Revved

I shake my head, fighting a grin. “You’re a sex maniac.”

“I’m not a maniac. I just love having sex. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

“Oh, Jesus. Please don’t tell me that you’re one of those people who doesn’t like having sex. Because if you don’t, then you’ve been doing it with the wrong people, and that means we definitely have to do it.”

“Of course I like having sex!” Okay, I said that a little too loud.

“Thank God.”

“And you and I are definitely not doing it.”

“Shame.”

I roll my eyes. “Why are we talking about this again?”

“Because sex is the most interesting thing in the world, and I’m awesome at it.”

He stops in front of me, staring down into my eyes. I feel his gaze sizzling into me. I’m suddenly struggling to find my breath and the ability to move.

Sexual energy is crackling between us. And I so want to act on it…find out if he is as good as he says he is.

But I can’t.

“No sex, buddy.” My voice comes out hoarse, so I clear it. “Just friends, remember?” I indicate between us.

“Ah, right. Of course. I forgot myself for a minute there.” In reproof, he clicks his tongue against his teeth. “And we’re not just friends. We’re best friends, Amaro. Get it right.”

“Sorry.” I hold my hands up in mock surrender.

We start walking again.

“So, come on then. Put me out of my misery. What’s my ransom?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I think I’m gonna pocket this one and use it when I really need something.”

“Well, make sure it’s something you really, really need ’cause you’ll only get away with bribing me once.” On a wink, he pulls the door open and gestures me through.

We approach the ticket counter. I see the guy behind the counter looking at Carrick like he knows him, but he’s just not sure where from.

I wonder how long it’ll take Ticket Counter Guy to figure it out.

“What racing sessions do you have?” Carrick asks him.

“We do a quick circuit, which lasts for up to fifteen minutes,” Ticket Counter Guy says in really good English. “Or you can hire for longer if you want.”

Carrick looks at me. “What are you up for?”

“You choose. I don’t mind.”

“We’ll hire for fifteen minutes. But we can add more later if we want?”

“Sure,” Ticket Counter Guy says. “Just tell the marshal, and you can pay for the extra before you leave.”

He prints off our tickets while Carrick and I argue over who’s paying.

“Seriously, you’re not paying, Andressa.”

“Come on. You pay for everything. Even when we go out drinking, you’re always paying for everyone’s drinks.”

“How much did you earn last year?”

I’m taken aback. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

He leans in close to my ear. The feel of his body millimeters from mine sends me spiraling.

“You know how much I earned? Twenty million. I’m paying for the fucking tickets.”

I lean back, meeting his eyes. “Okay,” I placate.

I quickly look at Ticket Counter Guy, who’s definitely trying to pretend he’s not listening.

With a winner’s smile, Carrick hands over his credit card to Ticket Counter Guy.

When we’ve paid, Ticket Counter Guy tells us we need to give our tickets to the karting marshal.

We’re just about to head in when Ticket Counter Guy says, “You’re…Carrick Ryan, right?”

I see the dismay flash through Carrick’s eyes. It was silly to think Carrick could come here and not be recognized.

Carrick steps back to the counter. “Yeah…but I’m just here to have some fun with my friend. So, I’m not here, okay?”

“Okay,” Ticket Counter Guy says. “But can I get your autograph?”

“Sure,” Carrick says on a smile.

“Will you sign my cap?” Ticket Counter Guy pulls off the Formula 1 cap he’s wearing.

Carrick nods, and Ticket Counter Guy hands it over along with a marker.

“You a racing fan?” Carrick asks while he signs his name.

“Huge fan. Me and my younger brother always watch on TV. You’re our favorite. My brother’s gonna be gutted that I met you, and he didn’t.”

“You ever been to the Prix?” Carrick asks.

“No.” Ticket Counter Guy pulls a face of discomfort. “Tickets are too expensive for a guy who works on the counter at the karting ring.”

I feel a little pull in my chest.

Carrick must feel it, too, because he says, “What’s your name?”

“Sulaiman.”

“Nice to meet you, Sulaiman.” Carrick hands him the cap and marker back. “Write down your and your brother’s names and your address for me, and I’ll have two VIP tickets couriered to your house.”

Sulaiman looks like he’s just been punched in the face—in the best kind of way.

“Really?” he asks wide-eyed.

“Really.” Carrick smiles.

I’m watching Carrick, intrigued, and I can see it in his eyes—how making other people happy makes him happy.

Now, I get it—why he has to pay for everything. It’s not about showing how much money he has. It’s about being able to make other people feel good with his money.