Off the Track Series Book 3
An unexpected twist of fate finds Charlotte spending a late night turned early morning with Max Verstappen. The only catch - He doesn't even touch her, but they do touch each others hearts. After a lifetime of getting it...
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Under five minutes later that's exactly where I find myself. Sitting around a cold conference table in Christian's office, outnumbered by seven cups of steaming joe placed around the table long enough for at least a dozen. Seven cups for seven people the last of which is yet to show naturally. There's the Red Bull Mechanic I've since come to learn as Robert on my left, across from us a very tense Max, Jos, a team lawyer named Bobbi who is busy rapidly reviewing paperwork flanked by Christian at the head of the table.
The six of us sit in silence while Christian looking at his phone like it holds the answers to the universe. Jos is studying his fingernails like he's bored but his already forming bruise says otherwise meanwhile Robby is studying the ceiling. As for Max, since the moment he came into view of the door frame his eyes have left me a total of twice.
I've been counting.
I know the question his ocean blues are asking even without having the strength to meet them with my own I'm sure he's only asking one thing: What the hell just happened?
The one thing I'm not sure I can answer.
So, what happened was, your father assaulted me and had I not knocked him unconscious with your gaming controller likely would have raped me.
Yeah, doesn't really roll off the tongue.
Max already thinks I'm a distraction. A bad enough distraction at that, that he broke whatever was happening between us off. Since the week I met his father things have been like night and day between us. If he knew what just transpired on the same bed he takes naps on, things will only get worse. We're talking about his bloody father, how could that not make it more tense?
That's something I really can't stomach.
As it is I ache for him so I'll keep this all inside if it means he stays in my life. He may not want me, but I fucking need him.
So much it hurts.
I need him like I need water. It only takes a few hours without him to start craving him again, but after a few dats it's an unbearable itch. A few days and I'll do anything to see his little smile or for the tiniest graze of his skin against mine. Even just his voice will do. He has such a hold on me it's nearly an addiction.
An addiction he has just as bad as me, despite what he says. His eyes tell me a different story than his voice and that's the story I'm clinging to. His eyes confess he misses my touch just as much as I miss his. That there's a deep longing for me brewing beneath his hard exterior.
There always has been. It's why he's always concerned about my flights, always finding my eyes across a crowded room, always finds a reason to be near to me when he can. That's even why he said that delicious shit to the press, for an excuse to talk. Not a good one at that but I know he's drawn to me the same way I to him.
It feels like a magnetic force drawing us together despite our inhibitions at every corner.
Since the moment we meet there's been a feeling of alignment between us, an understanding we are in each others lives to stay even though all logic points to the opposite.
