Revved (Page 52)

Those butterflies I was feeling turn to dust, and I’m just left empty.

I can’t believe that he’s picked up some random and brought her with him.

Of course he has. This is Carrick.

Deep breaths. It doesn’t matter.

It’s none of my business what he does and who he does it with. All I care about is getting my friendship with him back on track.

Right?

Pressing my lips together, I turn back to the table. I grab my phone off it and stare down at it, like I’m reading something really interesting.

“Hey,” Carrick says from behind me.

Not hearing his voice, that Irish twang of his, for nearly two weeks has it shivering through me.

I clamp down the feeling, pushing it away.

Assuming he’s talking to the whole table and not directly to me, I don’t turn around, but I do mutter a vague-sounding, “Hello.”

Some of the guys get up to greet him, doing that manly handshake thing, Ben being one of them.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Ben says.

“Nah. Don’t worry. I’ll get them. What are you drinking?”

“Beer,” Ben tells him.

“Get me a cosmo, will you, baby?” the girl says.

Baby?

She has a really nice English accent, sweet and posh. Not like my fucked-up English mixed with Brazilian accent.

“Sure thing, babe.”

Babe?

The memory of being in bed with Carrick, his body wrapped around mine, his sleepy voice murmuring in my ear, “Night, babe,” slams into me painfully.

Their terms of endearment seem awfully forward for two people who just met.

Or maybe they didn’t just meet.

The thought makes my empty feeling quickly turn to a sick feeling. A really sick feeling.

“Let me get you a chair,” Ben says.

I’m assuming he’s speaking to the girl.

He drags over a chair, putting it next to me.

Thanks, Ben.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her sit in the chair with the grace of a gazelle. She’s wearing a short skirt, which rides up, revealing more of her long tanned legs.

I look down at my own legs, thanking my mother for passing on her good genes to me and thanking my good sense for at least wearing jean shorts to show them off—not that it’s a competition in any way. And in no way do I look anywhere near as nice as she does. She’s dressed up for a night out, completing that short skirt with heels and a halter top. All notably designer compared to my high street jean shorts, flip-flops, and red T-shirt, which has the word Geek emblazoned across the chest.

God, I am a geek.

Actually, the only things I have going for me right now are my legs and my hair. I’m wearing it down, and it looks pretty.

Since when did I start caring how I look or comparing myself to other women?

Since Carrick.

“What’s everyone else drinking?” Carrick asks.

A multitude of drink orders are shouted at him, mostly beer.

“I’ll give you a hand at the bar,” Ben offers, laughing.

I feel a hand—his hand—on my shoulder, and I freeze.

“What about you?” Carrick asks, his voice low.

Tipping my head back, I glance up at him, making sure to keep my expression blank. “What about me?”

Something flickers through his eyes, but it’s gone before I can get a read on what it was.

“Drink—can I get you one?”

“No. I’m good. Thanks.” I point at my beer on the table.

He stares at me for a beat. “All right then.” He gives me a sharp nod and walks away.

Without control, my eyes follow him inside the bar.

Berating myself for staring, I do a quick glance of the table to make sure no one saw me watching him. Then, I relax in my seat. Well, relax as best as I can with Carrick and his girl here.

I can feel the presence of her sitting beside me like a thorn in my side.

I know I’m flat-out ignoring her, and my mother didn’t raise me to treat other women this way.

She always says, “As women, if we can’t respect one another, then how can we expect men to respect us?”

Treat someone how you want to be treated, Andi.

Being in the modeling industry, my mother encountered a lot of bitchy women, and it taught her not to be the same, and that’s what she taught me.

But right now, I am acting like one of those bitchy women, and I don’t like myself for it.

So, even though talking to Carrick’s girl is the last thing I feel like doing, I force the politeness in me, push my phone into my pocket, and turn to her.

Seeing how pretty she is up close makes me feel even worse.

Suck it up, Andi. She hasn’t done anything to you, and she doesn’t deserve for you to be a bitch to her. Your issue is with Carrick, not her.

“Hi,” I say, smiling.

Turning her head, she gives me a blank look. “Er, hello.” Then, she turns away and gets her phone out of her bag.

Okay…that was a little odd. Maybe she’s just shy.

I scramble around my head for something else to say. “So, are you on holiday in Monaco or just here for the race?”

She pulls her eyes from her phone to look at me again. She gives me a stare that can only be described as stupid—as in, she thinks I’m stupid. “Um, both.”

Ignoring the stupid stare, I smile again and say, “Cool. So, when did you get in?”

She sighs loudly, giving me the impression that I’m annoying her. “This afternoon with Carr.”

She came in from the UK with Carrick?

I feel like I’ve just had a defibrillator to the chest. I actually jolt in my seat, and my breath whooshes out of me, right along with these words, “You came with Carrick? From the UK? On the plane? Together?” I know I sound a little odd, but I don’t care.