At the pinnacle of her career, orthopedic surgeon Ava King conquers the lucrative medical field of London.
A wild and intimate night with competitive Formula One driver James Ellis ends with Ava being stood up. The rejection leads her straight into...
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I can't deny the surge of nerves pulsing through my limbs as we walk towards the conference room of the track.
A shuttled bus collected the families staying in our and neighboring hotels and it was a lovely, picturesque route, winding along the French Riviera, with sprawling green hills scattered with villas on the one side, and the turquoise-blue Mediterranean Sea coastline on the other.
Iris was talking my ear off the entire way. She and August arrived this morning and we had just enough time to take the kids for a quick swim at the hotel pool before getting ready. She's a typical, competitive soccer mom; itinerary printed, fanny bag with passports and monies sealed and she's already been through the agenda. Iris is aware of all the kids in Adam and August's age group and whether or not they're a competitive threat to our kids and she even knows all the mentors, coaches and team leaders by name.
Had I thought of being that prepared, seeing James yesterday wouldn't have been surprising at all.
"Why are you so jittery?" Iris asked. "Is it CFG?"
Thanks to James, everyone now refers to Gabriel as cockface Gabe.
"No. I told you; he's been oddly silent."
The hairs at the back of my neck prickle. It's odd. And too quiet. Gabriel hasn't messaged since (I'm assuming) James accosted him at work. There was a constant barrage of messages and missed calls from the moment he left my office, all through the next morning. And then silence.
I have the paranoid feeling of being watched.
That's another reason why I felt such a sense of relief when I saw James. I can't help but feel a degree of comfort and protection when he's around. And while I know James would protect me in a heartbeat, I don't know how much help he'd be if Gabriel is in a full rage. I mean you've seen those thriller movies... those crazies don't feel pain; they'd chase their victim through the woods even if an axe were lodged in their skulls.
I should probably lay off those movies for a while.
And Netflix serial killer documentaries.
When we arrive, I fix my clothes and my hair again for the umpteenth time. Iris gave up and shakes her head, huffing at me annoyingly.
James looks handsome as always. This time wearing just a simple white golf shirt with his team's insignia, and a casual cap, jeans and sneakers combo.
"Nice to meet you, Ava. I'm James." He smirks, trying his best to keep up the ruse, hopefully oblivious to my trembling hands and lips.
I meant it, schoolgirl crushing to the fucking max.
How embarrassing?!
This reminds me about the first time I crushed on a guy named Ryan Murphy. He was a senior. I was a junior. He was first team rugby captain and sports captain (yep I've always liked jocks.) And I was a hormonal snot head who hadn't even had her first kiss yet. And one day, his sparkly blue eye winked at me. I nearly died. And that was that. I was at peace. I didn't need more than that.
