Wreckless
Page 10
“Why would I tell you?” I taunt. “You probably think all Italian men do is drink vino and eat pasta, ride moto, and make passionate love to beautiful women.”
Her eyes spark to life, earning me the shadow of a smile. “Prove me wrong, then.”
I grin. “Cannot. This is what we do.”
She chuckles, but it fades fast, Lorina dissolving back into the pale version of herself like someone dumped a bucket of sand on all her fire. “What do you really do when you’re not racing? No bullshit. I mean, I’m sure you have a family, but you don’t talk about them much, and apart from your…cousin, I’ve never seen them at any of our races.”
I twist the water bottle in my hands, forever debating how much I’m willing to tell her against what I think she probably needs to hear. Another racer walks by, making a gesture behind Lorina’s back, and I flip him off. “I have Vinicio.”
“He’s your manager. Not exactly the same.”
I look back to Lorina, realizing what I just said. “He is also il mio patrigno. Um, stepfather. Mio papà, he died many years ago.”
“Oh.” She sits up as her shoulders drop, and why did I tell her that? I should’ve told her something nice about kittens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I wave her off, starting to regret not grabbing my sunglasses before I walked out of my garage. It’s bright as hell out here. “He was old, and he died happy, with his wife and family. So it is okay.”
Lorina props her chin in her palm like she’s settling in for a story, her eyes thankfully empty of any trace of pity. “How did he meet your mom?”
I shake my head, grinning, and I can’t believe just her smile is enough to get me to babble like some prepubescent altar boy at his first confession, but whatever. At least she doesn’t seem as upset anymore. “My papà was traveling, on his way to the wedding of a friend, and he crashed his moto. Not too bad, but bad enough, and she was a nurse at the hospital where they took him.”
Lorina gasps, but her voice is all swoony. “No way.”
“Sì,” I say with a nod. “She was very young and very beautiful, and I do not know why she married him, because he was very old and very poor.”
Lorina laughs, sounding a lot more like she usually does when she’s strutting around the paddock, waiting for her next chance to prove us all slow.
“But l’amore è cieco,” I add, and her brow furrows.
“Love is…blind?”
I point at her, wondering if she realizes that over the years, she’s gone from not being able to understand a single word I speak to getting about 98 percent of it, no matter what language I’m dabbling in. “Sì. Molto bene, Tigrotta. So they married and had me, and many years went by, and then they had mio fratello.” I debate whether even to tell her, then decide to do it anyway. Can’t hurt. “My brother, Dario? He spends molto time watching moto, and he thinks you are a perfect Centauro.” I feign insult at the whole thing. But it gets Lorina’s smile to deepen, and if she keeps looking at me like that, I’m never going to shut up.
“Sounds like I need to meet your brother.”
I narrow my eyes jokingly. “No. He probably would hug you and kiss you until he had a heart attack, and he is too young for…some things.” I lean a little closer, my eyes dropping to her lips. “But I am older.”
Lorina’s eyes widen, but they’re also instantly hungry and dark with desire. I can’t resist laughing that I busted her so easily, and I get up from the table.
She’s fine, and I’m getting out of here before I get myself in deeper trouble, fun as it is.
“You’re such a jerk,” she mutters.
I swipe my water bottle from the table. “Why you are surprised, Lorina, I will never know.” I take another sip of water as I head toward the safety of my garage, but I don’t get far.
“Massimo?”
Shit. I wonder if she practices saying my name that way just so she can wield it over me whenever she chooses. She’s killing me.
I pivot toward her, drawling, “Sì?”
“Thank you, for Tigrotta.”
I don’t understand why she’s thanking me for herself. And then it clicks.
When I check, no one important is in earshot. “You named the toy Tigrotta?”
Lorina nods, and I feel myself start to smile. She wouldn’t have named it that if she truly hated the nickname, and I really, really need to get my debts paid off and my life in order. Yesterday.
“Okay.”
She tucks a loose hair behind her ear, having a hard time finding my eyes. Once she does, it seems impossible for her to look away. “Is it?”
No. It’s not okay. Not when I have to be the bad guy on the track, which means I can’t be the good guy away from it.
She swallows, looking down at my silence, and damn it. Blood pounds thickly through my veins, my steps heavy with it as I ignore every single reason why I should focus on protecting my career and head over to her anyway. I crouch down, and she shifts a little on the table bench, but not away from me like she did in her garage in Le Mans.
I drop my voice, drop the jokes. Drop all of it. Right now. “We have to be careful, cara.”
Her brow furrows because she doesn’t understand the nickname. But I’m not ready to tell her what this one means. Not yet.
“Careful like, people watching us?” she asks. I nod, and her chin lifts. “It doesn’t matter to me what they say. And if it’s your ‘cousin’ that has the problem, then—”
“It is not her that has the problem. And is not what people say. It is…to who it will be said.”
Her shoulders drop, realization flooding her eyes as she glances at the garages and then back at me. But still, she nods.
“At least we are still racing together.” I try to smile at the compromise I’ve been clinging to for years, but it’s weak. It’s all so weak. “It is something, Lorina.”
She laughs, but it sounds anything except relieved. Probably because she always gets what she wants. When she stays quiet instead of spouting off a retort, I nudge her leg with my water bottle. Her head pops up, and my breath locks in my throat at how scared she looks.
Something’s going on.
Maybe Chiara was right: Jerez wasn’t just another wreck for Lorina, and even though she walked away, it messed her head up more than I realized. More than I ever wanted to admit was possible. Especially since I picked the fight that started it all.
“It’s just, sometimes,” Lorina whispers, “I wish it were just you and me on that track, you know?” She shakes her head as though that isn’t a huge red flag in itself, and I can’t believe she’s admitting this to me—the last person who should know she’s struggling. The last person she would ever want to know. If she weren’t so shaken up. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but it would make things so much easier right now.”
Her eyes lock with mine, vulnerable and filled with so much need that it cuts me to my core, and God help me, this woman is going to rule my entire life and never let me kiss her. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to do anything about it when Angelo is already suspicious, and I’ve got Gabriele bleeding my bank account dry every time I touch down in Ravenna.
I can’t be everything Lorina needs me to be. Not yet. But I can’t do nothing.
I rise, holding up a finger for her to wait when she stares at me. It’s two seconds over to the cooking station, then I’m back, sitting across from her. “Give me your hand.” With wary movements, she stretches her left hand out across the table. “Make a fist,” I tell her, doing the same as an example.
With half a smile on the verge of being complete, she tucks her fingers into her palm so her skin draws tight. I pull her hand closer, ducking over it so no one else sees what I’m doing. Not even Lorina.
“I never realized you were left-handed,” she murmurs.
“Mm-hmm.” She is too.
She doesn’t say anything else as I quietly, secretly, in the flat part between her thumb and forefinger, draw two numbers inside a small shape in blue pen, then color it in. She giggles a little like it tickles, and when I’m finished and let her go, her eyes triple in size when she sees what I drew. I sit back and take a sip of water, aware of all the eyes watching me on the bright, sunny paddock.
Her fault. All her fault.
“Thank you.” Lorina’s voice is a little strained, but she clears her throat, glancing around. When she looks to me, she narrows her eyes, but it seems forced—like it’s more for our spectators than for me. I know it for sure when the volume of her voice rises to a public level. “Well, it’s been more than a pain in the ass speaking with you, considering you are nothing more than a narcissistic jerk who…smells. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going back to my garage.”
The corners of my lips pull up. Just a little. Then I shut it down.
Lorina rises, flipping me off with her left hand—showing me the colored-in blue heart, my number 32 left clear in the middle. “Get ready to get your ass kicked on Sunday, Massimo.”
I fake a scowl. “Not if I kick yours first, Lorina.”
She stomps away, her shoulders square and her braid fierce down her back, and it would be great if the fact that I made her feel better made me feel better. It doesn’t. Not when I’m dying to go after her and sick to death of everything that’s holding me back. Mostly my own fear that it wouldn’t matter anyway because she’ll never see me as anything but someone who has hurt her, too many times.
GRAN PREMIO D’ITALIA
Mugello, Sunday, June 02
Pos
Pts
Rider
Time
World Rank
1
25
Massimo VITOLO
41’37.152
90
2
20
Billy KING
2.531
114
3
16
Santos SAUCEDO
5.691
111
4
13
Mason KING
8.342
63
5
11
Harleigh ELIN
12.578
39
6
10
Giovanni MARCHESA
16.226
63
7
9
Gustavo LIMÓN
17.720
9
8
8
Aurelio LOGGIA
22.423
30
9
7
Rainier HERRE
27.096
17
10
6
Galeno GIRÓN
33.573
19
11
5
Gregorio PAREDES
39.496
30
12
4
Diarmaid DEAN
42.979
6
13
3
Cesaro SOTO
45.372
8
14
2
Deven HORSLEY
52.841
35
15
1
Elliston LAMBIRTH
56.725
30
16
Timo GONZALES
59.654
5
Not Classified
Cristiano ARELLANO
2 Laps
59
Fredek SULZBACH
5 Laps
21
Lorelai HARGROVE
17 Laps
69
Donato MALDONADO
19 Laps
22
GRAN PREMI DE CATALUNYA
Barcelona, Sunday, June 16
Pos
Pts
Rider
Time
World Rank
1
25
Billy KING
42’38.897
139
2
20
Santos SAUCEDO
4.032
131
3
16
Massimo VITOLO
12.577
106
4
13
Mason KING
17.371
76
5
11
Cristiano ARELLANO
21.433
70
6
10
Fredek SULZBACH
26.802
31
7
9
Galeno GIRÓN
30.581
28
8
8
Giovanni MARCHESA
33.194
71
9
7
Rainier HERRE
35.672
24
10
6
Gregorio PAREDES
>
41.153
36
11
5
Cesaro SOTO
43.731
13
12
4
Donato MALDONADO
48.825
26
13
3
Diarmaid DEAN
52.493
9
14
2
Timo GONZALES
1’07.942
7
15
1
Deven HORSLEY
1’09.710
36
16
Harleigh ELIN
1 Lap
39
17
Lorelai HARGROVE
1 Lap
69
Not Classified
Elliston LAMBIRTH
10 Laps
30
Aurelio LOGGIA
17 Laps
30
Gustavo LIMÓN
22 Laps