“Yeah, sure, because, of course, all women look like supermodels.” She stretches out her legs, indicating the shortness of them in comparison to mine, causing me to laugh.
“Just think about it. Carrick went back to the UK, seriously pissed off with you because you blew him off, and when he comes back, he brings your look-alike with him. Coincidence? Me thinks not.” She taps her finger to her head.
“Maybe he just has a type,” I challenge.
“The only type Carrick has is pretty with a vagina that’s open for business. But now, I’m starting to think that maybe now he has just one type—Andi Amaro.”
“And I think you might still be drunk.” I show her the middle finger.
Letting out a loud laugh, she sticks her tongue out. “Deny it all you want, but deep down you know I have a point.” Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she gets to her feet. “Right, I’m hitting the shower.”
I watch her disappear into the bathroom. Then, I pull the cover over my head, trying not to think about the last thing she just said, but unfortunately, those words are swimming around like little sharks gnawing away at my brain.
Three hours later, after a mountain of croissants and coffee, I’m still feeling like crap.
Even though my mood was already rubbish due to the hangover, a phone call with my mother before breakfast left me feeling emotional. Today might not be the exact date of when my dad died, but this particular race has always been a difficult one for us.
So, I was already feeling crappy when I had to bear witness to Carrick and the pop princess kissing outside the hotel as I was leaving with Petra.
It hurt badly, seeing him with her, like someone punched in through my chest and was squeezing the life out of my heart. I know it was only harder to see because my head is in a weird place today.
But his body language did look kind of off. He seemed uncomfortable to be kissing her in public. His hands were on her arms, not around her, and he didn’t look to be pulling her closer, more like he was trying to push her away. It’s not that I was examining them or anything or that I’ve spent all morning breaking it down into microscopic details in my head.
Anyway, what do I know? I’m probably just seeing what I need to see at the moment.
He must really like Sienna for her to be here, irrespective of what he said about just going along with it for the publicity. Carrick’s not one to do anything he doesn’t want to.
The next morning after the bar incident, Ben did tell me that when Carrick had gotten back to the bar, he and Sienna had had a massive row. Apparently, he’d reamed her out for the way she’d spoken to me. Ben said she’d tried to downplay it, said Carrick was making a big deal out of nothing. Then, Carrick had told her if she couldn’t behave herself that she could just fuck off back home. Ben said she’d started crying, right there in front of them all, saying she was sorry and that she would apologize to me—which I’m still waiting for. Ben said it was just really uncomfortable, and that Carrick and Sienna had left soon after.
Probably to go have make-up sex.
Ugh! I have to stop having these torturous thoughts. I’m going to drive myself insane if I don’t.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Petra’s voice comes from behind me.
I swivel on my stool to see her holding a steaming mug in her hand.
“I brought you coffee.”
That brings a smile to my face. “Have I told you how awesome you are?”
“I am awesome,” she agrees. “And because of how awesome I am, I thought you could do with some cheering up after this morning. You know…” She pulls out a huge chocolate muffin from behind her back.
“Ah, I take it back. You’re not awesome. You’re spectacular.” Reaching over, I take the coffee and muffin from her. I put the coffee down on the desk but keep hold of the muffin.
“Also, I thought I should let you know that the pop princess is here,” she tells me in a quiet voice.
Even though, I knew it was likely that Sienna would be here with it being race day, I was praying to the gods that she might not turn up. I’m not up to seeing any more public displays of affection today.
Grumbling to myself, I take a huge bite out of the muffin.
Ah, chocolate spongy goodness. Nothing beats it.
“Where is she?” I ask through my mouthful of muffin.
“Up in hospitality, and surprise, surprise, she’s being a bitch. She talked to me like I was a piece of crap because I put semi-skimmed milk in her tea instead of skimmed milk. I mean, the horror of it!” she says with dramatic flair.
I laugh.
“I should have spit in it, the cow.”
Nodding, I take another bite of muffin. “This is so good,” I mumble. “You want some?” I offer it to her.
“No, thanks. You need it more than I do. Just don’t come upstairs if you don’t want to run into her, okay? I can’t see her coming down here.”
“God, yeah, she wouldn’t want to be around us lowly mechanics.” I slap a hand over my mouth as I spray crumbs from it, some hitting Petra. “Oh God! Sorry!” I snort a laugh through my hand, trying to keep the muffin in.
“You’re seriously gross.” Petra chuckles, brushing crumbs from her top. “You’ve got chocolate on your cheek as well, you tramp.”
I rub at my cheek with my arm. “Gone?” I angle my cheek to her.
She gives it a quick look. “Yep, you’re good. Just make sure you look in a mirror when you’re finished with it, yeah?”