Page 82 of Over the Limit

He shrugs. “Shit happens.”

“Shit happens?” I shout, my hands clenching into fists to hold me back from throwing one. “Are you the one footing the bill for all the money Apex just lost? Are you the one who has to explain to the sponsors why we can’t get their goddamn name on a podium? Are you the one who is going to explain to everyone that I’m a good fucking driver whose own teammate just took him out?”

There’s a clatter as he sets his helmet down on the table. His chuckle grates over my skin like sandpaper. “Ah, always about the contract with you, isn’t it?” He looks my way and angles his head to the side as he studies me. “Pity. Have you not signed with anyone yet?” He lifts his eyebrows as his question eats holes into me and causes doubt to fester.

Has he signed on?

Who signed him?

Am I going to be hung out to dry?

My head spins with the unanswered questions he’s thrown out there as a fuck you. The mind games have begun.

“Check the fucking replay for your answers,” he says and then struts out of the room and slams the door behind him.

I wait a beat and follow him to the Apex control room. My team already has the replay cued up for me, knowing I need to see what happened.

And when they push play, I see the incident in slow motion. Me chasing Navarro. Rossi chasing me. McElroy on Rossi.

“Ah,” I say as McElroy touches tires with Rossi causing my teammate to careen out of control and hit my back tire as he flew through the air. “Christ.”

“Pretty much,” Henry says as he meets my eyes. “A shit day all around.”

Fuck me.

Now I need to go eat crow. Need to apologize to Rossi for accusing him.

Fucking hell.

I was so bloody close. I take deep breaths to calm down my racing heart.

So. Close.

“It’s racing.”

Yeah, as much as it pains me, I need to go apologize to Rossi.

But first I need to speak to my agent.

Because I need to know if Rossi was taunting me . . . because he already has a contract.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Blair

“Lach?” I look back and forth outside my front door to see if anyone saw him before yanking him into my place.

“Is that a good Lach or a bad Lach or somewhere in between on the scale of happy to see me?” he asks.

“Good.” I press my lips to his and take the kiss I’ve been holding on to since I left Hungary without getting to say goodbye. “Definitely a good Lach,” I moan as his hands run over me until they rest on my ass, pulling me against him.

I’ve missed him. Plain and simple. We were at the same place all weekend but couldn’t exactly act like this.

And now that I can, I feel the ball knotted in my chest unravel.

“Now that’s a hello if I’ve ever had one,” he murmurs against my lips.

“It’s been . . . days.”