his words, and he feels it. And he definitely likes my response. I can tell from the smile touching the edge of his lips.
“Jesus, you’re so bloody…forward.”
“You don’t get anywhere in life by going backward.”
Does he have an answer for everything?
“Exactly how did we go from me not getting involved with drivers to you and I having sex?”
“We haven’t gotten to the sex yet. Trust me. When we do, you’ll know.”
“Yet?”
“Yes. Now, answer the question.”
How to answer? It’s hard to focus with him so close—his scent filling my head, his hands touching me and clouding my judgment.
“You’re my friend, Carrick…” I let my voice drift, my words linger.