LILY

When we board our flight to Austin, I immediately claim a table, declaring the need to spread out in the back of the jet. Seeing Max sprawled on my sofa, looking cozy with a plate of cookies and a carton of milk, inspired dangerous thoughts in my mind.

When we met, I figured we'd grow old together. Go on vacations and do laundry and fight over why he didn't put down the toilet seat. But in the end, I couldn't handle his lifestyle — the Formula World lifestyle — and I left him, figuring that we'd have been the perfect couple in another lifetime.

And now, here I am, on the Team Onassis plane, living the Formula World life, with Max next to me. Only in a far different capacity than I ever imagined.

He starts to take the seat across the table from me. That's something I always loved about him — that he seems to fit in anywhere with just a rakish smile. He never seems awkward or ill at ease, whereas I'm a bundle of anxiety.

"Swamped with work," I say, covering the table with my laptop, notebooks, pens and almost the entire contents of my purse. I wave my hand over all my stuff.

He surveys the table with a scowl, probably because he's an orderly kind of guy. I used to gently tease him about this, back when we were together, about him being a stereotypically orderly German.

"Orderly desk, orderly mind," he'd say, and glare at my mess. Exactly what he's doing now.

"Guess I'll leave you alone," he murmurs. He's holding a little paper bag filled with my cookies. He insisted on bringing them with us. What a weirdo. As one of the richest men in the world, we could've stopped at any number of gourmet bakeries in Miami, but he wants those lumps of chocolate chunk cookies.

He turns and takes a seat closer to the cockpit, with his back to me. Thank God. A reprieve from his intense, sexy self. It's only now that I can exhale.

It's not like I'm lying about the amount of work I have. I do have a ton of things to do, mostly emails to various team principals. Others are personal, like to the concierge in my condo building. I plead with her to water my plants and clean out my fridge, and fortunately, she immediately responds and says yes. Mom can't be trusted with the plants.

We take off, and the flight attendant comes to me first.

"Coffee. An entire carafe, please." I say, pressing my hands together in a pleading gesture. The attendant, a beautiful brunette who doesn't look a day over twenty-two, nods and gives me a tight, professional smile.

"How about I put a shot or two of espresso in the coffee as well?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You're a goddess. Thank you."

She then makes her way to Max, and I peek over my laptop screen and watch their interaction. A pang of shame mixed with jealousy shoots through me. Why I'm torturing myself like this is a mystery.

The attendant's body language says it all. Her chest is thrust out, her smile is wide, her fingers flutter to his shoulder. He says something that I can't quite understand, and the attendant throws her head back, laughing like he's just told the best joke in the world.

When I first met Max, he wasn't a flirt or a womanizer. He was a shy, polite twenty-two-year-old. It had taken a couple of weeks for him to speak in full sentences and not monosyllabic grunts to me. Then, when we became friends, I discovered that he was funny and sweet.

Seven years in Formula World have turned him into a flirtatious fuckboy, apparently. Maybe all the tabloid stories about him are true.

With a sour feeling swirling in my stomach, I stop staring at Max and tap a message to Mom, asking for an update on Dad. For good measure, I send a second email with the name of a top nutritionist in Miami, and a pdf of what heart attack patients should eat.

My inbox is jammed with emails — how the hell did all these reporters get my personal email, anyway — and I spot five from Tanya, all sent in quick succession, and all with the word URGENT in the subject line.

"Oh Christ," I mutter.

"Everything okay?" Somehow Max has materialized in the aisle near my seat.

I look up, adjusting the glasses on my nose. Probably I'll have to shift to wearing contacts and sunglasses while at the track.

"Just peachy," I say.

He slides into the seat across from me. Since it's a private jet, the seats are arranged facing forward and backward, around tables. I blink as he leans back and spreads his legs. As he did when he was at my place, he comes off as very relaxed in my presence, all sprawly and comfy.

Like we've been together for years. This just makes me act all the more rigid, for some reason.

"I love Austin," he says. "It's the whole wild west feel about it. Last year, we all went to this amazing Tex-Mex restaurant. I'd never had that kind of food before, but it was delicious. Maybe we should have dinner there."

I clear my throat. He continues, describing a dish he had last year before the race. "It was chili, but with steak instead of beans. And spicy. So spicy! Have you ever had it?"

Why is he sitting here, chatting casually about chili con carne? "Maybe once or twice."

"Being German, I don't usually like spicy food."

"I remember." I can't help but smile, thinking about the time we went for Thai food in New York. He'd never had it and ordered a four-pepper level dish. He spent the rest of the night guzzling milk and sweating.

"Well, you'll be happy to know I love spice now." He says this almost triumphantly, as if he expects me to be proud of him.

"That's... nice." I smile and nod, wondering why he's going to all this effort to chat with me when he could be laying the groundwork for a hookup with the flight attendant. "I need to, ah, send some emails here."

"Oh, right." He slaps his muscular thighs and stands. "I'll let you be. Think about that Tex-Mex place and the chili, though."

"Will do."

When he leaves, I stare out the window at the clouds whizzing past. Chili? With Max? What. The. Eff?

# # #

Things move at warp speed when we touch down in Austin. Max's personal assistant and publicist greet him, while Tanya and her team descent upon me. As we split into two groups going into two cars, Max and I glance at each other. He nods and the corner of his mouth turns up.

A little jolt goes through me. Somehow the man is simultaneously adorable, goofy, and impossibly sexy all at once. In the back of the car, I ask if we're headed to the track or the hotel.

"Track," Tanya says briskly, then launches into a detailed list of what needs to be done, PR-wise.

"ESPN wants a one-on-one of you talking about your father. That'll run during pre-race coverage. And their magazine wants a photo shoot of you and the drivers. I've scheduled all of that for tomorrow."

"Why do I have to be in a photo shoot?" I understand the need for an interview, and don't mind that too much — I can gush about Dad all day long. But so much can go wrong with a photo shoot. I'm not great at hiding my emotions, and being around Max is already difficult enough.

"It was scheduled for the drivers and your father, actually. But they think it will be interesting to have you in it now, given the circumstances."

"Fine." I scratch my eyebrow.

"There's been an outpouring of support for your father. Savannah and Dante Annunziata have sent their well-wishes and have made a large donation to the hospital where your father is getting care, in his name."

I press my hand to my heart, touched. "That's really sweet."

She lists several other kind gestures, and then goes over the team obligations I'll be required to attend. When she gets to the "Boots and BBQ" themed party this evening, I hold up my hand.

"I don't own boots."

"Noted. Tell me your size and I'll get you some."

For the first time, we laugh. "Seriously, Lily, you just need to roll with this and have fun. I know how much you hate the press, but try to enjoy at least some of these events, okay?"

"I'll try. I promise."

"I know it won't be easy, given your past. I think we need to come up with messaging because we're getting a lot of inquiries."

I feel all of the color drain from my face. "You mean about the game company scandal?"

She waves her hand in the air. "Well, that, and Max. Of course I know all the rumors about the two of you. And I don't care if it's true or not. Honestly, in the annals of Formula World scandals, it doesn't even rank in the top ten."

Good lord. I didn't think we'd reached scandal level. "What have you heard?"

She rolls her eyes. "That you two had a torrid affair during his first year racing. You were a few years older, so you got the moniker of cougar. That's all."

"Oh, great. That's all. I'm a cougar." I shake my head.

"Oh, and that you broke his heart."

That makes me I bark out a laugh. "I broke his heart?"

"Well, that you broke it off and he was never the same."

Oh, that's rich. "I think it's more like, he let out his true nature after we stopped seeing each other."

Tanya's the first person I've talked about Max with in a long time, other than my mother and my Anh — and even they got sick of me going on about him years ago.

"Admittedly that was his man-whore phase. Most drivers go through that in years two through four, when they realize they can get all the ass the want, anytime they want."

I grimace, thinking of Max screwing his way around the world. I've tried to block that out for years, but now it's front and center in my mind, precisely when it shouldn't be.

Tanya continues, clearly relishing the topic. "Although for some drivers that phase lasts a lot longer. That driver from Argentina, the one on Team Praxis? He's thirty-three and still a horndog. I think Max is well out of that mindset. Anyway, what do you want to say when the press asks?"

"Just tell them the truth."

She arches an eyebrow. "Which is what, exactly?"

That I'm still wildly attracted to Max and that I have a lot of unresolved feelings that are almost wholly and utterly not reciprocated? No, that's a terrible idea.

"Tell people that we were close friends when we were younger and that we remain dear friends."

She scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. "That sounds either old lady-ish or like you're still fucking. I mean, are you still fucking?"

"No, God. Never." I protest. "Say that we've been longtime friends and that I'm excited to work with such a talented champion and am proud to have him as the senior driver on Team Onassis. I'm certain that Max Becker will bring another season trophy to our team."

"Okay, I guess that works." She scribbles a note on her legal pad, then looks up at me.

I smile and hold my head high, but something about Tanya's steely appraisal tells me that she believes my bullshit even less than I do.

_____