“Mm, I’m sure you are.” Finally, she sticks a hand out for me to shake, having made up her mind that I’m worthy of her time. “I’m Stella.”
I wrap my fingers around hers, the warmth of her soft palm seeping into mine. “Thomas. Pleasure to meet you.”
We drop hands when the bartender sets our drinks down, eye contact breaking. When it does, the rest of the room comesrushing back. I don’t remember it fading away, slowly blurring around the edges, but I have to blink to make sense of it again.
“So, Thomas,” she says, and the way my name snaps off her tongue with the sharp consonants of her American accent is surprisingly sexy. “Are you winning the championship so far?”
That really goes to show she’s unaware of me, because I’m so far away from winning the Drivers’ Championship it’s comical. Seventh in the points isn’t bad by any means, but it sure isn’t first.
It would be impossible to quickly explain the ins and outs of this season so far, so I answer with, “No, but I did make it onto the podium in the last race.”
“Ah,” she murmurs sagely. “So you’re a loser.”
She’s prodded at a sore spot, but I keep the well-practiced smile on my face. “Some might call me that.”
“You don’t seem like a loser to me.” She eyes me carefully again before necking the rest of her champagne. She sets the empty flute down a little too hard, then curls her fingers around the new rocks glass. “If anyone’s a loser here, it’s me.”
It’s an odd slip in the confidence she’s been radiating, and she flinches when she realizes what she’s said. “God, sorry.” She exhales a wavering laugh. “I’m just a little bitter. Don’t mind me.”
I can feel her struggling to regain her previous bearing even as she shakes out her hair and pushes her shoulders back. Part of me is almost tempted to walk away—I don’t need to get sucked into someone else’s pity party—but the fact that she’s fighting to break free of it keeps me in my seat. And all right, I’ll admit it…I’m curious what could rattle a woman like this.
I wait until she’s taken a long swig of her drink before asking, “Any particular reason for the bitterness?”
She swallows, and to her credit, she doesn’t wince at the burn of liquor. “You don’t read the gossip rags?” she drawls, side-eyeing me. “Check DeuxMoi every morning with your cup of Earl Grey?”
“You’re famous enough for that?” I gently lob back with a crooked smile, though it’s interesting that I’m talking to someone who’s well-known enough to make it into the gossip pages.
Thankfully, it gets her to laugh, and some of the tension in her posture seeps away again. “Way to keep my ego in check.”
“To be fair, you didn’t know who I was either.”
“Touché. Well, if you really want to know my deep, dark story…I got left at the altar two weeks ago.”
It takes a beat before her words hit me, but my jaw quickly goes slack. Someone leftthiswoman on their wedding day? Seems unbelievable having only known her for five minutes, though maybe underneath the good looks and intense charm is a monster. Still, I thought that kind of thing only happened in movies. “You’re joking.”
“Sadly, no.” She flashes a tight smile. “Five years of my life, down the drain in the span of a few seconds.”
“My God,” I exhale, gut-punched on her behalf. Even if she’s some sort of demon, I couldn’t imagine waiting so long to break up with someone that you left it until you were about to say your vows. I may not have any relationship experience, but at least I know better than to dothat. “That’s devastating.”
“Yes, thank you for the reminder,” she says with fake cheer.
I shrug, nonchalant, even though there’s a chance I’ve already made her regret her choice to talk to me. But I’m not going to hold back or lie. “I’d say sorry, but it seems you’ve dodged a bullet.”
She freezes, glass once again halfway to her lips. “How so?”
It’s a good sign she’s still willing to entertain me, and I mean it when I say, “Any man who’d leave on your biggest day is a cunt you wouldn’t want to be tied to for the rest of your life.”
Her eyes go wide, a beat passing where I wonder if she’ll tell me to fuck off…but then she laughs. The sound is a rumble in the air. It’s full-throated and genuine, nothing melodic about it. Nothing sweet or put on. And I like it far more than I should.
“Breaking out theC-word. I barely know you, mister.”
“It seemed fitting.”
“You’re absolutely right about that,” she agrees, lifting her glass a little higher. “How about we toast to it?”
I wrap my hand around my drink and bring it up to hers, gently tapping the rims against each other as I catch her gaze. “To cunts,” I announce grandly. “May they stay out of our lives.”
She takes a sip of her drink, her tongue swiping across her vermilion-painted bottom lip as she lowers the glass again. The action has my eyes flicking to her mouth, and if her spreading smile is anything to go by, she’s noticed.
