Page 83 of Handle Me

I got out without a word and headed straight for the locker room.

“Where are you going?” Wilkes asked, following at my heels.

“We’re done, right?” I snarled, not bothering to hold the door for him

He swore under his breath as it swung toward him. He caught it before it smacked him in the face and headed in after me.

“Are we going to talk about what’s going on out there?” he asked.

I started peeling off my suit and shook my head. “What’s the point?”

“The point?” he repeated and barked a laugh. “The point is that you’re supposed to be a professional racecar driver but that last time you clocked wouldn’t put you on the boards. It wouldn’t put you in the same room.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.” I pushed past him, padding toward the shower. I already knew my times were shit. I wasn’t sure why he kept pointing it out. I turned on the tap to scalding and stepped under it. Heat seared my skin, but the tension I felt in my muscles, my body, my fucking soul, didn’t melt.

I half expected him to follow me and continue his lecture, but he didn’t. I stayed under the water, wishing it was hotter, wishing it could wash away the memory of Lola. But she lingered—her smile, her touch, her scent that seemed to coat my entire body right down to my heart. It was beyond wishful thinking. It was stupid. Nothing could do that. I knew because I’d been trying everything I could think of for weeks.

Wilkes was waiting for me outside the showers when I finally emerged. I groaned when I saw him.

“You know, it’s the strangest thing,” he said as I wrapped a towel around my waist. “I’m looking at you, but it’s like you left your head in London.”

“Sod off,” I muttered. Digging through my locker I found my pants and yanked them on.

“Being mad at me isn’t going to help.”

“It can’t hurt.” I shot him a smirk as I pulled my T-shirt over my head.

“You know what’s going to hurt? Losing all your sponsors. McKinnons called and they want to send their people over to check out their investment.”

I froze but didn’t look over at him. McKinnons was the biggest sponsor we had left. Between my wreck, my hiatus, and my royal scandal, most of our sponsors had dropped me quickly and quietly.

“If we lose them—” he started.

“I get it.” If we lost them, that was it. No car. No season. No future. “What did you tell them?”

“I gave them some bullshit excuse that they should wait a few weeks.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “But I can’t stall them forever. “

“I know that.” The words tasted bitter because I meant what I said. I knew exactly how bad our situation was. The problem was that I couldn’t seem to do a damn thing about it.

“Look.” Wilkes straightened and took a deep breath that told me I really wasn’t going to like whatever came out of his mouth next. “Maybe you should talk to Lola.”

“Fuck you.” I grabbed my phone and keys from the shelf and shoved them into my pocket.

“I don’t think I’m the one you want to fuck,” he said meaningfully.

“Fuck you,” I repeated and instantly felt like a knob, so I added, “harder.”

“How eloquent,” he said dryly. “Is that Chaucer or Shakespeare?”

I pushed wet hair out of my eyes. I needed to get it cut. I had needed to for weeks. I’d needed to do a lot of things for weeks. Scratching my chin, I realized that I didn’t remember the last time I had shaved. I made a note to do it later, right after I wiped away the memory of today’s laps with a few pints.

I turned to Wilkes and forced a smile.

“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously.

“Smiling.” But as I said it my lips fell into a frown.

“It looks like you’re in pain,” he said in a flat voice.