3— Your Secret is safe...for now.

Elmer Reese

I didn't wait for him to say anything else before I bolted out of the lounge area towards the men's bathroom.

My heart was beating so fast that I could hear it.

“Shit.”

Shit.

I ran a hand over my face and gripped my hair.

I'm technically f**ked.

Neville won't let me hear the end of this, and if my brother, Ernest, finds out about this?

Oh God.

He would be disappointed.

That the man I've chosen to have a crush on is his reckless, emotionally unavailable best friend.

I couldn't even picture Ernest's face.

I have broken my rules when it comes to taking Neville's things.

I should have just left it or taken it with me and then returned it.

This is embarrassing, and I might die from it.

How do I convince Neville that what he saw was nothing?

I gripped the edge of the sink. I needed to avoid him from now on.

No, that's stupid.

I can't really avoid him. I work on his team as a f**king race engineer.

I would die.

I've only just begun my life.

Would I die from embarrassment at twenty-three?

I've only just begun to live.

Ahhh.

I could act professionally and ignore his snide words.

Yes, I would do that.

My phone beeped in my pocket. I took it out to see Ernest's message.

Ernest:

Where are you? Neville said he saw you.

I let out a sigh. Of course, he had gone to my brother.

Did he tell him?

No, he wouldn't.

He doesn't have proof.

With my heart racing, my thumb hovered above my phone's keyboard.

Me:

Unfortunately.

Ernest's reply was instant.

Ernest:

Don't tell me you fought with him again.

Me:

I didn't fight him. He should learn to mind his business.

                               Ernest

        Please don't fight him. We're having a     

        team dinner tonight, and I don't want 

        to deal with the two of you constantly 

        nagging.

I huffed and muttered, “Tell that to your friend.”

Another message came in from an unknown number.

My brow drew together as I clicked on the message.

                                   Unknown

                     Hey, sweetheart, you forgot

                     something.

 My stomach twisted at the nickname. I didn't need to ask who it was.

My phone beeped again.

A photo arrived.

It was me standing in the lounge, my face pressed into Neville's jacket.

“Shit.”

My phone almost slipped from my grip.

Another message came in as I stared at the screen in absolute horror.

                                    Unknown

                            Nice cologne, love.

My phone vibrated in my hand.

                                  Unknown

             Don't worry, your secret is safe

             with me.

This bastard.

How did he get my number?

He must have asked Ernest, and the idiot gave it to him.

                                            Unknown

                                             For now.

I exhaled shakily.

I imagined Neville somewhere on the circuit, smiling at his phone, knowing full well that I'd be pissed.

I hate him.

Then the next message came in.

                                          Neville

              One more thing. Wear something

               nice tonight.

I frowned.

                                                    Me

                                                 Why?

His response came almost immediately.

                                           Neville

              Because you're sitting next to me.

I scoffed.

                                                  Me

                           I would rather eat grass.

                                          Neville

          That's fine, sweetheart. I'll save you

           a seat anyway.

I dropped my phone into the sink and slid down to the floor.

This is a nightmare.

A horrible, career ruining nightmare.

And the worst part?

Neville f**king Evans knows a secret I can't deny.

And I know full well he would make sure I never forget it.

——————★

I had exactly two hours to think of an escape plan. I thought of several ways: lying about a false illness, making up a family emergency, or probably faking my own death.

But unfortunately, my brother knew me almost too well.

He saw me moping and said, “Whatever way you're thinking of escaping this team dinner won't work.”

And now I'm in Ernest's car, glaring at him every now and then, hoping to burn a hole into his head.

“Are you still planning an escape?” Ernest's voice came from the driver's seat.

“No,” I answered shortly and curtly.

“You've been staring out the window like you want to throw yourself out of this car,” Ernest said.

Maybe.

“I wouldn't dare do that, sporting director,” I said snidely.

Ernest chuckled. “Hmm.”

“I was merely admiring the scenery,” I lied.

“Hmm, hmm,” Ernest hummed again.

My eyes fell on the long, large scar on his left hand.

A scar he had sustained when he used to be a racer.

An accident that put a stop to his dream.

An accident Phantom GP claimed was caused by some technical issues and Ernest's stubbornness.

Ernest was never strong-headed—

“You have that look,” Ernest's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“No, I don't,” I denied, turning towards the side window.

Silence spread through the car before Ernest broke it by switching the topic.

“Neville said you two had an interesting encounter today.”

My soul left my body instantly.

Panic surged through me. “What did he say?”

“He said something about you stealing his jacket.” Ernest let out a small, amused laugh.

Relief washed over me.

“He is an idiot,” I murmured.

Neville hadn't said anything to Ernest, and I was grateful. Ernest didn't suspect a thing because stealing Neville's jacket was something I could do.

It was believable.

It wasn't the first time I'd taken Neville's things—back when we were young. I'd take his things and keep them away from him or hide them in places he wouldn't know about, just to stress him out.

And Ernest believed this was one of those times.

But I had developed a far worse habit with Neville's things.

My phone vibrated against my lap. I opened my new notification, and it was a message from Neville.

                                            Neville

                        On your way, sweetheart?

My heart fluttered at the nickname again.

                                                 Me

                               Don't call me that.

                                             Neville

                                    Call you what?

Now he is acting dumb?

                                               Me

                                     Don't play dumb.

I hit the send icon with gritted teeth.

                                            Neville

                         I don't have to, sweetheart.

I let out a low hiss that earned me a look from my older brother.

I'll kill someone tonight.

There will be a felony by midnight.