“Well…are you gonna tell me what it is?”
Arms on the table, he leans forward. “Okay.” He lets out a breath. “I have to eat a bar of Galaxy chocolate before each race.”
“Really?” I smile. “Why?”
Eyes on me, he rests back in his seat, keeping his hands on the table. “After we first moved to England, I don’t know if it was the pressure or being in a different country or what, but I wasn’t winning races. I was coming in fourth at best. I was panicking because Dad had given up so much by moving us to England, and I was getting frustrated because I knew I was capable of more.
“Anyway, on this particular day, I was hungry because I’d forgotten to eat, and my dad was all, ‘You will lose this race on an empty stomach.’ So, he went off to get me something to eat. Anyway, he came back, telling me there was only this shitty vending machine. Then, he held out a bar of Galaxy chocolate, and I was like, ‘What the hell is that? I’m not eating that. It’s women’s chocolate. Men don’t eat Galaxy. They eat Yorkie.’ You remember the adverts?”
“I do.” I laugh, loving the way he’s telling the story.
He’s so animated with his eyes all lit up.
“So, my dad got pissed off and said, ‘Well, they haven’t got any men’s chocolate, so eat the bloody women’s chocolate, and shut the hell up!’”
I snort out a laugh. “So, what did you do?”
“Sulked for about a minute, and then I ate the fucking bar of Galaxy, and it was the best chocolate I’d ever tasted—not that I admitted that to my dad at the time. Then, I got in my kart and won my first ever race in England.”
He smiles fondly, and I can see the memory in his eyes.
“And since then, before every race, my dad buys me a bar of Galaxy from a vending machine, and I eat it. It’s my one weird thing.”
“But what if there isn’t any Galaxy chocolate in a vending machine? Or worse, there isn’t a vending machine?”
He leans forward, a sexy-arse smile on his face. “There’s always a vending machine, Andressa, and there’s always a bar of Galaxy in it.”
“Ah.” The power of being Carrick Ryan.
Guntur appears at our table with a huge tray in his hands, laden with food. He starts placing the plates in front of us. Then, another waiter puts down a green leaf before me.
“Banana leaf,” Carrick tells me when he sees me looking at it. “It’s instead of a plate.”
“Oh, right. Cool.”
After all the food is laid out, I stare at the rices, meats, vegetables, and other things I don’t even know how to describe, and Guntur tells us to enjoy our meal.
Looking up, I say to Carrick, “So much for your healthy eating.” I smile, so he knows I’m teasing.
“You see any overweight Malaysian people around here?”
I give a glance at the few people seated in here. “Nope.”
“Well, there you go then.” He grins.
“Okay, Jabba,” I tease. “So, what should I try first?”
He gives me a look and then muses over the dishes. He picks up a rice dish. “Try this.”
We have a great time over dinner, eating and talking. We chat about school, friends, and random stuff, like favorite music and books—just everything and anything.
We’re there for hours, the time just disappearing. It’s one of the best days I’ve ever had with someone.
When we’re done, Carrick pays, again refusing to let me pay or even go half. And I don’t bother arguing, saving myself the how-much-did-you-earn-last-year speech.
“Thanks for today, the karting and the food,” I say as we walk back out into the early evening sunshine.
“Anytime.”
We walk back through the market and to the car. When we reach it, Carrick tosses me the keys.
I grin like the cat that got the cream.
“Back to the hotel?” I check, climbing in the driver’s side.
“Yeah, but take the long way.”
I put my seat belt on and turn the engine. She purrs like a kitten. The stereo comes to life with the pumping sound of Philip George’s “Wish You Were Mine.”
“You ready for the ride of your life?” I tap my hand on the steering wheel as I turn my face to him, and I find he’s already looking at me, his expression unreadable.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
Something in his tone makes my heart bump against my chest.
I slide the car in gear. Checking my mirrors, I pull onto the street. Pressing the pedal to the metal, I drive us out of there.
“SO, WHAT DID YOU THINK?”
Carrick and I are in the living room of his hotel suite, and we’ve just watch Cars. I finally talked him into it. I’m sprawled out on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table. Carrick’s at the other end of the sofa, and there’s a huge bowl of half-eaten ice cream between us. It was the best ice cream I’ve ever eaten. It reminded me of the mound of ice cream that Macaulay Culkin had in Home Alone.
Clearly, Carrick is on a hiatus from his health kick. But I’m giving him a pass tonight because it was race day, and he came in third. It’s unusual for him. He’s usually first or second. Rarely third. He said the car was understeering. Ben and I checked it, but we couldn’t find anything wrong, so I don’t know what happened out there.
But Carrick has understandably been in a shitty mood about it ever since. He’s competitive, and he doesn’t like losing.
When he said he wasn’t up for going out, I said I’d stay and hang out with him while Petra and the guys went out.
I don’t mind since we all leave for Bahrain tomorrow, but Carrick has to stay on for some press and sponsor things, and he has to film an advertisement. I won’t see him for a few days until he joins us there, so I’m happy to spend this time with him before I leave.
We ordered a mix of food along with the ice cream from room service, and we’ve had a fun night.
But then, every night I spend with Carrick is fun. It’s fair to say that we’ve grown closer recently. A lot closer. I see him most days, and if I don’t see him, we text or call.
He’s fast becoming the best friend I’ve ever had.
“It was okay,” he muses.
“Just okay?” I give him a look of mock disgust.
He spent a good majority of the film laughing. I even saw him get misty-eyed at one point.
“Yeah, just okay.”
“You lie.” Sitting up, I remove my legs from the coffee table and curl them under me, facing his side. “You loved it. Admit it.”
“I said, it was just okay.” He frowns.
His mood is still off. I thought the film might help, but the edge is still there.
I need to make him laugh.
“Tell the truth. Say you loved Cars, and it was the best film you’ve ever seen, or you’re gonna get it.”
“I’m gonna get it?” That raises his brow.
“Mmhmm.”
“And how exactly how am I gonna get it?”