Page 28 of Tipping Point

“Nothing.” Jay holds up his palms in a symbol of peace. “He just wanted to know where we were.”

“Jay!”

“What?”

“Urgh.” I snatch my backpack and start rummaging around for my wallet.

“Oh, come on, Cam.” He smiles his easy smile. “It’s not like he’s going to pitch up here. He’s racing tomorrow.”

I pause.

“You know what?” I’m laughing again. “You’re absolutely right.”

I plonk down on my chair, and we raise our glasses in a toast.

“What’s he gonna do?” I ask, holding up my hands.

We order another drink before I realise that I have had way too much and hit that sweet spot where I either have to eat immediately or sleep immediately and I am overcome by the humongous challenge that lies ahead, getting back to my room.

Irish sits down next to me.

He’s in an evening suit and he’s missing his tie. He unbuttons his dinner jacket when he sits down. His hair is tied up, and he’s freshly shaven. He smells like night air and the chemical floral smell of men’s cologne. His eyes are pitch black, his brows low and he’s taking me in slowly.

Shit.

“Time to go,” he says.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Aren’t you guys filming at the race tomorrow?” He turns to Jay.

We think it over.

“Yes,” I say.

Jay nods along.

“That means an early morning, right?”

We nod again.

Irish brushes a hand tiredly over his face.

“That means it’s time for bed.”

“Actually, me and Jay were just wrapping it up,” I say professionally.

The server arrives with our fresh round of drinks and sets them down with a flourish.

Irish raises his one eyebrow.

We can’t help it. Me and Jay burst out laughing.

Irish pulls a black credit card from somewhere on his person and talks to the server in French. It’s sexy as fuck.

The server’s eyes widen in recognition, but he’s a professional. He doesn’t let on that he knows who Irish is.

He disappears with the credit card and Irish rises to his feet, buttons his jacket, and holds out his hand to help me up. I slap it away and come to my feet, give a slight sway, and I startle when he grabs me by the upper arm. His grip is firm, and frankly, I’m grateful.