Wrecked (Dirty Air Series Book 3)

by Lauren Asher

  I didn’t expect him to get this close. Hell, I didn’t expect his lips to feel amazing on my skin. His tongue darts out, running down the column of my neck. My legs threaten to buckle.

  “Oh, I chase after what I want. Hate to break it to you, but you’re not it, love.” He steps away and enters his suite, leaving me confused and slightly embarrassed as he shuts the door.

  Jax does want me. He’s a liar, attempting to convince himself more than me about his disinterest.

  After taking a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, I enter his suite. My eyes scan the empty room before landing on the closed bathroom door. I stop myself from knocking once Jax speaks.

  “Cut this shit out. You can’t keep going on like this, shaking and ruminating and shit when you’re supposed to be celebrating. No wonder it’s been years since you won a World Championship. You’re a pathetic wanker who can’t win because you’re too busy doubting yourself.”

  Oh, no. Everything spins around me as I try to wrap my head around how much contempt Jax saves for himself. A small kernel of guilt shoots through me at eavesdropping, but I need all the help I can get to understand him better. Even if it comes at the expense of something I’m not exactly proud of.

  “She’s right. You’re a weak piece of shit. Anyone who got a look at you right now would agree.” His voice cracks.

  I cringe at him referencing what I said. I don’t really think he’s weak. Maybe slightly delusional and frustratingly oppositional, but not weak in the slightest. It’s hard to ignore the sharp pain shooting through my chest as he continues on with his self-hate speech.

  “You’re going to go to the cool-down room and act like you usually do. Then you’re going to call Mum and Dad later and suck it up like a man. No more anxiety shit after talking to them. Grow the fuck up.”

  My heart aches to the point of bursting. I step away from the door, knowing he deserves a semblance of privacy.

  I sit on a couch and turn my back away from the bathroom, mulling over everything he said. My stomach clenches at the notion of listening in on him clearly having a moment of distress. I’m not proud of snooping, even if I learned about a crucial part of Jax he keeps hidden from the world. Who knew the dislike he has for me is equal to what he saves for himself?

  The door creaks open a few minutes later. My spine straightens as Jax’s eyes burn a hole into my back. “Do you still need my help with whatever you mentioned in the garage?”

  Okay, I didn’t sound half as guilty as I feel.

  He lets out a deep sigh. “Not anymore. I handled it. We better go celebrate the win before Connor loses his shit. Can’t be late to my own podium.”

  I ignore the desire to console him. He moves toward the main door, silently prompting me to follow. His eyes remain hidden behind a pair of dark glasses as we walk toward the podium, pretending as if nothing happened.

  As if I didn’t find a breaking point in his rough exterior.

  As if I don’t want to like him more than I dislike him.

  As if I don’t want to help him for more than a paycheck at the end of the season.

  And the last one is the most concerning thought of all.

  “If it isn’t my favorite fixer?” Connor motions for me to take a seat across from his desk. His office is bare, with no personal mementos to decorate the place. I find it unwelcoming and sterile.

  “I can tell by your face you think this place is boring. I won’t lie to you—I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering when the board will revoke me of my job.” His eyes find mine, flashing with an openness I find refreshing compared to Jax.

  “Not if I can help it on my end.” I raise my chin with confidence.

  “That’s the spirit. You’ve been doing a great job thus far. Well done keeping Jax under control. And according to my sources, your first fundraiser went amazing. You should be proud of raising thousands of euros for such a great cause.”

  “I’m glad you think so. I actually have something to ask you that could help improve things around here a little more.”

  “Say it, and it’s yours.” Connor flashes me a sweet smile.

  Wariness sets me on edge, unsure if Connor means to flirt. He must notice the shift in me based on the way he coughs before laughing.

  “Oh, no. Please don’t take my willingness as anything but an extension of good faith. I truly want Jax to perform his best, and I have a feeling you’re one of the few people who could help him. I’m willing to give you anything you need to keep him at the top of his game.”

  “Well, this is something I think can be useful for both teammates, actually.” Sorry, Elías. Please forgive me, but you need someone to talk to as well.

  “Spit it out. Your obvious hesitation is choking me here.”

  “Okay, well, I did some research about athletes and performing under stress. I think the guys could benefit from speaking to a psychologist who specializes in sports. I found a few and compiled a list of those willing to travel with McCoy’s team.”

  “Why do they need a psychologist?”

  “We both know Jax struggles with anxiety, and with Elías being new to the team, it wouldn’t hurt for him to talk to someone too.”

  Connor rubs his chin. “And anything said in these sessions remains confidential?”

  “That’s the psychologist’s job. I think it could help both guys and make a difference with managing stress and performance fears.”

  Jax needs all the help he can get, and as confident as I am with my skills, I can’t compare to a mental health professional. Something in my chest tightens at the reminder of his conversation in the bathroom. There is something seriously getting in the way of him achieving what he’s capable of, and maybe talking to someone can help.

  I’m willing to try anything to help him manage his anxiety.

  “Done. Whatever you need is yours.” Connor looks at me and smiles.

  “I’m going to need you to somehow convince Jax it’s a part of his contract. I doubt he’d go to these sessions willingly.”

  “He’ll do what I say. Give me a week to get the contract with the psychologist settled. I assume you’ll email me the list of potential ones,” Connor says with an authority I haven’t seen in him yet.

  “Yes, sure.” I lick my lips. “I have one last favor.”

  Connor sighs. “Why do I feel like this is one I’m going to regret?”

  “Sorry.” I cringe. “Can you please pretend you’re the one who came up with this? Jax will hate me if he found out I forced a psychologist on him.”

  “He won’t hate you.”

  Seeing as Jax has vocalized time and time again how much he hates talking about his feelings, I have a hard time believing Connor.

  I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Trust me, he would.”

  “Jax can’t hate anyone. He hates the world and the shitty cards dealt to people, but he can’t hate you. Trust me—I’ve known him for a while.”

  I have no idea what to make of his comment.

  Connor doesn’t give me a chance to ask what he means. “I know he’s been difficult, but he’s a good guy. A loyal family man who has some issues that can get in his way. He’s been a bit lost, but I know he’ll get out of this. I like your idea of the psychologist. And don’t worry, I’ll pretend it’s my doing.”

  “Thank you.” Relief washes away my previous anxiousness.

  I count today as a win for Team Elena.

  12

  Jax

  I’m an idiot. Based on the way Elena stares at me, I should’ve never planned a stupid dinner on our flight from Sochi to Barcelona. Now she looks at me with hope and shit. Hope I need to extinguish since there’s no use for it. At least not toward me.

  “Whoa.” Her eyes move from me to the plated tacos and wine.

  This totally looks like a date. Shit. “I was craving Mexican tonight.”

  She eyes the food, ignoring the flight attendant ushering her to sit across from me.

 
“Stop acting weird. Your food is getting cold.” I grab a cloth napkin and place it on my lap.

  She settles into the seat across from me. “Tacos?”

  “Yes. Tacos. You know more words than this, come on. Did I literally stun you? I know I look good but…”

  She lifts her eyes from her plate. “I’m surprised. I guess your Prix win put you in a good mood.”

  Fuck. I really am a total arsehole. If this is a sweet gesture, I’m doing my job fucking everything up with us too well. The only reason I set up this dinner was because I wanted to thank her for her help thus far.

  Instead of expressing my thoughts, I keep my thanks to myself. “Now I know the way to get you to stop talking.”

  The flight attendant asks us if we need anything, but I send her away with a thank you.

  “So, we have almost eight hours together. Any bets on how long it will take before one of us says something nasty?” I sip my wine to calm my nerves.

  “Based on your history, I give it two minutes.”

  “That’s the only time I want to hear you referring to me and two minutes in the same sentence.”

  Blood rushes to her cheeks. “I walked right into that one.”

  “I couldn’t resist.” I brush a finger across her pink cheek without thinking, enjoying the way her eyes cloud and her lips part.

  She pulls away from my touch. A smile graces her lips as she grabs a taco and takes a bite of her food. “So…you kept it together for a month already—minus your failed attempt at a suite party. How do you feel?”

  I smirk. “The music sounds better on the podium than standing on the sidelines.”

  “I’m sure there are more of those wins to come.”

  Why does she always believe in me? No matter how many times I brush her off, she keeps up her positive shit with a smile. “Tell me, does McCoy pay you extra to be my personal cheerleader?”

  “I should’ve included that in my contract. Probably could’ve gotten a couple extra thousand euros for being your motivational coach.”

  “Your loss is my gain.”

  She shrugs, choosing to eat quietly.

  I hate sitting in silence. For some masochistic reason I can’t comprehend, I want Elena to pay attention to me. To see me as something more than an irritable arsehole, even if it’s for an hour. “So, tell me something no one knows about you.”

  Who the fuck opens up with a question like that?

  Me, a motherfucking idiot, that’s who.

  She chokes on her drink in the most unladylike display I’ve seen of her. “What?”

  “Come on, let’s play a game.”

  “Pick a different game. I don’t like this one.” She crosses her arms.

  My eyes drop straight to her cleavage because I have the self-control of a teen. Hello, brain, meet the gutter you’re permanently moving into. “No. So, tell me what’s something no one knows about you.”

  “You’re a jerk 99% of the time so I don’t want to share secrets with you.”

  “But think about the 1% of me you actually enjoy. That’s worth it.”

  She blinks at me without responding.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. A secret for a secret. I’ll start to give you a little faith in me. I love One Direction.”

  She laughs before stopping, probably because of my scowl. “I’m sorry. I thought you were messing with me.”

  “I assure you I’m not, seeing as I was a VIP at their last concert. Their breakup made half of the UK cry.”

  “How do you have a Coldplay tattoo yet love One Direction?” She points to the tattoo of Coldplay’s Parachute album cover on my arm.

  “The same way you love watching Real Housewives reruns and Downton Abbey. I won’t answer honestly if you’re going to judge me.”

  She puts her palms up in submission. “All right. I’ll be better.”

  “Fine. You can make it up to me by telling me something no one knows about you.” I grin at her.

  “I collect snow globes.”

  I scoff. “Bullshit. For sure someone knows about your collection.”

  “Well, no one knows why I collect them. They only know that I do.”

  I lean in closer, intrigued. “Okay, fine. Tell me why.”

  I regret taking a deep inhale because her fruity scent assaults my nose. My lungs constrict and blood rushes to my dick. She smells good. Really, really fucking good.

  Which is really, really fucking bad.

  “Snow globes are special, especially the ones that play music. Those are my favorites. I love them because I feel like they’re a moment in time, captured and remembered. I have some from different cities, one from university, and a couple of others that are important to me.” Her smile drops as if she remembered something unpleasant.

  I don’t like the sad look on her face. “Where’s your collection now?”

  “I have a small apartment in Monaco where I used to work before all this F1 traveling with you.”

  “Have you collected any during this trip?”

  She blinks at me. “Nope. Why?”

  “I’m wondering what’s your next memory worth saving.” Well, fuck, that sounded dreamier than intended.

  Based on the way her eyebrows raise, I can tell she has the same surprised reaction. Instead of waiting for her to answer, I keep the conversation going. Solely out of kindness. Not because I’m interested in getting to know her more.

  Bullshit. Fuck me sideways with a ten-inch dildo please because I’m actually enjoying Elena’s company.

  “What’s your favorite thing to do in your spare time? Obviously besides babysitting me.”

  She smiles. “I like to watch YouTube videos of people doing makeup.”

  “Let me get this straight: you like to watch people put makeup on themselves?”

  “That’s what they usually do. But they also do challenges like putting makeup on their boyfriends, getting ready with no hands, and doing makeup while getting drunk.”

  “Those are some committed wankers, doing that for their girlfriends. I could totally see Liam doing that shit for Sophie. I won’t lie though, I’m surprised you like watching people do makeup instead of doing it yourself.”

  “The most talented YouTubers make it look like art. It’s my guilty pleasure.”

  I shake my head. “If that’s the kind of pleasure you like, men are fucked. I love foreplay as much as the next guy, but I draw the line at makeup brushes.”

  A rush of laughter escapes her.

  I don’t think before I speak. “I like it when you laugh like that.”

  She eyes me like I admitted I have a secret collection of sex toys. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I blurt out.

  She lets my comment go. Somehow, we last a whole dinner without arguing. An hour of us getting to know each other more than we ever have. I hate to admit talking to Elena was calming and fun—the exact opposite of what we should be doing together.

  Once we’re done, she settles into the chair across the aisle to work on her puzzle. She shoots me a timid smile in a silent invitation.

  I shake my head, denying her request. Not because I don’t want to. My rejection is because I crave more time with her. More attention, more of her laughs, more of her goddamn twinkling eyes.

  Her shoulders drop as she returns her attention back toward the puzzle. It’s obvious she hoped I’d join. But doing something like that together could give her the wrong idea.

  A relationship, even something as platonic as a friendship, wouldn’t work between us. It can’t work. If I’ve learned anything from Liam and Sophie, friendships only end one way, with I love yous and dreams of forever.

  Someone like me will always disappoint someone like her. It’s written in my DNA, intertwined with an arsehole gene and other shit that can’t be overridden.

  “Hope you’re ready for the next reputation-builder event!” Elena’s singsong voice wakes me from my nap on the couch. I didn’t bother making it to my room because of how knackered
I was after our flight to Barcelona.

  I lift into a sitting position, prompting her to move away from me. “You have way too much serotonin to be considered human. How the fuck do you have so much happy energy all the time?”

  “Says the guy who works out a lot yet lacks the endorphins to match.”

  “And let me guess. ‘Endorphins make you happy and happy people don’t shoot their husbands.’” I attempt my best Reese Witherspoon Southern drawl.

  “You did not quote Legally Blonde.” Her eyes bulging makes a grin spread across my face.

  I bend and snap for some goddamn unknown reason. The giggle pouring out of Elena’s mouth makes the stupid idea worth it.

  “You love movies, don’t you?” Her eyes light up.

  “Absolutely. I reckon I would’ve been a movie critic or some shit if I wasn’t racing.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. IMDB is my bible and Lord of the Rings is the best book-adapted-to-film series. I’m a cinephile.”

  “Oh my God. Ew. Don’t say it like that.” She purses her lips in the most adorable way.

  Adorable. God help me because I think my balls have been permanently detached from my body.

  I cross my arms. “There’s nothing wrong with being a cinephile.”

  “Please, just say you like movies. That’s my PR advice for you. The last thing I need is someone posting how you’re another kind of ‘phile.’”

  I drop my head back and laugh. “Fuck no.”

  She shakes her head and laughs with me. “Seriously, you need to start getting ready. I don’t want to be late.”

  “Can we reschedule for never?”

  “Sorry, I’m booked out an eternity from now, so this is my only free slot.” She taps her watchless wrist.

  “Of course, you are. Wouldn’t you say that’s rather convenient?”

  “Anything related to you is anything but convenient.” She rises from the other side of the sectional. “Are you ready for what I have planned?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Perfect! Get dressed in the suit I placed in your room while you were sleeping.” She covers her mouth with her hand, but her eyes betray her amusement.