Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Across the way, Lex and Ronan are a study in contrast. Crown Velocity’s uniforms are darker—racing green sliced with black and charcoal gray. Lex’s suit is pristine and fitted like a tailored tuxedo, his silver-and-black helmet gleaming even without the sun’s rays. Ronan’s helmet is almost fully green and covered with renditions of all the formula tracks we race.
Timmy directs us efficiently, which I appreciate, and I end up having a bit of fun. When Ronan’s in front of the camera, he’s like a statue—flawless but frozen. Lex, by contrast, oozes charm. Nash and I shoot our pairing with mock serious faces and exaggerated poses that have everyone snickering.
The vibe is generally good, but it’s impossible to ignore the wall between Lex and Ronan. They don’t speak. They don’t make eye contact. They rotate through the shoot like ships passing in the night.
After an hour, we end up taking a break. Crew members drift toward craft services, makeup artists huddle around monitors, and Timmy is off gesturing wildly at a camera rig that’s apparently not dramatic enough for his taste.
Nash is a few meters away, pacing and laughing softly into his phone—clearly talking to Bex, based on the way his face lights up. I glance around for Ronan, but he’s vanished again. No surprise there since he’s not exactly the social butterfly type. If there’s a corner to brood in, I’m sure he’s found it.
Then I spot Lex, sitting alone on a bench outside the hospitality tent. He’s stretching his long legs, one ankle lazily resting over the other, his green-and-black Crown Velocity suit unzipped at the collar.
I grab a water bottle from the cooler near craft and walk toward him. “Hey,” I say, holding it out.
“Thanks.” He accepts it with a grateful nod and that easy Lex smile—the kind that always looks genuine no matter who you are. He unscrews the cap and takes a long drink. “Having fun?”
“This is definitely part of the sport I’m not used to,” I reply, easing onto the bench beside him.
The wind nips at my loose hair as I tuck a few strands behind my ear and I curse Timmy for insisting I leave it down. It’s constantly in my face, tickling my neck. I miss my braid.
Lex frowns at my efforts to contain the mass. “Why don’t you just tie it back?”
I snort, pushing another lock behind my ear. “Timmy’s orders. Apparently, I needed to look more female. As if the boobs didn’t give it away.”
Lex barks out a laugh, sharp and genuine, his shoulders shaking. “Timmy’s a menace.”
“Yeah, well, he tried to get me in full makeup too. I drew the line at lip gloss.”
Lex’s smile lingers as he shakes his head. “Good for you.” His tone is warm, approving, and I appreciate the acceptance into his inner circle for the day.
We sit in companionable silence for a beat, watching as a lighting crew repositions a soft box reflector along the pit wall. A bird cries overhead, the sound sharp and distant against the mechanical thrum of generators in the background.
“We missed you at dinner last night,” Lex says casually.
“I was having a drink with Ronan,” I say, keeping my tone neutral, though the memory of the bar still lingers on my skin.
Lex blinks, bottle poised halfway to his mouth. “Ronan?” he repeats, frowning.
I nod. “Yeah… saw him going into a pub after the shoot and followed him in. I invited him to come to dinner, but he declined.”
His expression doesn’t shift into judgment, exactly, but it does close a little. He leans back against the bench, eyes flicking toward the track.
If I thought that might coax him into telling me more about what happened between them, I’m sadly disappointed. “He told me a little about it,” I offer.
Lex’s gaze returns to mine, cool but not hostile. “Then you understand why we’re not friends and why I’m not particularly sad he didn’t show up last night.”
“I think so,” I admit. “He indicated you two used to be close.”
“We were.”
I hesitate, unsure how much of Ronan’s confidence I’m betraying, but I push forward. “I asked him why he did it… outing Posey the way he did.”
Lex’s brows rise in visible surprise. “Well, he never told me,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Then again, I punched him for doing it, so there wasn’t much talking after that.”
I let out a low breath. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize that.”
“Yeah.” His response is flat, but I hear the hurt laced within it. “It was a clean hit too. Knocked him back a step. He didn’t return the punch.”
“That says something,” I murmur, watching a gust of wind whip a Drivex banner so hard it nearly rips off its post. “Want to know why he did it?”
Lex doesn’t respond immediately. He studies the bottle in his hand like the label might hold answers to bigger questions. “I’m not sure if I care, to be honest.”