I've been to a lot of team parties, starting when I was a child. Mom used to take me for an hour or so, before the real fun started, and when I interned for Dad, I'd often stay up all night, partying with Anh and the grid girls and the other interns.

Tonight's party, held on the rooftop bar of our hotel, is one of the most jubilant I've been to, or perhaps that's just my mood. Probably it's because we had such a great showing in today's race, or because of our incredible comeback from last week's circuit. Or it's because I'm the de facto team owner and the victory is just that much sweeter.

But everyone I see is laughing and drinking. The mood is so positive — with the added sweetness of my hookup with Max earlier — that I'm giddy when Tanya pulls me aside to a high-top table.

"What's up?" I ask, clinking my glass of champagne to hers.

She takes a sip and eyes me up and down. "Cute dress," she says.

I'd worn the one bodycon dress I'd packed. It was essentially a strapless black tube of fabric that hugs my body, paired with some strappy heels. At first I wasn't sure, but when I spotted Max's eyes grow wide when I walked in, I knew I'd made the right choice.

As I'm thanking Tanya for her compliment, she interrupts.

"Don't freak out, but I have some news."

I pause and stare at her over the top of my glasses. "You've pretty much guaranteed I'll freak out now."

"I'm hearing rumors about you and Max. But it's okay! I've asked around and no one seems to have anything on you. I think it's because of that reporter's question the other day."

"Hmm." I sip my champagne, turning this information over in my mind.

"Just be discreet, is all. I'm going to come up with messaging. I was kind of thinking..." her voice trails off and she stares into the distance.

"Thinking what?"

"How would you feel about going out on a fake date with someone? Like a sponsor?"

"What?" I yelp.

"It could deflect attention. It's a common PR tactic."

I'm shocked that she's mentioning this so casually. "Seems weird."

"It's just dinner. I have someone in mind."

My expression contorts into a grimace, the kind that my mom used to claim would freeze on my face if I made it too often.

"He's from a beer company. One of their executive VPs that deals with brand partnerships. Seems like a decent guy. I was thinking that you could go to dinner with him in Montreal before the next race, we could tip off the paparazzi, you know, that kind of thing."

That kind of thing that I absolutely loathe. I roll my eyes.

"Let's go meet him. He's right over there."

"Do I have to?"

She shoots me a reproachful look. "It's one dinner, all for show."

Tanya starts to walk away but I reach for her arm. "Wait. Does he know it's all for show?"

"No."

"Isn't that bad? Disingenuous?"

"Look. As far as he's concerned, he'll think he's having dinner with a business connection. And he is. Just look at it as a networking dinner, except that some photographers will capture you together. Come on, I'll introduce you."

Because I'm in a good mood, I follow Tanya, if only to humor her. She stops at another high-top table across the terrace, where two men are chatting. Both are wearing white shirts, and jeans, as if they've shopped at identical store. One is a bit taller than the other, and the shorter one has dark hair, dark stubble, and dark eyes.

"Lily, this is Rob McDowell. He's the VP of brand partnerships I was telling you about." Tanya goes on for a solid thirty seconds about Rob's beer company, which is one of the sponsors of our team.

I tell Rob that it's nice to meet him and we shake hands. Under normal circumstances, I might be interested in the handsome and well-employed Rob. But not hours after I was on my knees for Max.

Oh, Max. I glance around, but don't see him. It's so packed and dim up here on the terrace that it's hard to tell where anyone is, though.

Rob begins to gush about the race, the team, and today's win.

Tanya interrupts. "I need to go talk with someone. Lily, Just think about what I said, okay? We'll talk tomorrow."

She melts away, into the crowd, and I'm left alone with Rob.

"What are you supposed to think about?" Rob says, with a flirtatious grin.

"Oh, uh, some business stuff. You know." I wave my hand helplessly in the air, wishing I could dive into a gallon of champagne.

"I think you're doing a great job with the team," Rob says, and I beam. "Your father's quite the guy. I've had dinner with him a few times, and boy, is that man entertaining. How's he doing, anyway?"

I relax a little, because this is a topic I'm comfortable with. I launch into an update about my father's health, and Rob seems genuinely interested.

"He won't be back before Montreal, of course," I say, referring to the upcoming race. As we speak, some of the team is packing up here in Austin and ready to haul the trackside garages and modular buildings thousands of miles north.

"When do you get to Montreal? I'm flying back to New York tomorrow, but was planning to come up to the race next weekend."

"I'll be there tomorrow," I say, praying that he doesn't probe any more about my life.

"How about we have dinner Thursday? I know of a great steakhouse." Rob's eyes crinkle at the corners.

Tanya would kill me if I say no. But isn't it wrong if I do? How much am I willing to do for this team? Then again, one dinner with a sponsor won't kill me, although the way Rob's leaning toward me and making deep eye contact makes me think he wants to discuss something other than business.

"Sure," I say breezily. "I'll have my assistant call you."

At that moment, I feel a familiar hand on my back, and Rob's eyes widen with excitement.

"Max Becker, man, you drove an incredible race today!" Rob extends his hand and Max takes his hand off my spine to shake.

"It was all my team, man. They're incredible. From the top on down." Max slides a glance at me and remains close by my side. It's an unusually flirtatious gesture, possessive, even. Especially for a man who doesn't often show emotion in public.

I chew on my cheek, wondering if Max heard Rob ask me to dinner. But that's ridiculous. We're not in high school here. I do have team obligations. It's not like Max and I are a thing, despite what happened earlier today. And yet...

"Lily seems like a natural as a team owner, doesn't she?" Rob says to Max.

"She sure does." Max is all smiles, and I'm guessing that he didn't hear my exchange with Rob. Or if he did, he doesn't care.

"Don't get too used to me, I'm only here for a few weeks." I grab a champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.

"A shame," Max murmurs, looking at me through his lashes.

"Definitely a shame," Rob says, raising his glass of beer (his brand, of course). "The sport needs some estrogen, doesn't it?"

I smirk, wondering if he's being patronizing. Maybe I'm hyper-aware of comments like that, because in my former job, those were usually the kind of gateway words to things far more offensive.

"Oh, there's Stephen." Rob looks toward the door, at the team's manager of brand partnerships. "I've got to have a word with him. Max, congratulations again. And Lily, we'll be in touch."

I give a little finger wave and Max slaps him on the shoulder, all gruff and macho like men in this sport sometimes do.

Now that Max and I are alone at the table, I shift away from him, acutely aware that people might be watching.

"You look gorgeous tonight," he says in a low voice. "That dress. It does something to me."

I clear my throat, trying to will away the hum of desire coursing through my veins. How is it possible that I'm hornier for him now than when I was younger? I can barely glance for too long at him, because he's looking adorably hot in a deep blue team T-shirt and black jeans.

We're a respectable distance apart, but it's as if our hookup in his dressing room crackles and sparks in the air between us. Of course it's been on my mind for hours — I somehow still can't get his scent off me, even after a shower — and it's obvious from his intense gaze that he's thinking of it, too.

"How do you feel? Any post-race exhaustion?" I ask. It's almost a tease, asking this question.

"Hmm." He ponders, staring into his drink, then looks into my eyes. "I feel unbalanced."

"Unbalanced?" This answer is a bit of a surprise.

I repeat the word. "Why?"

A playful smirk spreads on his face. "I feel unfulfilled when I'm, ah, satisfied, and others aren't. It doesn't seem fair, and I'd like to make things right. Balance is essential, Lily. It feels like the cosmic order is out of whack. I need to fix this tonight."

It dawns on me that he's talking about us, earlier, and how he'd orgasmed and I hadn't. I can feel my face get hot, and other parts, too. I look around at the people and the party. It's in full swing, and it's likely no one will miss us or notice that we're both gone. Drivers leave parties early all the time, especially the ones right after races.

"I'll meet you in the room," I murmur.

He responds with a single nod, the corners of his lips turning up. I say my congratulations and goodbyes to the rest of the team, apologizing for turning in early. I tell everyone that I'm feeling a bit exhausted from the excitement of the day, then weave my way through the party to the elevator, which is also crowded.

A few people recognize me, thrilled about the day's results. Another couple, in town from London for the race, ask about my father.

"He's doing so much better, especially after today." I flash a genuine smile, feeling feverish and a bit out-of-control. Probably I look so eager and manic about meeting Max in a few minutes that it's obvious on my face.

"Max is so proficient," the man from London says, and his wife nods eagerly, as the elevator stops on four different floors, letting people out.

My face heats up, and I'm probably as red as an overripe tomato. "That's a good word for him."

The couple gets out on the floor just under the penthouse, and I lean against the back wall, unsteady and flying high from what I'm about to do.

Max is so proficient.

This makes me giggle aloud as I exit the elevator and walk the few paces to my suite door.

Max is proficient, all right. Because I taught him.

___

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