Page 22 of Tipping Point
“Shengian Bao,” she says immediately.
“Braised abalone with brown sauce,” I counter.
Her turn.
“Bruges,” she says.
“Easy. North sea crab with endive.”
“Frites.” She laughs. “Man, we do not eat in the same places.”
“Give me your phone,” I hear myself say.
Surprised, she hands it over and I type in my number.
“When we get to Italy, I’m taking you for Passatelli in Brodo,” I say casually.
I just want to see her face when she eats it.
Great. Now I have to stay alive till the Italy race. Fuck.
Jay’s light snores sound up behind us.
Casey came by earlier when she made her way to the loo. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She slinked back to her seat but keeps throwing us glances over her shoulder from her seat up front.
While I’m seated in economy, and not enjoying its comforts, at least I’m still being served from first class. The glasses we’re drinking from are crystal and we get offered a thick, soft blanket that Camille throws over her legs. She’s clearly sore and uncomfortable. I get it. Economy isn’t made for comfort.
She stretches and I can see a thin sliver of skin at her waist as her shirt rides up. She rubs at a crick in her neck. I run a hand through my hair.
I should have given her my seat in first class instead.
She’s twirling a big claw-toothed hair clip, her curls loose around her shoulders. She clips it onto the food tray and leans down to ruffle through her backpack at her feet.
While she’s turned away, I reach for a curl, entwining it around my finger like Rheese did.
I suppress a small growl, recalling how he smiled at her.
She finds what she’s looking for. I pull my hand back.
She draws out a hair elastic and a small notebook. She offers me the elastic and I take it, tying up my hair. She gives a nod of approval and grabs the notebook and flips through it.
“Can I ask you some questions?” she asks genuinely.
“Off the record?” I jerk my head behind us to where Jay’s fast asleep. “No one’s filming.”
She nods.
“Sure.” I take another sip of champagne.
“You raced for Velocity?”
I nod. “Their team principal, Felix Weber, he gave me my first shot at Grande Prima racing.”
“How long were you with them?”
“Six years.”
“And then two years at Peakstone?”