Page 60 of Over the Limit

“No, mate. Just trying to get in the right headspace before we perform our death-defying job and all that.”

“Jesus. Take a load off, will you? It wouldn’t hurt you to let loose and get off every once in a while. All work and no play makes Lachlan Evans a dull boy,” he teases.

What the fuck? What does that have to do with any part of this conversation? I’m trying to be nice. He’s still trying to be an arsehole.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

What’s the most un-fucking-believable thing about this conversation? It’s that he still thinks she’s coming. That even though they’re broken up, he expects her to be here, to be bowing at his feet and piling adoration on him when he couldn’t even give her the fucking time of day.

But I keep my face impassive, unable to show that I know about their breakup. The only thing I can do is entertain whatever tangent Rossi is taking me on now.

And apparently, it’s how he thinks I have a stick permanently shoved up my arse.

If he only knew . . .

“Is that so?” That’s safe enough to say.

“It is. I mean we have the job every person would kill to have. Use it to your advantage. Have a woman. Have some women. I mean, isn’t it time you actually got serious about something?”

Ditto, Rossi.

But I bite my tongue. Hard. Johann asked me to keep the peace in his garage and fuck if I’ll fail at that.

Besides, Rossi’s little tizzy has nothing to do with racing and everything to do with Blair not being here for him.

Has he called her? Texted her to ask for a second chance? Apologized to her? By the way he’s acting, I highly doubt it. So, I shrug.

“My time will come, mate.”

He narrows his eyes at me, very possibly pissed off that I’m not engaging like he wants.

“I was going to marry her someday.”

I stop my door mid-swing. Fucking hell. That’s the last damn thing I expected him to say.

Really? Marriage? I’ve been around the two of them—at a distance, but around them—for the better part of three years while on this team and not once did I ever think, now that’s a couple who’ll get married someday.

The man barely looks interested when she’s in the room. He baits her. He ignores her. And I’m not talking about at the track where they have to maintain their professionalism, but rather at private Team Apex events.

Marriage? Is he delusional?

Fourteen days.

It’s been a torturous week since I last talked to her. I’ve spent way too much time thinking about her, wanting to be with her, hoping she’s ridding Rossi from her system. And as seems to be par for the fucking course, now I’m stuck hearing him bitch and moan about missing her.

The guilt I’m suddenly feeling? Yeah, it’s eating at me in ways I’ve never experienced before.

“What was that?” I ask.

“That was the plan. Eventually. To marry her.”

Think you forgot a very important part here. The Blair wanting to part.

“Wow. Okay. That’s surprising to hear.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“You don’t exactly act like marriage is on your radar.”