Page 75 of Off the Grid

“Jesus. Is Moretti so desperate for followers that they’re using your social media now?”

I look over toward Cruz Navarro and his shit-eating grin and raise my middle finger. The fucker and I have known each other as long as I’ve been karting. He may have been the one who pulled up in a rig full of extra parts and fancy graphics—an F1 legacy’s son in every way that I’m not—but he’s always been a decent friend to me.

Not the kind where we talk every day but the kind that when we do talk, it’s like no time has been lost.

“Not desperate. They just know a good thing when they’ve got one and want to use every facet of mine to do so,” I say.

“Sounds like what I did last night. Used every facet of the chick I had over.” Cruz waggles his eyebrows and my middle finger goes up again. “What? Don’t give me that. You and I both know you’ve had every chance possible to do the same since being called up. Hell, I saw you in Montreal. The track bunnies following you around like a new shiny toy, dropping their phone numbers for you like they’re wanting to drop their skirts.”

“Perhaps.” I shrug. My grin says I just might have taken advantage of it.

But I didn’t.

Isn’t that the crux of it?

I fucking didn’t, and I can blow smoke up my own arse and say it’s because I’m busy concentrating on making my name known, but if I believe that smoke, it might simply be because it’s easier than believing the truth.

There’s one particular woman who has taken up residence in my mind.

“It’s so painful at the top, I think you should volunteer to go back to F2.”

“That’s where I say fuck you. I love you, but fuck you.”

He barks out a laugh and pats me on the back. “I’m glad you’re here even if that means I’m going to have more competition in the female department.”

“Whatever. I don’t think you’re hurting in the least.”

“Never.” He takes a sip of his water. “Shit, man. Look at the two of us, racing against each other like our dads did.”

“Crazy, huh?”

“Yeah, except that you’re chasing ghosts you want to catch while I’m falling short of the perfection expected of me.”

“Lucky us,” I murmur as memories of the great Dominic Navarro belittling his only son for not crossing the finish line high enough flash through my mind.

“Lucky fucking us.” He gives a shake of his head. “But you’re liking Moretti?” he asks and brushes his thick mop of hair off his forehead before setting his Gravitas Racing hat back down onto it.

“Good. Fine. We’re still making adjustments to the car—just like it seems we all are. But I think it’s getting there. It’s quick as shit.”

“Not quicker than me.” He lifts his eyebrows and smiles.

“Not yet, but there’s time, Navarro.”

He barks out a laugh. “Keep chasing and I’ll keep waiting for you on the podium.”

“Fucker,” I mutter playfully.

“Yes, I am.” He winks. “But seriously? You good?”

“Dude, I’m just happy to finally fucking be here. And Moretti is solid. Their crew. Their technology. Their engineering. They really have taken care of me.” Unlike Camilla Moretti, who I’d love to take care of me. Because I’ve come to realize she’s hot in all the right ways.

“They run a good outfit over there. Courted me a time or two but my contract with Gravitas is rock solid. If it wasn’t, I would’ve considered it.”

“I’m still getting to know everyone but so far so good.”

He licks his lips and lowers his voice. “Have you talked to Maxim at all?” he asks cautiously.

I avert my eyes and shake my head subtly, embarrassed by my answer. “He’s still not taking calls. I’ve tried.”