I drove because it calmed me; I raced because it exhilarated me in a way no drug could touch. Racing made me feel in control. Alive.
Tonight, I’d needed that more than most nights. Yes, I’d wanted to teach Clive a lesson, but I’d also wanted to forget about my kiss with Scarlett.
For fifteen glorious minutes, I had.
But now that Clive was gone and the race was behind me, my thoughts returned to where they always went.
Back to her.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
CHAPTER 20SCARLETT
“That enough popcorn for you, or should I buy you another bucket?” I asked.
Vincent grabbed the bucket from the counter and arched an eyebrow at me. “I’m preparing for you to steal half my snacks the way you always do.”
I gasped. “Do not.”
“Do too.” He pitched his voice higher. “No, thanks, I’m not hungry. Ten minutes later: Vince, can I have some of your chips?”
“Oh, shut up. Like you don’t steal my stuff all the time. Remember when you stole my limited-edition Adele vinyl one summer because she was your crush’s favorite singer and you wanted to impress her? Then you scratched it and tried to make it up to me by taking me to Nando’s.”
“First of all, Nando’s is great. Second of all, that was ten years ago. You have to let it go.”
“Never.” I followed him to our assigned theatre. “That’s what little sisters are for. To remind you of your transgressions for the rest of your life.”
Vincent rolled his eyes. “I should’ve rescheduled my promo video and stayed in Paris. I’m clearly not appreciated here.”
“Wrong. I appreciate you opening your wallet.” He’d covered our movie tickets and snacks today. “I’m so lucky to have such a generous ATM by my side.”
He snorted out a laugh and ruffled my hair with his free hand. “Brat.”
“Stop! You’re messing up my hair.” I pushed his hand away, but I couldn’t resist a laugh.
Despite his overprotectiveness, inflated ego, and totally slanderous lies about my food stealing habits, he was a great brother, which was why my kiss with Asher felt like a betrayal even though I hadn’t meant it as one.
A needle of guilt wormed through my gut.
Don’t think about it. Today was about sibling bonding and the latest Nate Reynolds movie. There was no room for anything else in this theatre.
Vincent and I secured our favorite middle row seats with ease. It was Saturday afternoon, well before the evening rush, and we were at our favorite little cinema on the outskirts of London.
He’d also dressed down in one of his ridiculous disguises—baseball cap, sunglasses, hoodie with the hood pulled up. I kept telling him that wearing sunglasses inside made him look like a wanker, which in turn made me look like someone who’d be friends with a wanker, but he wouldn’t listen.
While Vincent settled in to watch the trailers, I checked my phone.
I’d texted Brooklyn last Sunday to thank her again for getting me into Neon queue-free, and we’d been talking like longtime friends since. I had a new message from her inviting me to brunch one day (answer: Of course! I’d love to join), as well as one from Carina asking if I thought cricket drop shipping was a viable side gig (answer: No, not for her, since she hated insects).
Other than that, I had no other messages.
Not that I was expecting or desiring any, especially not from anyone I was training.
My studio time with Asher had been cordial and professional all week. I showed up, we worked out, I left. Not a single hint of flirting in sight.
I grabbed a handful of popcorn from Vincent’s bucket and stuffed it in my mouth.
“Ha! See?” He sent an accusing glare my way. “Stealing.”
I ignored him and reached for more.
All the reasons I gave Asher for why we wouldn’t work were true, and I refused to be one of those people who got mad when others did what they asked.
I told him to pretend the kiss never happened, and he had.
So why did I feel like crap about it?
“DuBois. That you?”
Vincent and I looked up at the same time.
Blond hair. Hazel eyes. Boyish grin.
My heart sank to my toes.
Clive.
