Pit Lane Persephone

Chapter 11: Seb

I lied. I wasn't going anywhere when I ran into Lauren by the exit. I was on my way to ask her to dance—Nicola's suggestion, but one that I didn't find particularly objectionable—when that couple cornered her. After I left the ballroom, I lingered in the hallway and circled back through another door just in time to see her leave teary-eyed. She's now back looking less sad than angry. I would ask if everything is okay, but she heads straight to Shane Hooper.

I shouldn't be surprised since they're obviously friends. I've seen them talk at the track or even eat together. I can imagine they both feel like outsiders, which probably explains why she can relax around him in spite of often being more reserved with the rest of us.

After Lauren talks to Shane, she's all-smiles again, and they go to dance. It could have been me out there with her, but now Shane is twirling her around and making her laugh. Because of his chair, their movements should be awkward, yet they aren't. The two of them are actually really cute, and it annoys the hell out of me. When Lauren plops in Shane's lap and wraps her arms around his neck to say something in his ear, I look away.

It's going to blow apart my training regiment, but I need a beer. There's a line at the table in the back where a bartender is serving drinks, but by the time I get my bottle of Belgian ale and take a swig, the music slows and Lauren is dancing with Diego.

What. The. Hell. I should have cut in earlier when I had the chance. Now I have to wait until that asshole is done to try again?

I drink another sip, the bitter liquid tasting better after each mouthful. At least Lauren doesn't look to be into it. Her posture is rigid and she's looking off into the distance, but Diego doesn't seem to mind. He's still trying to talk her up as they dance to the ballad.

It's actually quite funny seeing them together like this because in her high heels, she's now taller than the Spaniard. Thinking of her legs draw my eyes downward to her naked calves, reminding me of her in that small bikini from earlier. The memory lingers longer than it should, and my slacks tighten around my crotch, forcing me to adjust myself. Idiota. No matter the time or place, I shouldn't be thinking of her like that.

Raising the bottle to my lips again, I drain the remainder. Maybe I shouldn't approach her again right away. She could probably use a break. Besides, I don't want to look like I'm just here to take my turn on her dance card.

When Diego's hand slips from her waist and cups her ass, Lauren and I both freeze. She's actually faster to react than me as her expression goes from surprised shock to pure anger within seconds. She then mouths something, places her hand against his chest, and tries to push him away, but Diego pulls her back.

My feet are moving before I even decide what to do. Circumventing tables and dodging guests, I barely miss running into a waiter with a tray of empty cups. The delay causes me to arrive at the dance floor only after Nigel is already escorting Lauren away. She's in good hands now, so I go to Diego who's still standing on the side.

"What was that?" I poke him in the shoulder.

"Relax, man," he says, putting his hands in his pocket. "Everything is cool."

"Do not touch her again," I warn, fighting the urge to grab the guy by the lapels and throw him against the wall. When people nearby start to notice our discussion, I relax my posture and drop my hand. With the risk of sounding like a disgruntled Mafioso, I add, "Or you answer to me."

"Do you speak for her now?" Contrary to common sense, Diego has the nerve to escalate things, but I almost laugh. In spite of thrusting his chin up to appear taller, he still falls several centimeters short of my own one-meter-seventy-eight height.