Throttled (Dirty Air Series Book 1)

The first thing I feel when I wake up is the pulsing of my head.

The second thing I feel is a hand crawling up my chest.

The third thing I feel is intense regret.

Fuck. Please tell me it’s Maya’s hand.

I look down at long, red nails. Maya’s don’t look like these talons scratching at my chest, preferring natural nail colors. These hands are a symbol of my past. Nausea crawls up my throat as I lean my head back down on a pillow.

I comb through the memories of last night, of how I took Maya out on the date I planned. Never thought I could have such a good time with someone while doing absolutely nothing except eating, drinking, and kissing.

The date was my favorite, at least out of my short list.

And the erotic way Maya kisses. Fuck me. Kissing her feels like I did it wrong with all the women before her.

But what the fuck happened after? I struggle to remember what I did once she pulled the stops on me. Images flash of her rejecting me with sadness in her eyes, knowing I can’t give her what she needs. The ultimate blow still feels fresh based on the way my chest constricts at the thought.

Memories hit me all at once, flooding my brain with unwanted recollections. Lots of shots. Liam and Jax at a club, groups of women coming onto us at our VIP table. It feels like I went back to a time before I met Maya.

Shit. My crappy decisions proved Maya’s point of not being the type of guy she wants to date. Not in the slightest. I sure as fuck wouldn’t want to date someone like me.

My back lifts off of the mattress and a blonde girl topples off me.

“You need to go. Now,” my voice rasps. Another reminder of my bad decisions, along with my dry mouth and aversion to sunlight.

I don’t want to spend another moment with this woman, the look and feel of her all wrong. Her rose scent, mixed in with the smell of sex and booze, chokes me, incomparable to Maya’s fresh one. My stomach rolls at the thought of how badly I fucked up.

I head to the bathroom, choosing to brush my teeth first, wanting to cleanse my mouth from the taste of that woman and alcohol. My battered-up face makes me wince. Disgust rolls through me at my sunken eyes and pale, sickly skin.

I take a shower, eager to rid myself of the woman’s smell and everything else associated with her and a bad ending to my night. By the time I get out, there’s no sign of her, except for the underwear she left on a pillow. My body shudders as I dump her souvenir in the trash.

I pull my phone from the plug, glad I remembered to charge my battery. At least I made one responsible decision because, overall, I’m a fucking idiot.

Are you shitting me? I didn’t set my alarm, missing my practice sessions.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

I bolt out of my hotel room, desperate to make it to my qualifier on time.

I’ve never been so damn irresponsible in my life.

It doesn’t shock me when my day goes from bad to the fucking worst. My qualifier starts out as a shitshow. I rush to get my race suit on and chug a gallon of water to make sure I don’t pass out behind the wheel under the hot conditions. Sophie’s dad looks pissed as fuck about my tardiness, glaring at me as I swallow down a granola bar.

He fails to hide his distaste. “You look like shit. You’re not a young kid anymore, staying up late to party. I expect this from anyone but you.” His sneer tells me everything. James Mitchell isn’t one to fuck around with because he has balls bigger than King Kong. His green eyes stare down at me while he runs an agitated hand across his face. His gray hair remains in place, unlike mine standing up in different directions, the waves untamed from my hands.

“I’m extremely sorry; this will never happen again.” No apologies can erase my terrible decisions.

I trip over my feet while rushing to my car. I’m a hot, crappy mess and fuck if it isn’t humbling. Embarrassed doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. Bandini mechanics look down at me, unsure how to help, as I clamber into my car. Sweat clings to my chest before the engine starts up, a shitty omen for my fuck-tastic day.

The beginning of my qualifier goes okay as my car takes down the first straightaway. That is until I make it past my first turn. Bile creeps up my throat during most of the turns after, the curves of the track not faring well with the alcohol seeping from my pores. I spend all my mental energy on not blowing chunks inside my helmet because I’d never live that down.

My nasty hangover doesn’t pair nicely with my car going two hundred miles an hour round and round the track. The qualifier performance is sloppy and unprofessional. The usual hum of the engine fills me with dread, guilt eating away at me as I think about Maya and how she might feel if she heard about my night.

Sweat trickles down my back, soaking the material of my fireproof gear as I careen across the track. Fans watch the worst display of my entire racing career.

I rush out of my car once the qualifier finishes. My body revolts against me as I throw up twice near a patch of grass close to the pit area, the acidic taste making me nauseous all over again. All of this happens while a local camera crew films me. Somehow, I find enough self-control to not flip them off, instead choosing to give a thumbs up to the camera while I hunch over.

My car places fourteenth for the race. Fucking fourteenth. I haven’t had such an embarrassing placement since I started out in F1, and I don’t know if I’ll live this one down.

The only small blessing from today is how I don’t have to attend the press conference meant exclusively for the top three racers. I guess sucking comes with benefits.

Since Santi has the pole position, he’ll be distracted. I need to find Maya and apologize for everything. Like for taking her out on a date and fucking another girl in the same day. Even if she’s disinterested in hooking up with me, it’s wrong.

I spot Sophie and Maya talking with Liam and Jax on the main road near all the hospitality suites. A cold feeling creeps its way up my spine at the sight of Jax pulling her in for a hug. It shouldn’t upset me but shit it stings to see her wrapping her arms around him and laughing, unaware of how he got a blowjob at the table last night from a random chick.

I don’t have a right to feel jealous since I can’t give her what she wants. But I can’t control it; my fists clench at the sight of them, envy whirling inside of me like toxic air.

Maya’s eyes catch mine. The smile she had before slips from her face, and it pisses me off how I’ve turned her mood sour in two seconds flat.

I stroll up to the guys, keeping it casual even though I barely have it together inside.

“Shit luck today, bro.” Liam doesn’t look the least bit phased from last night. Was I the only one who got seriously fucked up? Come to think of it, he was sober as hell. I don’t even think he blinked at any other girls who came onto us. Shit.

“Never going out the night before a qualifier again. That was a terrible idea, man.” Jax pats my shoulder as he throws me under the bus.

Fuck you very much, Jax.

“You guys look like you had quite the night. Ballsy move before a qualifier.” Sophie’s narrowed eyes glare into mine.

“Mm, that’s why my brother is the best. He puts the team first.” Maya’s polite smile doesn’t reach her flat eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it already. You adore Santiago. At least pretend you want us to do well too.” Liam knocks Maya’s hat off her head and offers her a shrug. She laughs at him. I want to record the sound for the bad days, like today, because I’m the biggest idiot.

“We better get going. Girls’ day and all.” Sophie links her arm in Maya’s. They head off after saying their goodbyes with Maya ignoring me. It fucking sucks.

“Bro, you got smashed last night. You wouldn’t shut up about her.” Liam nods his head in the direction Maya left in.

Jax shakes his head. “It was a sad sight until you took that girl home. You even called her Maya once, but she shrugged it off. What was her name? Beatrice?”

Thank you, Jax, for bringing up the last thing I want to think about. I flip him off.

“She was hot. You always get the good ladies.” Liam’s arms cross against his chest.

“I’m surprised she even went home with him. He kept talking about Maya rejecting him, how she doesn’t want a playboy like him.” Jax chuckles to himself.

“Okay, guys, I get it. It was a pathetic night. Can we not bring it up anymore? Like ever.” My clipped voice matches my declining patience.

“All right. No need to get pissy at us.” Liam’s last words end that conversation.

I take off in the direction of the Bandini motorhome because I have another round of apologies to get out to Sophie’s dad and the pit crew.

Unlike the last time Maya avoided me, we both keep our distance this time. Me because of shame. Her probably because I gross her out, not that I blame her at all.

The rest of Saturday is uneventful, which fills me with relief. I recover from my awful hangover, trying to overhydrate because race-day conditions are hot and alcohol dehydrates like no other. No doubt I’ll sweat out three pounds of body weight at least.

On race day, I eavesdrop on Santiago and Maya’s conversation, desperate to feel close to her. She keeps her voice low and inaudible. To avoid punching a wall out of frustration, I exit my suite to go to the pit area.

I run through some engine checks and attend a pre-race briefing. Busying myself keeps me from doing something stupid, like finding Maya and giving into her demands while begging for forgiveness. After wrapping up with the top engineers, I head back toward the garage.

I silently curse at Maya sitting next to the computer bay. She wears one of the engineer’s headsets so she can listen in on Santi’s team radio. A churning feeling of jealousy swirls in the pit of my stomach. Being jealous of her brother…a new low.

A lot of contradictory feelings mix inside of my head. Maya rejects me because she wants more than I can give her, but I don’t even know how to try to give her what she wants.

Her vlog camera swings around in full force, filming the busy race-day activities.

I find it difficult to ignore her voice while I discuss the logistics of the car and any last-minute tune-ups. She tours the place and introduces members of the team, a sweet gesture to show off the men and women who are essential to Bandini. Her voice raves about how the crew keeps everything up and running, even introducing them by name, proof of her connection to the team. She has this way of charming people. Unlike me, who has a way of fucking up with people.

I try to hide my shock when she walks up to my car.

“Here we have Slade’s team.”

I see we are back to last names now.

She does a spin to get everyone in the camera shot. “They’re busy doing last-minute checks on his car. He has a big task of catching up to Santiago, Liam, and Jax since he starts in P14 today. It’s his worst start since he began racing in F1. Better luck next time.”

Thanks, Maya. I take it because I deserve it and more.

I wave at the camera as she pans over my car. Her fruity shampoo hits my senses, instantly bringing me back to the other night. Her lips on mine, the sounds she made when I touched her, when I grinded into her. My dick twitches in my race suit. Great.

She moves on to interview one of the head engineers. He subtly checks out Maya’s chest in between questions, and it takes everything in me not to push him away.

Concentrate on your car. You’re about to go race and you don’t have time to worry about her.

I decide to ignore Maya for the rest of the prep. No need for any more distractions, least of all from her since she decided she doesn’t want anything casual. She rejected me. Her loss.

I lose the race big time. But I worked my ass off to get out of fourteenth position, and considering where I started, I’m happy with placing eighth. Santi and I even get points for the Constructors.

I head to my suite, not wanting to check out the podium celebrations today despite being glad for Jax and Liam. Santiago, too, I guess. But it was a good day for McCoy, which means a bad one for Bandini.

Maya sits out on the empty balcony of the hospitality area, lying across a couch, cellphone in hand. I like to head up here when I have a bad day, but it looks like she beat me to it.

“Was she worth it?” She baits me, not glancing up from her cellphone screen. My irritability grows with every second she refuses to look at me.

“Who?” I play stupid because I don’t want to deal with this shit anymore. We aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend.

“The floozie from last night.”

My lips twitch up at her word choice. “Oh, her.” That gets her to look up at me. I don’t like her stormy gaze, the way she comes off indifferent to a situation that bothers the fuck out of her. I’d rather have her mad at me than feel nothing at all.

I meant it when I said I’m a selfish bastard.

“Yup.” Her lips pop on the last letter.

“She was a decent lay.” I shrug, coming off uncaring, even though my throat feels like I swallowed glass. It feels wrong to lie like this, my words hurting her because I take my anger on myself out on her.

“Mm. Wonder how much alcohol you had to drink to wipe the taste of me from your mouth. Doubt the girl minded, though. Desperation always trumps common sense.”

Fuck. She has me there. I’m stunned stupid, unable to get any words out.

“They’ll never be as good as what we could have. But this is why people like you never have happily-ever-afters. You’re so jaded, you can’t see the best things until it’s too late.”

She gets up, not bothering to give me one last look as she leaves the balcony.

My stomach drops at not being worth a backward glance.