Revived by Samantha Towle
He looks out the window, away from me. “Do you always have to be right?” His tone is light, so I know I haven’t pushed him too far. He brings his eyes back to me.
“It’s part of my job,” I say in a teasing manner. “But, in all seriousness, just because I think something doesn’t make it right. It’s what you think that counts.”
“I guess.” He takes another sip of coffee.
“So, it’s easier sitting in the passenger seat. If I asked you to sit in the driver’s seat with the engine off, would that be possible?”
“Do I have a choice?”
There’s no humor in his voice, so I tread back carefully.
“You always have a choice, Leandro,” I say in a soft voice. “Nothing has to happen that you don’t feel comfortable with. You ever think I’m pushing you too hard, tell me. We’ll stop and reevaluate.”
“I was teasing, India, but good to know where you stand. And it’s fine. Let’s do it. Nothing can happen to me in a parked car, right?”
“Right.” I smile, my eyes meeting with his.
“So…”
“So?”
“Are you going to crawl over my lap to swap seats, or are we getting out of the car?” He grins at me and my face flushes.
Crawling over his lap…
“We’re getting out of the car.”
We pass at the back of my car, and surprisingly, he’s in the car before me.
I shut my door with a soft clunk. “How does this feel?” I ask him, assessing his face.
“Fine, I guess. I feel…stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Yeah.” He rests his forearms on the steering wheel. “I’m a grown-ass man who needs help getting into a car.”
“No, you’re a grown-ass man recovering from a serious accident that nearly took your life.” I take a deep breath and go for the plunge with my assessment. “Leandro, have you heard of post-traumatic stress disorder?”
“Yes. People who come back from war have it.”
“Yes, but it’s not only military personnel who suffer from PTSD. People who have survived a traumatic experience, like you did, can also suffer from PTSD.”
He turns his face to me. “You think I have PTSD?” He points a finger at himself.
“A mild form, yes.”
He faces forward, staring out the windshield. He’s silent for a long time.
“Does knowing that bother you?” I ask breaking the silence. “I’m not putting a label on what your issue is, Leandro. I’m just giving you something to work from. Understanding your problem is half of the battle to beating it.”
“You sound like a psychology textbook.”
“You read many of them?” I smile.
Meeting my eyes, he returns that smile, and it momentarily lightens his dark eyes.
“Oh, yes, all the time. I have a stack on my bedside table. Idiot’s Guide to Psychology.”
“That’s my favorite.”
He laughs. It’s a rich deep sound, and I feel it all the way down to my toes. I scrunch them up in my shoes.
“Right. Give me your keys.” He thrusts his hand out at me.
“You want my keys?”
“Yes.” His stare on me is direct, but his face is relaxed.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to see if I can start this engine without freaking out like a pussy again.”
“You sure you’re ready for this? It was only last night when you tried—”
“I’m sure.”
His hand is still held out, so I retrieve my keys from my jacket pocket and hand them to him. It’s impossible to avoid touching him this time, but I make it quick and brief while ensuring I avoid eye contact with him, so he can’t see the effect his touch has on me.
Facing forward, he starts to flex his hands out, and he takes a deep breath.
“Just take your time. You feel stressed or panicky at any point, just stop and take deep breaths.”
“I got this.” He grins at me.
“And don’t worry if you lose it again. I’m insured.”
“Is that an invitation to smash your car up?” He laughs.
“Sure. Why not? It’s about time I got a new one.” My lip lifts at the corner in a half smile.
He laughs again. I really like hearing him laugh. It makes me feel like we’re taking positive steps forward, and it’s not at all about the way his laugh makes me feel inside.
One more deep breath, he punches the key into the ignition and turns it over without a moment’s hesitation.
I watch his eyes close as my car rumbles to life.
His hands are wrapped around the steering wheel, his knuckles white from his tight grip.
“How do you feel?” I ask softly.
“Better than I did last night.” He opens one eye and looks at me, a touch of a smile on his lips.
“Damn, so I won’t get a new car out of this.”
He chuckles, and I can feel the tension already leaving his body.
He closes his eyes again. Hands still on the steering wheel, he rests his head back against the seat and blows out a breath.
We sit like that for a long moment. Leandro acclimating himself to his environment. Me watching him, assessing if a panic attack might be about to happen.
But his breathing seems even, and his grip on the steering wheel has relaxed a little.
“When I woke up in the hospital, I know I should have felt relieved to be alive. And I guess a part of me did. But a bigger part of me wished I’d died in that crash…because I knew, right then and there, that I wouldn’t be able to get back in a car. And if I wasn’t racing, then I might as well be dead.” Opening his eyes, he tilts his head my way and stares at me. “I know you probably don’t understand that, but racing is my whole life. It’s all I ever wanted to do, all I was ever good at. Losing it…it’s killing me slowly.”
“You’ll get it back,” I tell him with surety. Then, I do something I never, ever do. I make him a promise. “I’ll help you get it back. I promise you.” Before I can stop myself, I lay my hand on his arm.
“Thank you.” His words are soft as he looks back out the windshield where small droplets of rain have started to appear.
And I retract my burning hand, knowing I need to find my professional balance here.
MY PHONE BUZZES IN MY POCKET. Pulling it out, I see it’s Carrick.
“I’m in the taxi and on my way. I’m just running late. I had a meeting earlier at Lissa.” Lissa is my team headquarters. Tilting the phone away from my mouth, I give the driver the address to the restaurant.
Over this last month, I’ve been working a lot with her at getting used to being back inside a car. India has been taking me out on drives. First, we started with me sitting in the back and then moved up to me sitting in the passenger seat. I haven’t driven yet, but I no longer freak out at being in a car or the sound of the engine running.
Sounds lame considering what I do for a living, but I have to take it slow. Those are India’s words. She says if I rush it, I might end up hindering myself and risk an anxiety attack, taking myself back steps.
I don’t want that.
To a degree, this whole baby-steps shit is frustrating because I want nothing more than to be able to drive a car. But I trust her, and it’s clearly working as I don’t feel like I’m going to lose my shit in this taxi right now or panic like a little bitch when I sit behind the wheel of a car, like I would have done before she started helping me.
“Just checking that you didn’t forget.” Carrick chuckles.
“Like I would.”
“Yeah, sure. Just like you didn’t forget the last time.”
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
I forgot because I was drunk and holed up in some chick’s apartment, fucking the night away. I’d met her at the supermarket where I was buying a bottle of whiskey. We’d ended up taking it back to her place, drinking it, and—well, you know the rest.
I felt like a complete sh
it because I’d let my friends down.
“No, because Andressa had to explain to the date she brought for you that you hadn’t stood her up.”
“Because I hadn’t known she was bringing a date for me.”
Even if I’d known she brought me a date, it probably wouldn’t have changed the way that day and night went. Dates want more than one night.
Then, it dawns on me why he’s actually ringing.
“Please tell me that Andi hasn’t brought another date for me tonight?”
Silence.
And his silence speaks volumes.
“Oh god,” I groan. “She has, hasn’t she?” I groan. “There’s no way you’d be checking up on me like a woman if she hadn’t. Andi made you call me, right?”
“Maybe.”
“God, you’re so pussy-whipped.”
“There’s a lot to be said for being whipped.”
“You’re a dick. And if I didn’t platonically love your wife, then I’d be calling her a pain in my ass right now.”
“She just wants you to be happy.”
“Jesus, why didn’t she learn from the first time she set me up? Dates and me don’t go together.”
The first dinner we had together when I moved back to London, Andi brought along a date for me. Her hairdresser. Granted, the date didn’t go too badly because I ended up taking the hairdresser back to her place and fucking her. Problem was, that was all it was—a fuck. Sadly, she wanted more and didn’t take my rejection too well. Andi had to find a new hairdresser.
So, God knows why she’s insistent on constantly trying to set me up with people she knows.
“You really need to get your woman under control.”
Carrick laughs. “Ha! If it were possible, I’d have done it ages ago. So, can I tell Andressa that you’ll be here soon and that you’re over the fucking moon that she’s brought you a date?”
“Is the date hot?”
“If you like that type.”
“What type?”
“Yoga instructors.”
Hmm…
“They’re seriously bendy, right? Then, yeah, tell Andi I’m over the fucking moon, and I’m skipping over fucking rainbows that she’s brought along a yoga instructor as a date for me. I’ll see you in ten, dickface.” Then, I hang up the phone.
Resting my head back on the seat, I blow out a breath, rubbing my clean-shaven chin.
I got rid of the beard. I even had my hair cut.
I thought it was about time. And it will show India that I am really trying to clean myself up.
Okay, so pep talk, Silva…
I will not have sex with the bendy yoga instructor—unless she is absolutely clear on the fact that it is a one-time thing. Then, fucking her will be fine.
Unless she’s dog ugly, of course.
And I will not get drunk. I’ll fuck the bendy yoga instructor because I actually want to, because there’s chemistry, and not because I am wasted or want to forget myself in her body.
If only India could hear me now, she’d be so proud. She’d be proud that I’m not going to screw somebody.
I laugh in my head at that thought.
Since India started treating me, my drinking has slowed down to a stop, and the random hook-ups are also nonexistent. I haven’t had sex since that night with those two women that caused me to run late for my appointment with India the next day.
It’s not been easy, but working on my issues with India is giving me purpose, something I didn’t have before. My goal is to work toward getting back in a car, driving it, and then eventually racing.
One step at a time, no matter how long it takes.
Well, aside from being about to enter the last year of my contract. That kind of puts a time cap on it.
The taxi pulls up outside the restaurant. I pay the driver and climb out.
It’s started to rain, so I quickly make my way inside. The maître d’ approaches me. She instantly recognizes me. I’ve gotten very familiar with the look people get in their eyes when they recognize who I am.
“My friends are already here. I’m joining Carrick Ryan.”
If she recognizes me, then she definitely knows who Carrick is.
“I’ll take you to your table.” She gives me a coquettish smile.
It’s impossible for me not to return it. I’m a flirty bastard by nature.
As I follow behind the maître d’, I check out her ass.
Nice. Curvy. An ass you could grab ahold of while you fucked her.
But it’s nowhere near as good an ass as India’s.
“You’re late,” Andi says as I approach the table, giving me a chastising look, but there’s a smile on her lips, so I know she’s not as mad as she might like to make out.
As I reach the table, I let my eyes flicker over to the yoga instructor.
Dark hair. Pretty face. Big tits.
“Sorry.” I lean down and kiss both of Andi’s cheeks. “You look lovely, as always.”
“Oi, dickface. Hands off my wife.”
“Good to see you, too, Ryan.” I smirk at him.
Grinning at me, he stands, and we do that handshake and half hug that us men like to do.
“Been a while. You doing okay?” he quietly asks me.
I meet his eyes, giving him a nod. “I’m doing good.”
“Leandro, this is Katrina,” Andi says.
Turning to Katrina, I smile at her, properly looking her over, as I move around the table where, of course, I’ve been strategically seated next to her.
She has a strappy red dress on, and her ample cleavage is spilling out of it.
I put my hand out to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, Katrina. I’m Leandro.”
She slips her hand into mine, and I kiss her cheeks, but I feel nothing. No spark or connection.
A strange sense of relief settles inside me.
I’m relieved that I don’t have a connection with the hot woman? What the hell is wrong with me?
India. That’s what’s wrong with me.
She’s the only person I feel that spark with, and she’s the only woman I can’t have.
Story of my fucking life at the moment.
Every time I touch India, I feel something that I haven’t ever felt with a woman, even before the accident. Sure, I’ve sparked and connected with women in the past, but what I feel every time I touch India is pure exhilaration. Like I’m about to start the greatest race of my life.
“I know who you are. And call me Kat.” She gives me a flirty smile, just like the maître d’ did moments before.
“What can I get you to drink?” a waitress asks, appearing at our table.
I glance at the table and see what everyone’s drinking. Carrick’s on the whiskey, like usual, Andi has a beer, and Katrina has a glass of red wine.
I want to keep my mind clear tonight, so I’m not going to drink. “I’ll just have a lemonade with a slice of lime.”
“Are you driving tonight?” Kat asks me.
“No.” I pretend not to see the smile on Andi’s face. I know she thinks I drink too much.
I did drink too much.
Kat turns in her seat to me, pressing her knee right up against my thigh. “So, why aren’t you drinking?” she asks, like it’s a given that I should be drinking. That’s probably because of what she’s read and heard about me recently.
Something uncomfortable moves in my chest.
“I just like to keep a clear mind when in the company of such beautiful women.” I turn my charm on to stop her from asking any more questions that I’m not in the mood to answer.
“What’s everyone having?” Andi says, opening her menu.
I flicker an appreciative look to her, to which she smiles.
I’m not an alcoholic because coming off the drink hasn’t been too hard. But I was using it as a crutch, and until I know I can drink for the enjoyment again, I’m staying off it. I just don’t want to have to explain myself to a complete stranger.
I open m
y menu, noting the fact that Kat hasn’t moved her leg from against mine. Then, I see her hand drop into her lap, and she starts to inch it toward my leg.
Okay. She moves fast.
Not that I have a problem with fast. I’m just not going to go there with her.
No chemistry, no fucking.
Her fingertips have just made it to my thigh when the waitress returns with my drink, so Kat retracts her hand, placing it on the table.
When I lift my eyes, I catch Carrick grinning at me.
I give him a fuck-off look, to which he chuckles.
“I’ve decided.” Carrick slaps his menu shut. “What are you having, babe?” he asks Andi.
“I can’t decide.”
“What about the veal?”
Smiling, she shakes her head, and he laughs, clearly sharing a private joke. Taking her hand in his, he kisses it.
I feel a small pang in my chest at the realization that I might never have that with someone.
“Hey, Carrick, look. Dr. Harris is here.”
Andi’s words have my eyes snapping up from the table.
Turning his head in the direction where Andi is looking, Carrick says, “Oh, yeah.”
My eyes search her out, but a pillar is blocking my view, and I can’t see her from where I’m seated.
“Who’s Dr. Harris?” Kat asks.
“She’s my therapist,” Andi answers with ease.
The Andi before India would have had a problem answering that question. She was secretive and kept things to herself—her words, not mine—but since India has being treating her, Andi is more open, less afraid to tell people things about herself.
“I’ve had—sometimes still have—worries over Carrick’s racing, and she’s helps me deal with it,” Andi explains to Kat.
I slide a glance at Carrick, and the fucker is grinning at me.
I know it’s not because he’ll say anything about me seeing India, and neither will Andi.
Then, about two seconds later, I see the reason for his grin when India comes into view, and so does the man she’s with.
She’s on a date?
I feel like I’ve just been punched in the chest.
Is this the guy she was on the phone with the other week? The one she said, “I love you,” to?
The guy looks like a dick. Sure, I can’t see him properly from here, but he’s definitely not good enough for her.
“It’s part of my job,” I say in a teasing manner. “But, in all seriousness, just because I think something doesn’t make it right. It’s what you think that counts.”
“I guess.” He takes another sip of coffee.
“So, it’s easier sitting in the passenger seat. If I asked you to sit in the driver’s seat with the engine off, would that be possible?”
“Do I have a choice?”
There’s no humor in his voice, so I tread back carefully.
“You always have a choice, Leandro,” I say in a soft voice. “Nothing has to happen that you don’t feel comfortable with. You ever think I’m pushing you too hard, tell me. We’ll stop and reevaluate.”
“I was teasing, India, but good to know where you stand. And it’s fine. Let’s do it. Nothing can happen to me in a parked car, right?”
“Right.” I smile, my eyes meeting with his.
“So…”
“So?”
“Are you going to crawl over my lap to swap seats, or are we getting out of the car?” He grins at me and my face flushes.
Crawling over his lap…
“We’re getting out of the car.”
We pass at the back of my car, and surprisingly, he’s in the car before me.
I shut my door with a soft clunk. “How does this feel?” I ask him, assessing his face.
“Fine, I guess. I feel…stupid.”
“Stupid?”
“Yeah.” He rests his forearms on the steering wheel. “I’m a grown-ass man who needs help getting into a car.”
“No, you’re a grown-ass man recovering from a serious accident that nearly took your life.” I take a deep breath and go for the plunge with my assessment. “Leandro, have you heard of post-traumatic stress disorder?”
“Yes. People who come back from war have it.”
“Yes, but it’s not only military personnel who suffer from PTSD. People who have survived a traumatic experience, like you did, can also suffer from PTSD.”
He turns his face to me. “You think I have PTSD?” He points a finger at himself.
“A mild form, yes.”
He faces forward, staring out the windshield. He’s silent for a long time.
“Does knowing that bother you?” I ask breaking the silence. “I’m not putting a label on what your issue is, Leandro. I’m just giving you something to work from. Understanding your problem is half of the battle to beating it.”
“You sound like a psychology textbook.”
“You read many of them?” I smile.
Meeting my eyes, he returns that smile, and it momentarily lightens his dark eyes.
“Oh, yes, all the time. I have a stack on my bedside table. Idiot’s Guide to Psychology.”
“That’s my favorite.”
He laughs. It’s a rich deep sound, and I feel it all the way down to my toes. I scrunch them up in my shoes.
“Right. Give me your keys.” He thrusts his hand out at me.
“You want my keys?”
“Yes.” His stare on me is direct, but his face is relaxed.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to see if I can start this engine without freaking out like a pussy again.”
“You sure you’re ready for this? It was only last night when you tried—”
“I’m sure.”
His hand is still held out, so I retrieve my keys from my jacket pocket and hand them to him. It’s impossible to avoid touching him this time, but I make it quick and brief while ensuring I avoid eye contact with him, so he can’t see the effect his touch has on me.
Facing forward, he starts to flex his hands out, and he takes a deep breath.
“Just take your time. You feel stressed or panicky at any point, just stop and take deep breaths.”
“I got this.” He grins at me.
“And don’t worry if you lose it again. I’m insured.”
“Is that an invitation to smash your car up?” He laughs.
“Sure. Why not? It’s about time I got a new one.” My lip lifts at the corner in a half smile.
He laughs again. I really like hearing him laugh. It makes me feel like we’re taking positive steps forward, and it’s not at all about the way his laugh makes me feel inside.
One more deep breath, he punches the key into the ignition and turns it over without a moment’s hesitation.
I watch his eyes close as my car rumbles to life.
His hands are wrapped around the steering wheel, his knuckles white from his tight grip.
“How do you feel?” I ask softly.
“Better than I did last night.” He opens one eye and looks at me, a touch of a smile on his lips.
“Damn, so I won’t get a new car out of this.”
He chuckles, and I can feel the tension already leaving his body.
He closes his eyes again. Hands still on the steering wheel, he rests his head back against the seat and blows out a breath.
We sit like that for a long moment. Leandro acclimating himself to his environment. Me watching him, assessing if a panic attack might be about to happen.
But his breathing seems even, and his grip on the steering wheel has relaxed a little.
“When I woke up in the hospital, I know I should have felt relieved to be alive. And I guess a part of me did. But a bigger part of me wished I’d died in that crash…because I knew, right then and there, that I wouldn’t be able to get back in a car. And if I wasn’t racing, then I might as well be dead.” Opening his eyes, he tilts his head my way and stares at me. “I know you probably don’t understand that, but racing is my whole life. It’s all I ever wanted to do, all I was ever good at. Losing it…it’s killing me slowly.”
“You’ll get it back,” I tell him with surety. Then, I do something I never, ever do. I make him a promise. “I’ll help you get it back. I promise you.” Before I can stop myself, I lay my hand on his arm.
“Thank you.” His words are soft as he looks back out the windshield where small droplets of rain have started to appear.
And I retract my burning hand, knowing I need to find my professional balance here.
MY PHONE BUZZES IN MY POCKET. Pulling it out, I see it’s Carrick.
“I’m in the taxi and on my way. I’m just running late. I had a meeting earlier at Lissa.” Lissa is my team headquarters. Tilting the phone away from my mouth, I give the driver the address to the restaurant.
Over this last month, I’ve been working a lot with her at getting used to being back inside a car. India has been taking me out on drives. First, we started with me sitting in the back and then moved up to me sitting in the passenger seat. I haven’t driven yet, but I no longer freak out at being in a car or the sound of the engine running.
Sounds lame considering what I do for a living, but I have to take it slow. Those are India’s words. She says if I rush it, I might end up hindering myself and risk an anxiety attack, taking myself back steps.
I don’t want that.
To a degree, this whole baby-steps shit is frustrating because I want nothing more than to be able to drive a car. But I trust her, and it’s clearly working as I don’t feel like I’m going to lose my shit in this taxi right now or panic like a little bitch when I sit behind the wheel of a car, like I would have done before she started helping me.
“Just checking that you didn’t forget.” Carrick chuckles.
“Like I would.”
“Yeah, sure. Just like you didn’t forget the last time.”
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
I forgot because I was drunk and holed up in some chick’s apartment, fucking the night away. I’d met her at the supermarket where I was buying a bottle of whiskey. We’d ended up taking it back to her place, drinking it, and—well, you know the rest.
I felt like a complete sh
“No, because Andressa had to explain to the date she brought for you that you hadn’t stood her up.”
“Because I hadn’t known she was bringing a date for me.”
Even if I’d known she brought me a date, it probably wouldn’t have changed the way that day and night went. Dates want more than one night.
Then, it dawns on me why he’s actually ringing.
“Please tell me that Andi hasn’t brought another date for me tonight?”
Silence.
And his silence speaks volumes.
“Oh god,” I groan. “She has, hasn’t she?” I groan. “There’s no way you’d be checking up on me like a woman if she hadn’t. Andi made you call me, right?”
“Maybe.”
“God, you’re so pussy-whipped.”
“There’s a lot to be said for being whipped.”
“You’re a dick. And if I didn’t platonically love your wife, then I’d be calling her a pain in my ass right now.”
“She just wants you to be happy.”
“Jesus, why didn’t she learn from the first time she set me up? Dates and me don’t go together.”
The first dinner we had together when I moved back to London, Andi brought along a date for me. Her hairdresser. Granted, the date didn’t go too badly because I ended up taking the hairdresser back to her place and fucking her. Problem was, that was all it was—a fuck. Sadly, she wanted more and didn’t take my rejection too well. Andi had to find a new hairdresser.
So, God knows why she’s insistent on constantly trying to set me up with people she knows.
“You really need to get your woman under control.”
Carrick laughs. “Ha! If it were possible, I’d have done it ages ago. So, can I tell Andressa that you’ll be here soon and that you’re over the fucking moon that she’s brought you a date?”
“Is the date hot?”
“If you like that type.”
“What type?”
“Yoga instructors.”
Hmm…
“They’re seriously bendy, right? Then, yeah, tell Andi I’m over the fucking moon, and I’m skipping over fucking rainbows that she’s brought along a yoga instructor as a date for me. I’ll see you in ten, dickface.” Then, I hang up the phone.
Resting my head back on the seat, I blow out a breath, rubbing my clean-shaven chin.
I got rid of the beard. I even had my hair cut.
I thought it was about time. And it will show India that I am really trying to clean myself up.
Okay, so pep talk, Silva…
I will not have sex with the bendy yoga instructor—unless she is absolutely clear on the fact that it is a one-time thing. Then, fucking her will be fine.
Unless she’s dog ugly, of course.
And I will not get drunk. I’ll fuck the bendy yoga instructor because I actually want to, because there’s chemistry, and not because I am wasted or want to forget myself in her body.
If only India could hear me now, she’d be so proud. She’d be proud that I’m not going to screw somebody.
I laugh in my head at that thought.
Since India started treating me, my drinking has slowed down to a stop, and the random hook-ups are also nonexistent. I haven’t had sex since that night with those two women that caused me to run late for my appointment with India the next day.
It’s not been easy, but working on my issues with India is giving me purpose, something I didn’t have before. My goal is to work toward getting back in a car, driving it, and then eventually racing.
One step at a time, no matter how long it takes.
Well, aside from being about to enter the last year of my contract. That kind of puts a time cap on it.
The taxi pulls up outside the restaurant. I pay the driver and climb out.
It’s started to rain, so I quickly make my way inside. The maître d’ approaches me. She instantly recognizes me. I’ve gotten very familiar with the look people get in their eyes when they recognize who I am.
“My friends are already here. I’m joining Carrick Ryan.”
If she recognizes me, then she definitely knows who Carrick is.
“I’ll take you to your table.” She gives me a coquettish smile.
It’s impossible for me not to return it. I’m a flirty bastard by nature.
As I follow behind the maître d’, I check out her ass.
Nice. Curvy. An ass you could grab ahold of while you fucked her.
But it’s nowhere near as good an ass as India’s.
“You’re late,” Andi says as I approach the table, giving me a chastising look, but there’s a smile on her lips, so I know she’s not as mad as she might like to make out.
As I reach the table, I let my eyes flicker over to the yoga instructor.
Dark hair. Pretty face. Big tits.
“Sorry.” I lean down and kiss both of Andi’s cheeks. “You look lovely, as always.”
“Oi, dickface. Hands off my wife.”
“Good to see you, too, Ryan.” I smirk at him.
Grinning at me, he stands, and we do that handshake and half hug that us men like to do.
“Been a while. You doing okay?” he quietly asks me.
I meet his eyes, giving him a nod. “I’m doing good.”
“Leandro, this is Katrina,” Andi says.
Turning to Katrina, I smile at her, properly looking her over, as I move around the table where, of course, I’ve been strategically seated next to her.
She has a strappy red dress on, and her ample cleavage is spilling out of it.
I put my hand out to shake hers. “Nice to meet you, Katrina. I’m Leandro.”
She slips her hand into mine, and I kiss her cheeks, but I feel nothing. No spark or connection.
A strange sense of relief settles inside me.
I’m relieved that I don’t have a connection with the hot woman? What the hell is wrong with me?
India. That’s what’s wrong with me.
She’s the only person I feel that spark with, and she’s the only woman I can’t have.
Story of my fucking life at the moment.
Every time I touch India, I feel something that I haven’t ever felt with a woman, even before the accident. Sure, I’ve sparked and connected with women in the past, but what I feel every time I touch India is pure exhilaration. Like I’m about to start the greatest race of my life.
“I know who you are. And call me Kat.” She gives me a flirty smile, just like the maître d’ did moments before.
“What can I get you to drink?” a waitress asks, appearing at our table.
I glance at the table and see what everyone’s drinking. Carrick’s on the whiskey, like usual, Andi has a beer, and Katrina has a glass of red wine.
I want to keep my mind clear tonight, so I’m not going to drink. “I’ll just have a lemonade with a slice of lime.”
“Are you driving tonight?” Kat asks me.
“No.” I pretend not to see the smile on Andi’s face. I know she thinks I drink too much.
I did drink too much.
Kat turns in her seat to me, pressing her knee right up against my thigh. “So, why aren’t you drinking?” she asks, like it’s a given that I should be drinking. That’s probably because of what she’s read and heard about me recently.
Something uncomfortable moves in my chest.
“I just like to keep a clear mind when in the company of such beautiful women.” I turn my charm on to stop her from asking any more questions that I’m not in the mood to answer.
“What’s everyone having?” Andi says, opening her menu.
I flicker an appreciative look to her, to which she smiles.
I’m not an alcoholic because coming off the drink hasn’t been too hard. But I was using it as a crutch, and until I know I can drink for the enjoyment again, I’m staying off it. I just don’t want to have to explain myself to a complete stranger.
I open m
Okay. She moves fast.
Not that I have a problem with fast. I’m just not going to go there with her.
No chemistry, no fucking.
Her fingertips have just made it to my thigh when the waitress returns with my drink, so Kat retracts her hand, placing it on the table.
When I lift my eyes, I catch Carrick grinning at me.
I give him a fuck-off look, to which he chuckles.
“I’ve decided.” Carrick slaps his menu shut. “What are you having, babe?” he asks Andi.
“I can’t decide.”
“What about the veal?”
Smiling, she shakes her head, and he laughs, clearly sharing a private joke. Taking her hand in his, he kisses it.
I feel a small pang in my chest at the realization that I might never have that with someone.
“Hey, Carrick, look. Dr. Harris is here.”
Andi’s words have my eyes snapping up from the table.
Turning his head in the direction where Andi is looking, Carrick says, “Oh, yeah.”
My eyes search her out, but a pillar is blocking my view, and I can’t see her from where I’m seated.
“Who’s Dr. Harris?” Kat asks.
“She’s my therapist,” Andi answers with ease.
The Andi before India would have had a problem answering that question. She was secretive and kept things to herself—her words, not mine—but since India has being treating her, Andi is more open, less afraid to tell people things about herself.
“I’ve had—sometimes still have—worries over Carrick’s racing, and she’s helps me deal with it,” Andi explains to Kat.
I slide a glance at Carrick, and the fucker is grinning at me.
I know it’s not because he’ll say anything about me seeing India, and neither will Andi.
Then, about two seconds later, I see the reason for his grin when India comes into view, and so does the man she’s with.
She’s on a date?
I feel like I’ve just been punched in the chest.
Is this the guy she was on the phone with the other week? The one she said, “I love you,” to?
The guy looks like a dick. Sure, I can’t see him properly from here, but he’s definitely not good enough for her.