Page 79 of Off the Grid

He takes a few steps backward. “I will,” he says but he doesn’t turn to go. He just stands there looking at me. Lips pursed and eyes narrowed. “So where’d you go with him?”

It takes everything I have not to burst out laughing.

A part of me thinks it would serve him right if I just shrugged and walked away—leaving him wondering.

The other part of me is finding this way too amusing and endearing. It’s yet another side to Riggs that I never expected.

“Why do you care?” I ask.

“I don’t.” He shrugs.

“But you asked, so you do care.” I fight my smile as he stands there, clearly flustered and by his body language, not totally comfortable with his own questions.

“Yeah. Whatever.” This time he does turn on his heel and walks away.

I watch his backside. The strong shoulders. The nice ass. I wait until he gets to the entrance of the building before I yell, “I was taking him over to find his girlfriend. That’s where we went.”

Riggs pauses. One foot on the pavement, the other on the curb. He hangs his head and his laugh carries to me.

And then he walks inside, leaving me to wonder, what the fuck was that?

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Camilla

I’m surprised I can hear the knock on my door over the bass pumping against my wall. Or the round of cheers that goes up every so often that sounds like a full-blown cheering section.

Party Guy is in full swing again next door and seeing as it’s been a nonstop weekend at our home track, Silverstone, I’m tired—mentally and physically. I’m cranky, despite being thrilled with a fourth and a sixth place finish for Moretti. And all I want to do is sleep in my own bed. Bask in my own silence. Maybe eat my takeout order whose delivery man is probably at my door without . . . all this extra noise.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Coming,” I shout but doubt the delivery person can hear me above the noise.

But when I open the door, it’s not my food. It’s two incredibly gorgeous but clearly drunk women. Their eyes are glassy. Their laughs are too loud. Their expressions take a second to transition from party mode to confusion.

“Hey. Where’d the party go?” the one in the pink, barely-there dress asks. She looks behind me as if I’m hiding what sounds like fifty-plus people.

“Next door.”

“Which way?” the one in the black dress asks, her head swiveling back and forth as if she can’t tell which direction the commotion is coming from.

I shrug and smile. “How about where the noise is.”

They both look at me with furrowed brows and wobbly legs on top of their high heels. Clearly my neighbor doesn’t care about intellect when he rolls out the party invites.

“But . . .” Pink Dress sighs and bats her lashes.

“That way.” I point down the hallway. The quicker they go, the sooner I can get back to my pretend peace and quiet.

A loud giggle. Boobs almost spilling out as Black Dress bounces up and down. “Thank you so much. We owe you for life.”

I just stare after them as they walk down the hall toward the party. Was I ever like that? God, I hope not.

Within seconds I hear a rush of noise when the door is opened and a loud cheer followed by their giggly laughter.

No. I most definitely wasn’t like that.