Page 24 of Austin

The rush.

The excitement.

The thrill of danger is swimming through my veins and pulsing at the tips of every nerve in my body. He was right last night. I might have told him I hated every second, but when I got home, all I could do was replay the moments that passed quickly while racing down the road. I was scared, but goddamn it, it was the freest I’d ever felt.

I know it’s wrong, but now, I’m craving that feeling like a drug.

That’s why, despite knowing that my little angel is telling me no, I finally shoo her off my shoulder and utter the words, “One last request …”

His eyes squint, glaring into me, daring me to ask for yet one more thing from him. Little does he know, his anger only fuels my fire.

“I’m riding with you,” I say with no room for negotiation.

* * *

Bryce hasn’t said another word about the racing story I’m supposedly assisting on, which is a good thing. Instead, he shouts orders at me, and I get to work, which I don’t mind. I mean, a thank-you wouldn’t hurt, but I’m not one to argue. At least, not with him.

Austin, on the other hand, is someone I would happily give a piece of my mind to. I haven’t seen him in five days, counting the weekend, which bothers me. What’s worse is, it bothers me even more that it bothers me.

I need to forget him and do my job.

I moved to San Francisco last year with Eva after we graduated from UC Davis. Beckett was already here, and Eva wanted to explore the city lifestyle versus our small-town suburban background.

I’ve only been able to find temp work since the move. This is the first company that could offer an actual future, so the more I stay away from him and keep my nose clean, the better.

If Bryce hires me full-time, I can work for him for a year or two and then apply for a job as a reporter. At least, that was my goal, but after this week, we’ll see. With my nerves constantly on end, knowing Austin is near, and how Bryce has me running around, doing errands that have nothing to do with journalism, I’m not so sure.

I swear, he has me working on his personal life more than anything else. I’ve spent more time searching for information on a girl named Tessa than doing my actual job. He says it’s work-related, but when I find out this chick works for a salon as a makeup artist, I highly doubt she’s making big deals in the advertising world.

After work, Eva and I go to a spin class and order a ridiculous amount of Mexican food. She is dating a new guy from her job at a tech support company and gabs my ear off about him over a tray of nachos.

When she starts to babble on about how he has a chipped tooth, my mind starts wandering to Austin’s smile and how he has this perfect grin that tilts up to the right when he’s getting something he wants. I’ve seen it twice—once in his car and once right before he kissed me.

When Eva mentions that her new guy likes to run, I find my brain thinking about how good Austin looked in that Foo Fighters T-shirt and how his arms were corded and strong.

And, when she says she thinks he’s going to ask her out to a new brewery in town, I can’t help but wonder what Austin is doing right that minute.

After awhile, I find holding a conversation with her isn’t working with my traveling mind so I excuse myself, heading to shower before I turn in for the night.

Sitting at my desk in my bedroom with a towel wrapped around my head, I click the images link on Google, and picture after picture pops up of Austin. Most are from articles where he posed at various events, dressed to the nines with his hair nice and tidy. At a gala at the San Francisco Museum for Modern Art, he’s wearing a black pinstriped suit, gold tie, and that crooked grin.

On his business headshot, he looks professional with a stern gaze and a strong stance. And then there’s the picture of him with his arm draped around a beautiful woman at the Children’s Hospital benefit last year.

I scroll quickly until another one catches my eye, this one taken for the cover of Inside Media magazine. Enlarging it to full screen, I take this second to unabashedly stare at him.

His royal-blue eyes are looking straight in the camera, into my soul. They are so expressive, giving the impression they’ve seen a lot and lived a thousand lives.

I know he grew up privileged with a silver spoon in his mouth, but there’s something deeper in the way he looks straight at you. It’s almost like a dare to look beyond.

I saw it the first night, on the sidewalk, when he took his hood down and showed me his face. It was there again when he caught my eye in the conference room after he stood up and spoke about his mother. And, when he cornered me at my desk, all I could do was wonder what caused that darkness I saw reflecting back at me.

“Busted,” Eva says from the doorway.

I close my laptop and turn to face her.

“Did you learn anything interesting?” she pries, sashaying into my room.

“Just drop it, please.”