Page 44 of Over the Limit

But here I sit, waiting for a woman so I can ask her what the fuck is wrong with her boyfriend . . . even though I want so much more from her.

I didn’t call her back.

When she called the other night, I didn’t call her back.

I wanted to.

I started to several times.

Because that break in her voice? It nearly killed me.

What was wrong, Blair?

Isn’t that the question I’ve asked myself over and over? It’s not like I could ask her. I’ve been busy doing my job, keeping focused, and have purposely made an effort not to go and look for her.

And maybe that’s for the best.

The last thing I need is to get between her and Rossi.

Fuck. That’s it, isn’t it?

Rossi thrashing around. Being an arsehole. Blair calling me at midnight. Then being nowhere in the garage when she usually sneaks in for the pre-race shit. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

They’re fighting.

Yep. I don’t want any part of this. I rise from my seat, thoroughly pissed that I wasted all this time waiting for her to come back from the track so I could figure out how to approach Rossi.

Now I know and want no part of it.

I don’t even take two steps to leave before I come face-to-face with her.

“You’re here,” she says, surprise startling her eyes open wider.

“I am.” I don’t trust myself to speak for some reason.

“Not on the jet back home?”

“We’re flying out tomorrow,” I explain like she doesn’t already know Rossi’s schedule.

“Oh. Right.”

I resist the urge to reach out and wipe away the bruises beneath her eyes from lack of sleep.

She looks like hell.

I mean . . . she’s beautiful. Nothing could ever change that. Her auburn hair is swept up and her outfit showcases her full curves, but if you look closely enough, you can see the stress there. The sadness. The exhaustion.

She averts her eyes from my scrutiny.

“Hey.” I dip my head down so that I’m eye level with her and wait for those lashes to flutter up and meet mine. “You okay?”

“Of course. I’m fine.” Her smile pulls tight at the corners of her mouth as she clearly tries to fake the cheer she’s infused in her voice.

I study her, my fingers going to her chin so she can’t look away. “You’re lying to me.”

She forces a swallow, takes a step back, and lifts her chin, giving me a glimpse of her usual composure. “It’s been a rough couple of days.”

I nod and lower my voice. “Want to talk about it?” The question is as automatic as my next breath, and it’s the last thing I want to ask.