Page 107 of Over the Limit

I sigh and drop my head down for a beat before meeting his eyes. “What?” Disdain paints the edges of my tone.

“I miss her.”

I snort and take a seat. “You can miss her all you want but that doesn’t mean you fucking deserve her.”

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

“You’re right. I don’t. Let me rephrase. She deserves better than you.”

The fuck you is on the tip of his tongue. I can see it. He knows I can see it. But he sighs instead of saying it. “And you know this how?”

“Because she’s a great person.”

“I’ll repeat my question, and you know this how?”

“I don’t. It’s an assumption.” I pause and make myself redirect because fuck, did I step in that one. “No woman is going to be satisfied with being fourth or fifth on your list of priorities.”

“Who said she was?”

I level him with a dubious look. “Having racing come first is a given, but it seems to me that you put partying, flirting with other women, what-the-fuck-else-ever in front of her.”

“Total bullshit.”

I shrug. “You can say the words but deep down you know it’s the truth.”

“Like you could do any better. There’s a reason you don’t have a permanent woman.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Keep dreaming, Evans,” he slurs. “A woman like Blair would never even look at you twice.”

My smile is tight, the fuck you I kept in now loaded on my tongue. “You need to leave her alone.”

He throws his head back and laughs and I wince. Can’t keep to ourselves when he keeps drawing attention. “And you need to keep your opinions to yourself.”

“She’s not going to take you back.” She’s mine. God, how I want to say those words.

“Like you fucking know.” He snorts, and then fuck me. He looks right at me, eyes boring into mine. “Right?”

I lift my drink to my lips, our eyes meeting over the rim of the glass. “Right.”

A chill falls over the table and, even though he’s drunk, I can see his wheels turning and don’t exactly want them to click into place right here and right now.

“She probably just needs space,” I say. “Isn’t that what all women say?”

“Something is different this time around,” he murmurs more to himself than to me. “Just feels fucking different.”

“Probably because you let her go without a fight,” I muse, my eyes on my drink and not on him. “At least that’s how it seems. But . . . then again, it also doesn’t seem like she wants to be fought for. She’s not in the paddock. She’s not accidentally walking past the garage. She’s nowhere.”

“And you’ve noticed this why?” He narrows his eyes at me.

“I notice everything.”

“Of course you fucking do.” He shakes his head and tosses back the rest of his drink before lifting his finger to the server for another.

Looks like I’m in for a long fucking night.

But if it keeps this arsehole away from the woman I love, then that’s the sacrifice I’m willing to make.