Page 61 of Cross the Line
I blow out a breath and slump against the steel wall behind me. I’m going to need the support for this conversation. ‘Yes?’
‘You know he didn’t need help, right?’ She regards me with a hard stare. ‘He just wanted to see you. And make you laugh.’
She’s right, but I’ll never live it down if I admit it. ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘Willow.’ Any traces of humour are gone from her voice. ‘The way that man looked at you when he opened the door? I’ve never seen anyone light up like that.’
Again, she’s right. There’s no point trying to deny it. But saying it out loud means it’s no longer just a fantasy or a simple delusion. Grace has noticed, which means I’m not making it up – andthatmeans my ability to keep from acting on my feelings for Dev is practically gone.
Shit, I’m in big trouble.
‘That’s just how he is,’ I argue weakly. ‘Literally, he’s known for having the world’s best smile.’
‘I’m not talking about his smile. I’m talking about his entire reaction to you. Just the way he—’ She shakes her head, then levels me with a no-nonsense look. ‘I get that you want to keep things professional. And I get that we as women have to tolerate being slapped with ugly names and labels when we get involved with men in positions of power. And I even understand that you don’t want to jeopardize your brother’s friendships. But, Willow, if you let that man slip away . . . then you’re a coward.’
As if to punctuate her words, the elevator shudders to a stop on the ground floor. My world feels like it’s been rocked by an earthquake.
‘Go get what you want,’ Grace finishes. ‘And don’t let yourself regret it.’
CHAPTER 20
Dev
It’s raining.
No, not just raining, it’s absolutely pissing it down, and right now, the Hungarian circuit resembles a shallow lake. If things clear up, it’s possible we can race, but for now, all we can do is sit and wait for the rain to end.
‘Go fish.’
‘Fuck!’
From my quiet corner, I snicker, chin tucked to my chest, trying not to draw attention to myself while the bored pit crew plays children’s card games in the middle of the garage. I chose to sit this round out, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t dominating the Uno game that came before this.
Nathaniel has disappeared to places unknown, avoiding everyone as always and not making any friends. Good thing he doesn’t have to; as long as his daddy’s in charge, his seat is safe.
Unlike mine.
I no longer care about fighting for my place with Argonaut, but I’ll work hard to stay on good terms with the vast majority of people here. So many of them have actually helped me – my mechanics and engineers, the entire support staff, even Konrad, who’s currently shoving his camera in my face, all deserve my best. And I’m not about to let them down.
Speaking of people I don’t want to let down, Willow moves in from the back of the garage with Patsy by her side. For once, Patsy is actually smiling, and she’s got a hand on Willow’s shoulder as if commending her. Whatever it is, it’s well deserved.
The podcast episode Willow arranged for me was released three days ago, and from the snippets I’ve heard and the comments I’ve seen online, the response has been mind-blowing. It’s as if people actuallylikeme again. Not that they should have stopped in the first place, but she’s brought me back from the brink, and I’m once again sitting pretty in the court of public opinion. It’s a miracle.
No, that’s wrong. It’s not a miracle. It’s not an otherworldly phenomenon. It’s Willow and her brilliant brain.
The praise she’s getting now is only a drop in the bucket of the veneration she’s owed. But I want to be the one to give it to her. If she’ll let me.
And that’s the problem. I don’t know if she will.
‘What’s with your face?’ Konrad asks me, sounding vaguely disgusted as he pops out from behind the camera. ‘Why do you look like you might puke?’
All right, cool, so mylovesickass looks literallysickat the idea that Willow may not reciprocate my feelings. That’s good to know.
Konrad moves off when I don’t give him an answer, hopefully assuming that I look like this because I’m apprehensive about the race. Honestly, the rain doesn’t faze me, and I take a massive risk every time I climb into the car anyway. So, racing on a wet track, while objectively more dangerous than a dry one, doesn’t make me anywhere near as nervous as watching Willow walk toward me does.
The scent of pure, sweet vanilla hits me as she slides over and stands close, surveying the rest of the garage and the pit lane outside the door. There’s a soft crease between her brows, and her deep-brown eyes are a little wider than usual as they swing to me.
‘Do you think they’re going to cancel the race?’ she asks.
