Throttled (Dirty Air Series Book 1)

I hear Sophie before I see her. She yells at a guy to stop accosting her in the stands. Her vocab choices are something else, a testament to reading one too many classic novels.

She makes her way toward the seat next to mine and settles down. We look the same, twinning in Bandini polos and ear protection gear.

“What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to spend time in the pit.”

Nearby fans give us weird looks. I tug my hat lower on my face and pull down my sound-reducing earmuffs to hear her better.

She shrugs, picking up that trick from me. I nudge her in the ribs.

“Ouch. Fine. No need to get physical. Noah cornered me earlier asking where you were.” She rubs her rib.

Did I hear her right? “And you ended up here how?”

“Noah forced me to, I guess so you’re not alone.”

It shocks me that he even cares.

“Did he say anything else?” I fiddle with the settings on my camera.

“He said, and I quote—” her voice drops lower to imitate Noah’s—“I didn’t know she was a fan of hiding. Let her know when I find her, she won’t like it. I was the champ at hide-and-seek growing up.”

“What? Seriously?” My voice screeches.

“No! That’s a terrible pick-up line. He’s better than that. I’m messing with you.” Her laugh fills the silence. She’s giving me a severe case of emotional whiplash today. “But there was some observable tension. I may conclude that he likes when you hang out on race days?”

“I didn’t think he cared if I was around on Sundays.”

Her eyes shine. “Hmm. I don’t know about that. Noah seemed agitated that you weren’t around earlier. At least enough to ask me about it.”

Announcers cut off our conversation, letting the crowd know the race will begin momentarily.

The crowd quiets down as red lights flash above the grid. Everyone holds their breath for the start of the race, electric energy charging the stands as race car engines rev. My heart beats along with the flashing signals above the grid. The moment the lights change, cars take off down the track toward the first turn. The Monaco Prix circuit can be unforgiving, especially if a driver makes an error, like under- or overestimating a speed during a curve.

Noah keeps his lead around the first bend, with my brother not far behind. Santiago’s car zooms past one of the straightaways before turning another tight corner. Liam and Jax compete against each other for the third position.

Monaco’s track seems unlike any other in the Prix schedule. Constricted roads keep cars compacted, not allowing much room for mistakes. Jax and Liam avoid a disastrous collision with each other at one of the turns. Pieces of metal fly as the cars graze one another, the sound of clanging metal against the ground ringing across the Prix. The crowd gasps as Jax’s car careens toward the side. He uses his momentum to get back on the track, narrowly avoiding a catastrophic crash.

Hums of the cars zipping across the pavement fill me with excitement as Noah and Santi pass us, completing their first lap. The crowd feels alive and energetic, chanting out the names of their favorite drivers while waving flags and signs in the air. My own body pulses with exhilaration as Sophie and I get up to cheer. Fans hang out on nearby balconies, overlooking the race from hotel rooms.

The smell of burning rubber fills my nose, a scent I’ve come to love during my time here.

Noah continues to fight for the lead with my brother. He remains defensive of his position, which makes it hard for Santi and others to get ahead of him. My brother tries to overtake him multiple times but can’t since the Monaco course makes it tough to rise up the ranks. Often, the position you start with is the one you end with as long as you don’t crash.

At one of the sharper turns, my brother tries to overtake Noah again. He does it sloppily, brushing Noah’s front wing, causing Noah’s car to fall behind. My brother secures the first-place position. Noah must be pissed because he detests when cars have contact with one another. The whole race turns out to be a messy one with shrapnel flying and cars colliding.

The crowd grows silent as Liam crashes into one of the barriers. His front tire flies off, and the severe damage makes him retire from the race early. He splays his hands against his helmet as the cameras pan over him. Sophie’s eyes cloud and her teeth chew on her bottom lip.

During one of the final laps, my brother lets down his defensive position enough for Noah to sneak up next to him. Their front wings drive side by side, almost touching, as they race down a straight together. They approach a narrow corner. I hold my breath, unable to look away as Noah accelerates while turning. His side tires lift from the ground, losing important contact and traction to turn. A dangerous move that pays off as his car surges past Santi’s, securing first place again. The crowd goes wild at the move Noah pulled, and I’m finding it hard to hide my bounce of excitement.

Noah ends up passing the finish line first. A checkered flag waves in the air, rustling against the wind. The fans eagerly cheer when they announce Noah as the winner of the Monaco Grand Prix. Sophie and I bounce up and down when my brother zooms past the finish line as the runner-up.

Bandini had a great racing day. They prove time and time again to be one of the strongest teams with Noah and Santi at the wheel, another race closer to winning the Constructors’ Championship.

Sophie and I wait with the masses while the drivers complete their victory lap. We end up leaving the stadium area once the guys start their usual press circuit.

We meet up with the Bandini team at the winners’ podium. Noah stands in the middle, with Santi and Jax at his sides. It fills me with happiness to see both of the Bandini boys getting along with one another, laughing at something going on between the three racers.

Santi and Jax pour champagne all over Noah. The crowd screams as champagne sprays all over them, the sticky alcohol making the air smell like a classy frat party. The podium area is a mosh pit of alcohol and cheering fans.

Noah notices me from my spot behind the blockades, shooting me a panty-melting grin. He tips his big champagne bottle to me before he chugs. I smile back at him and give him a thumbs up, incredibly proud of him. The sight of his lips wrapped around the bottle brings naughty thoughts to the forefront of my mind.

Sophie joins her dad in the celebrations with the pit team while I head back toward the suites to chill while Santi does his other interviews.

I wait in the suite, surprised when the door opens earlier than I thought.

“Hey, you’re back earlier—” I stop mid-sentence when Noah smiles at me.

He recently took a shower. His hair is slicked back, no evidence of his hands raking through the strands yet. A new Bandini shirt presses against the tight muscles of his chest. I lick my lips as my eyes roam over the rest of him, taking in expensive looking jeans that cling to his legs.

“What are you doing here? Your suite is next door.” I don’t like the mischievous grin plastered on his face at the moment. Not one bit.

He closes the distance, shushing me by pressing his finger up against my lips.

“I came to collect my post-race winnings.” He drags a calloused finger from my lips to my throat.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure they already gave you the trophy,” I whisper huskily.

Noah’s grin widens as his blue eyes pierce mine. The air in the small room feels heavy, like all the oxygen was sucked out of it. He’s a hurricane catching me in the eye of the storm, giving me a false sense of security before the winds pick up again. A catastrophic and relentless disaster in the making.

He steps away from me. The click of the lock sounds loud, sending a shiver up my back.

“This isn’t funny, Noah. Go to your own suite.” I take a step back while he takes a few steps forward, eliminating the gap.

“I’m not trying to be funny. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Uh, yes, I have. After the fashion show I’ve made myself scarce around here. I don’t trust my urges around him, but I don’t say anything because his ego gets fed enough.

“Not sure what you’re talking about. I’ve been busy.” I’d probably sound ten times more convincing if my voice wasn’t rasping. My body betrays me, unable to keep up with Noah’s persistence.

“I follow you on Instagram. I’ve seen your stories.”

Oh. This is the second time he’s mentioned watching them. I didn’t even think he had the time to see them, but he must have checked out my movie and spa day posts.

“Sometimes you need a day off.”

“You took two.” The back of his hand strokes my face. When did he get so close? And why does that feel amazing?

I shut my eyes at the incredible contact.

The same hand wraps around the back of my head and pulls me forward. My eyes snap open. His clean scent surrounds me and muddles my thoughts. He doesn’t give me another second to think before his mouth is on mine, soft lips pressing against my own.

At first, the kiss is soft and sweet—innocent and unexpected from a man like him. He plays, leaving behind gentle pecks.

His teeth graze my bottom lip, rough with a bite of pain. I gasp at the sensation. His tongue takes the opportunity to invade my mouth and stroke against mine, a relentless exploration demanding everything from me. He tastes like mint and champagne, a shockingly wonderful combination. Kissing him is a mind-numbing experience. His hands roam over my body, pulling me into him as his mouth stifles my moan. An impressive erection pushes against my jeans. One of his hands runs through my hair while the other grips my face, making it impossible for me to get away. Not like I want to. Oh, no, when I commit to being bad, I’m all in.

My heart hammers in my chest. I wrap my arms around Noah’s neck, pulling him in closer, giving in to our attraction. His hair feels soft and smooth beneath my fingers as I run them through his strands. Knees threaten to buckle. I try to make sense of all the sensations happening inside me, experiencing the best kiss of my life—both intoxicating and exhilarating. My body feels like putty in his hands, begging to be touched.

“Why is my door locked? Hello, Maya, are you in there? Open up.” My brother’s voice hits me like an ice-cold shower. Pounding fists against the door beat alongside my heart.

I break apart from Noah’s mouth and take a few steps back, nearly stumbling over the couch. A disheveled mess of hair makes me smile. His eyes stare at me, wild-looking and hazy, and his pants have a prominent swell. I can’t deny the pride that surges through me about doing that to him.

Go me.

He holds up a finger to his mouth. One side of his mouth tips up, and his eyes shine, swirling shades of blue I’ve come to like. How is he always so unaffected? It seems unfair. I look back down at his pants to double-check.

Nope, he’s affected.

The doorknob rattles, guilt replacing the pride I felt seconds ago. Santi would kill me if he found me in here with Noah.

“Carajo. How is my room locked? Who has the key?” My brother’s voice fades away with the sound of his footsteps.

“You need to go now. I’ll make sure he left.” I push past him.

He grabs my elbow and pulls me back toward him. A quick peck silences me. My brain hasn’t caught up to my body yet, leaning back into him like we can continue what happened.

“Relax. He doesn’t have to know.” His wicked eyes graze over me one more time before he exits the room.

I plop myself down on the couch, running a hand down my face. What the hell did I do? I can’t do this to Santi. Can I?

Why did one kiss feel like it opened me up for anything?

Two weeks have passed since The Kiss. I needed to take a temporary leave of absence from the race schedule, which meant I skipped out on the Canadian Grand Prix. Santi begged me to come, but I made up an excuse about wanting to go home. Lying to him made me feel worse, my stomach in endless knots as I packed my bags and purchased a ticket to Spain. I told him the traveling exhausts me. Which isn’t far from the truth; I can’t help how the man we travel with tires me emotionally and physically. Life’s all about semantics.

Sophie pled with me too, but my mind was made up. I needed to clear my head.

Jax took home the trophy for the race with Liam being runner-up, and my brother placing third. For the first time this season, Noah didn’t make it to the podium.

Sophie must have given Noah my number because he sent me multiple texts last week. I made an incognito contact name for him, just in case Santi gets a hold of my phone. Blame reading Harry Potter during my race hiatus for the contact name.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/10 5:00 p.m.): Are you flying in late? Santiago is here but you aren’t.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/11 2:37 p.m.): Found out from your brother that you’re not coming. Isn’t he superstitious? You’ve been to every race so far.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/13 4:56 p.m.): Didn’t place on the podium. Maybe I’m the superstitious one.

My stomach dipped at the last one. I didn’t want Noah to do poorly since he is my brother’s teammate, but he didn’t lose because I wasn’t there.

I pulled up a YouTube interview of Noah after the race, telling myself I did it to ease my curiosity.

Noah looked good in his red race suit with his sweaty hair plastered to his head. He rocked the messy look.

The reporter jammed the foam microphone in Noah’s face.

“What happened today out there on the track?”

“Just an off day. It happens. I’m happy for my teammate and my friends who did place.” His tight smile begged to differ.

“Have anything different planned for the next Prix?”

Noah glanced at the camera. His deep blue eyes looked hazy, blocking off any readable emotions.

“I think I need to change up my pre-race ritual. A couple things might not be working for me anymore. But more on that later. Don’t want to reveal my secrets.” He ended the interview with a lazy smile.

After watching his interview yesterday, I ignored his texts for a whole day. I lasted twenty-four hours before giving in to answering him, the image of him frowning into the camera plaguing my thoughts. Three thousand miles do nothing to ease the pull he has on me.

Maya (06/14 1:14 p.m.): I’m sure you’ll place next time. You’re one of the best.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/14 1:16 p.m.): Are you coming to that one? Did you get my earlier messages? I didn’t get a response.

I would never peg someone like him to question if I got his messages. Has he ever sent that to a woman before? The notion makes me take pity on him and answer quicker than usual.

Maya (06/14 1:30 p.m.): I’ll be there. Needed a vacation from all the traveling.

I choose to ignore his second message because he crosses lines I’m not ready for yet.

He Who Shall Not Be Fucked (06/14 1:43 p.m.): Good. See you then.

That went easier than I thought. I need to face him, but I need a game plan first, particularly a Sophie-made plan.