Page 23 of Not So Fast
He peered up at her. She was stunning in the moonlight, dark hair framing her softly lit face. “I’m sure.”
Sadly, she was hesitant when she sat next to him. Like she was worried he might bite her or yell at her.
“So, was the baseball hat and plain T-shirt one of your various disguises?” she asked. “You had to know that was never going to work. You’re seven feet tall. It’s hard to miss you.”
“I’m not seven feet tall. I’m six-three.”
“Well, I’m five-two, so I’m rounding up.”
“Is that all?” Funny, but he’d never thought of her as short. Her personality was larger than life. “The hat’s because my hair is a disaster today.”
“Uh. I’ll be the judge of that.” She slid him a sly look, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Go on. Take the hat off, Bishop. I’d like to see what exactly the most epic head of hair in Britain looks like when it’s less than perfect.”
“The most epic head of hair in Britain belongs to Harry Styles.”
“Fair point. Now, stop stalling.”
He smiled and removed his cap, brushing his hair back from his face. “See?”
“You are so full of shit.” Mia shook her head in dismay, turned toward him and reached out to touch his hair.
“Don’t. It’s gross.” Purely out of reflex, he grasped her wrist. Her skin was so soft. So warm. Something in his stomach went weak. He scanned her face, looking for some sign that she wanted him to let go, but she didn’t show it. Meanwhile, his eyes were drawn to her lips. They were the most perfectshade of deep pink. If things were different, if he didn’t have so much to lose, he might kiss her. “I haven’t washed it properly.”
“Oh, pfft.” She wrenched herself from his grip and combed her fingers into the hair on the side of his head.
He sucked in a breath when the heel of her hand brushed his cheek. What was the draw of Mia Neal? He didn’t understand it. Mere weeks ago, she was his public enemy number one. But there they were, sitting together in a park while she touched his hair. If he was honest, he’d gladly let her do it all night.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about. Looks pretty epic to me.” She pulled her hand back and settled it in her lap. “So, fan to driver, how are you feeling about tomorrow? Are you nervous?”
He drew a deep breath in through his nose and stared off into the park, watching the trees bend with the breeze. He normally disliked this question, but when Mia asked, she delivered it without judgment. It felt like nothing more than pure curiosity. “I don’t like to say I’m nervous.”
“The things yousayand the things that might be true can be two different things.”
“Nerves are for amateurs. I’m a professional. I can’t afford to be anything less than on it and fully prepared.”
“You’re also not a robot. Just because you’re a professional athlete doesn’t mean you can’t have feelings.”
“Part of my training is learning to compartmentalize. Set things like feelings aside.”
“Hmm.” She did not seem convinced. At all. “Why do you think you’re struggling this year? Is the car difficult to drive?”
“He’s not easy to drive. I’ll tell you that much. The understeer is horrendous. Sometimes it’s like driving an ironing board.”
“He?”
He laughed quietly. “Charles. I call him Charles.”
“Weird. That’s my dad’s name.”
“Really?”
“I would not lie about that.”
He turned to her and held up a finger. “Please don’t tell anyone I told you that I named my car.”
“Is this like when guys name their penis?”
“No. This is not like that.”
