A SECOND CHANCE MAY BE TOO HOT TO HANDLE
They say there are no second chances, and for Lily Onassis, ever since she walked away from Formula World driver Max Becker, she's considered this true. Instead of a glitzy, glamorous life on the auto racing...
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LILY
That night, after we're both in my hotel suite following our respective parties, we climb into bed.
"This feels like one of your routines," I remark.
He smooths the pillowcase and lies on his side. "What do you mean?"
I lie down, facing him. "I feel like you're treating this like another one of your race week routines. You know, work out, do fifty sit-ups, get a massage, eat a perfect two thousand calorie breakfast..." I almost say, "sleep next to a woman you used to have sex with," but don't.
"I wish it was a routine."
His simple declaration disarms my jumbled thoughts. "What do you mean by that?"
Our faces are inches apart, and if this were seven years ago, I'd snuggle into his body and plant a kiss on his face.
"I mean," he licks his lips, "that I like sleeping next to you."
"Oh. Because it helps you on the track?"
"Well, sure."
"Ah, there's the truth." I flip over so I'm not looking at him. Of course this is all about racing.
He scoots closer to me, and I feel the heat of his body pressing into mine. He wraps an arm around me. "The truth is a lot more complicated, Lilly."
"Don't you think we should talk about it, eventually?" I thread my fingers into his.
"Weren't you the one who said you didn't want to rehash our past?" His lips are dangerously close to my neck, and wave after wave of need is washing over me.
"Yeah." That was stupid, in retrospect.
"Maybe we should talk about it after the race tomorrow. Before this goes any further." His voice is heavy with sleep. It's already late, later than he likes to go to bed the night before a race.
"Okay," I say softly, as I melt into his body.
# # #
I'm wide awake at six-thirty, but don't dare stir because I know that on race days, Max doesn't get up until seven. This extra half hour allows me to snuggle into his arms and exist in my cocoon of happiness.
Of course, my overactive mind takes over, wondering what will happen after today. Will we be "sleeping" together before every practice, qualifying, and race from now on? Am I merely another of his support staff? He has masseuses, trainers, nutritionists, and now a personal cuddler.
This thought makes my mind wander as I recall a TV show I once watched on professional cuddlers, who hug and sleep next to people for therapeutic reasons. My nose wrinkles at the idea. Gah. I can't imagine spooning with strangers. I snuggle deeper into Max's embrace.
I was even hesitant to sleep next to most of the men I've had sex with, and usually got out of it by saying I had early meetings. Well, most men other than Max, which should be a good indication that I'm potentially in deep emotional quicksand here.
