Page 144 of Off the Grid

“Is he going to be okay?” Riggs finally asks.

I close my eyes a beat and then shift suddenly so that I’m straddling him. He laughs as I dip my mouth down and meet his.

“I think we’ve done enough talking,” I murmur against his lips.

“Is that so?”

I crawl my way down his torso, my lips kissing their way as I go. My eyes never leaving his.

“Are you complaining?” I ask as I take his tip to my lips and kiss it.

“No. God, fucking no.”

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CHAPTER FIFTY

Camilla

Riggs’s handsome face fills the screen, his smile front and center. “Hi there.” He gives a salute. “Back for another round of Am I the Arsehole. I know we took a break last week and posted a race Q&A, but your complaints were heard. Loud and clear. So . . . back to our regularly scheduled program.” He shifts the phone some. “This AITA comes from someone with the last name Gasket. Love the name, dude.” He gives a thumbs-up while I eye my phone screen warily. If this isn’t a post directed at me, I don’t know what is. “Gasket’s question is as follows: Hey, Riggs. Am I the arsehole for lying to my mates about having to go to a work function when all I want to do is hang with the girl I’ve been seeing?”

And when he grins and looks into the camera.

I swear he’s looking straight at me and the goofy grin I have on my lips.

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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Riggs

“What’s your feel on things?” I ask Ari as I lift a hand to thank the flight attendant for my drink.

Singapore Grand Prix, here we come.

The private jet that Moretti provides its racers for travel is top of the line in all aspects—including service according to Andrew. The same Andrew who is currently smirking at me from across the aisle because apparently, he’s taken advantage of said service.

I guess his service came with the first name of Savannah. Guess he’s no longer with his girlfriend. Or maybe he is. Who the fuck knows?

“You can’t talk, can you?”

“No.”

“People in front of you?”

“Yep. You guessed it,” I say, trying not to make it obvious that we’re talking about shit that’s private.

“So Maxim has a week or two. Maybe three. His goal is to get back by next month. Either Qatar or Austin. The gist I’m getting is that he’s feeling a little threatened by your success and sees the need to get back and prove himself back into his ride before you steal it.”

My chest constricts—from pride, from dread, from the unknown, and a healthy dose of panic.

“And?”

“You’re asking where that leaves you?”

“Correct.”

“I’m not sure to be honest. There are a few scenarios. Moretti cuts you, you don’t find another ride, and you go back to StarOne Racing to wait for the season to end and hopefully get picked back up. Moretti cuts you and another team picks you up. There are two drivers who are underperforming, and their positions might be up for grabs. Or . . . Moretti keeps you. Either as their number two, because they’re not one hundred percent convinced Maxim’s ready, or they keep you as a reserve driver.”