“Listen, I don’t like this any more than you do, but you need help, and I am a great person willing to help out.” The thought of rolling down the window and throwing myself out of the car suddenly becomes very appealing.
“I don’t want to go to your place,” I say, my hair dripping and my legs sticking to the seat. I wiggle my ass a little to get it even wetter, making Leonard sigh again. This man and his fucking sighing are driving me crazy.
“I made my mum’s famous chicken piccata,” he says, and I stop arguing. That’s my favorite dish Rena’s ever made for me.
“Okay,” is all I say as I keep scratching Benz’s chest. This might be the worst idea I’ve had in a while, but I’m wet and miserable and have nowhere to go. Only Leonard’s.
Fuck my life.
CHAPTERSEVEN
leonard
Starling has been standing in the middle of my flat for several minutes, saying nothing as her face is forced into a serious look to hide the awe I see sparkling in her eyes. My flat is nice. It’s clean because I can’t live in filth, the furniture is light and matches the walls well. Everything is modern and big, there are windows so large, you can perfectly see the London Eye. I don’t remember why I decided to move directly into the city when all of my family lives forty-five minutes outside of it, but I like the view. I like seeing people enjoying their life in the city which has always felt like home to me. I like watching the seasons change. I like everything about my life here.
“Come, Starling, let’s get you into some dry clothes,” I say while touching her arm once very lightly. She doesn’t jerk away from my touch but leans into it a little, surprising me. Her eyes are still studying my living room when I lead her to my bedroom.
It’s big, huge even. There is a king-sized bed in there for no one other than myself. I’ve never had a girlfriend, and my friends-with-benefits arrangement ended a while ago. Since then, no one’s slept in my bed apart from me, which only bothers me when my cock starts twitching uncomfortably at the sight of Chiara’s breasts getting hugged by that soaked shirt.Nope. Go away, thought. Cock, calm down.
“I’m not putting on your clothes,” she says when I walk toward my closet.
I grab a pair of sweatpants and a shirt before opening a new box of underwear. She watches me the whole time, so I don’t bother explaining the boxers are unused as I shove them into her hands.
“Would you like to walk around naked or get sick by keeping those wet clothes on?” She can’t argue with me on that, which is why I decide to test my luck and grab her a towel too. “In case you want to take a shower,” is all I say before pointing at my bathroom and leaving her to do what she wants.
As soon as I’ve created some distance from her, my skin decides to start breathing properly again and my cock relaxes. I shake my head and curse at my body for responding to such an irritating woman that way. Wanting Chiara is by far one of the worst things I could ever do. Apart from us being enemies, I have no desire to make my brother feel like I’m stealing his best friend from him. Then again, he’s the one who is hurting her right now, and I’ve never been angrier with him.
I’m proud that he’s trying to find happiness, but the way he’s going about it is painful for Chiara. If I were him, I’d find a way to take her with me because that woman, more than anyone I’ve ever met, deserves to get away for a little. She works harder than even I do, and that’s saying a lot considering I’m training, analysing data, and attending meetings with my team every chance I get.
Being a Formula One driver is a lot of hard work, something most people don’t realise. They don’t even think F1 is a sport sometimes, let alone that drivers have some of the most draining jobs. Yes, we earn a shit ton of money for it, but being in the spotlight on top of everything is exhausting. The media pick you apart until you’re unrecognisable, even to yourself in the mirror. It’s draining as hell, especially recently for me.
I’ve been winning races, but it hasn’t meant as much to me as it used to. My love for the sport has started to crumble, and I don’t have a single clue how to get it back. I also have no one to talk to because, as much as I adore her, Quinn can’t help me either. It terrifies me how I feel about racing. I need to snap out of this phase as soon as possible, I just have no clue how.
Benz follows me into the kitchen where I continue cooking the food I promised Starling I was making. After finishing it, I feed my girl, watching her tail wagging from excitement at seeing the meal I’ve prepared for her. I recently switched her from kibble to raw, and she’s been loving every single bite.
“Where is your dryer?” Chiara’s heavy-accented voice flows into my ears, so soft and warm, it wraps around me for a second. I shove the feeling away as soon as it tries to settle in my chest.
“Give those to me,” I say, and she furrows her brows, giving me a disapproving look.
“You’re so bossy,” she replies, and I lean down as I stand in front of her, our faces so close, her peachy scent fills my nose. I can’t stand being close to her. My body’s reactions are unforgivable.
“I have to be, otherwise your stubborn arse won’t listen.” She’s distracted enough from shock so I can pull the wet clothes from her chest. Unfortunately, it allows me to see all of her in my clothes, and that’s a sight no part of me was prepared for.
Focus! You don’t like her. She drives you absolutely wild. She’s irritating and stubborn and—
And gorgeous.
“Are you done ogling me or would you like me to do a spin for you, sir?” she asks like she’s the most submissive woman in the world. Fuck. Me.
“Spin,” I challenge her, which she wasn’t expecting. Her shocked look sends a wave of contentment through me, settling in my eyes until I even feel the corners of my mouth lifting. Fuck it. I don’t stop them, especially because it’s only a tiny smirk.
“In your dreams, asshole,” she says and walks into the kitchen where Benz is.
I smile to myself while throwing her clothes into the dryer and setting the time. When I join Starling in the kitchen, she’s watching Benz enjoy her food with a soft look in her eyes. She’s been wearing that expression a lot more recently, and I have an awful feeling it’s because she’s tired. I can’t imagine how exhausted she is, but the bags under her green eyes tell me more than she ever would.
For the past four weeks, I’ve been keeping my distance from her because the way I felt after that night when we spoke about her job unsettled me. I’ve also been trying to find a way to get her to quit by offering her something safer, more stable, and with more money. So far, I’ve come up with nothing good, and I won’t go to her with half an idea. I thought about hiring her to walk Benz and paying her a fuck ton of money, but, knowing Chiara—and I know her very well—she would never agree to it. She’d walk Benz, but she won’t take my money.
My eyes fixate on her hands, watching them shake on the counter. I cock an eyebrow, worry,fucking worry, settling deep inside of me. I’m getting sick and tired of my head coming up with strange things, like telling me to go find out why her bloody hands are shaking and then comforting her because of it. It’s not my problem. Starling is not my goddamn problem. So, where the hell are my next words coming from?
