Collided (Dirty Air Series Book 2)
Collided: Chapter 6

“I have an idea. But hear me out first before you say no.” Maya’s words do little to relax me despite her soothing voice.

I look into her warm eyes. “That’s what they say in every bad serial killer movie. No question about it, you’d be the first to die. The pretty ones always go first.”

She offers me a blank stare. “We’re going to a karaoke bar tonight. Please come?”

Well, I didn’t expect to cross off an item from my Fuck It list so fast. Look at Maya, making herself useful during my first weekend. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”

She clutches my hand as she lets out a squeal of approval. “Yes! It will be fun! Santi invited us since he had such a bad race. Noah chewed him out for crashing into him, so he wants to let loose with a little singing and a lot of alcohol.”

“I won’t lie, I didn’t expect Santi to choose karaoke as his destressing activity. Now that I’m thinking about it, do they even have English karaoke songs here? You know, like Backstreet Boys and N*SYNC because I don’t want to sing a Korean pop song.”

Maya looks taken aback. “Of course. Didn’t you know?”

“Do I know what?”

“They love karaoke here.” Her Cheshire grin says it all. A sane person would take one look at her and run for the Great Wall of China.

“All right, sounds like a plan.”

Maya claps her hands and rushes to hug me. “I knew you’d say yes. Think of it as a best friend’s initiation ritual.”

“More like a ritualistic sacrifice.” I smile at her.

We finish getting ready for the night. I choose ripped jeans, a slogan T-shirt I knot at the bottom to look cute, and a pair of booties. The outfit is a nod to my inner rock star. Since my singing skills are limited to shower concerts, I’ll fake it till I make it.

Santi introduces himself in the lobby. I get hit with a whopping six-foot-something Spanish man who could moonlight as a model with dark hair and a strong body accentuated by a T-shirt and jeans. His brown eyes assess mine, his olive skin wrinkling at the corners as he introduces himself. He drops his serious brother front once I ask him if he plans on singing better than he drives.

Maya, Santi, and I walk into a dingy Shanghai bar twenty minutes later. Speakers rumble, making it hard to distinguish singing from backtrack music. My shoes stick to the floor while warm air hangs around us.

Santi passes us each a shot glass. “Salud. To a fun night and future memories.”

“And to new countries, friends, and success.” Maya clinks her glass against ours.

We knock back our shots. My eyes water as the liquid burns my throat.

Maya shoots me a shy smile as she passes me a glass of water. I never gravitated toward girls in school, not liking how catty they got about grades and gossip, but Maya acts differently. Although very new, our friendship seems off to a good start.

Our trust continues to grow through the night. After a few drinks, Maya confesses how she replaces Noah hot. She whispers her declaration in my ear while Santi grabs more drinks.

Drinks keep coming, a steady buzz making me feel less self-conscious about singing in front of a crowd. I get up on the stage and sing “Don’t Stop Believin’” with Maya and Santi.

As the night progresses, I discover two types of people who do karaoke.

The first group of individuals takes their singing very seriously. They choose songs to serenade to, either of the sultry R&B variety or heart-wrenching country songs. The second type chooses to sing songs from an era of nineties boy bands. Performances include a dance number with poorly executed attempts at synchronized moves after one too many tequila shots.

I fall into the second group, becoming a combo of Baby Spice and Justin Timberlake. Maya and I let loose and dance around the stage while we sing into a shared microphone. Never will I underestimate the power of alcohol again. After tonight, I will bow down to the bottle of tequila, claiming José as my master.

And clearly, we have a mixed assortment of people tonight. When we discussed the plan earlier, Maya failed to mention how her brother invited a bunch of people to come sing and drink with us, including Jax and Liam.

Cue the DJ record scratch.

Liam Zander. Prim signature blonde hair, glacial blue eyes rivaling my art class pastels, and a brilliant smile that blinds me worse than a strobe light—a deadly temptation for my self-restraint. He has a beard he trims close to the skin, giving him a bit of an edge while framing sensual lips. His sweet looks hide how dirty and wicked he is on the inside. He’s a misleading man who suffers from a permanent allergy to relationships, graced with a reputation of being all seduction and heartbreak.

Exhibit A: Claudia McCoy

Exhibit B through Z: everyone else he’s hooked up with over the years

Nothing could’ve prepared me for how I felt seeing him at the gala the other day. One look from him had my heart racing like I had finished a 5K marathon a minute before seeing him. I don’t even run 5Ks, but the pace of my heart was alarming. That’s how much of an effect he has on me.

He flashes me a smile across the bar.

Ovaries, please settle down.

I shoot him a scowl in hopes of cloaking my true feelings, but his grin expands, undeterred by my attitude. He screams trouble in the worst kind of ways. His reputation is shit with women, and he struggles to keep his dick in check. I’d know, seeing as my Twitter feed’s filled with the latest F1 drama.

I cling to Maya’s side like a child afraid to let go. She becomes my protector without even knowing it, saving me from someone who promises nothing but trouble.

A few minutes later, Maya decides to sing a duet with her brother, abandoning me without a backward glance. Her disappearance prompts Liam to sit next to me on a leather couch better suited for Barbie’s dream house. That says something coming from me, a pixie whose feet rarely reach the floor while sitting.

Liam’s presence overwhelms me as his body takes up a majority of the seat. I scoot closer to the side, desperate for some space between us, edgy about how my body responds to his closeness.

He widens his legs, and his thigh brushes against mine. My skin heats at the contact, attraction flooding through me, his smoldering gaze intimidating me.

“I didn’t expect you to be such a screamer.” His husky voice sends goosebumps up my arms, his accent heavier from yelling over the music.

I choke on my drink. A lazy grin reaches his eyes and hints at smile lines at the corners. Look, something not perfect about him.

“Dirty little mind you have there.” His eyes flicker over my face. “The microphone really picks up on everything.” He points at the stage with his beer bottle.

I take him in. His white shirt clings to his sculpted chest, muscles pressing against the fabric, highlighting lean yet fit arms. Ones he can wrap around me.

Dammit, Sophie, resist.

“Mm, it’s hard to sing and dance at the same time. I have a new appreciation for performers. It’s a lot of work, and it makes you sweaty.” I take another sip of my drink, the refreshing liquid soothing my sore throat.

“You know what else makes you sweaty?” His words pull my attention back to him. Light blue irises fall on my lips before his body scoots closer to mine, his warmth pressing into my side as my body becomes highly aware of him.

“Lots of things. The gym, the great outdoors, a busted AC unit. The options are endless.”

He chuckles, the sound making his chest vibrate against my arm. “Racing does. You look a little flushed, and your eyes have a wild look to them. Are you thinking of something else? Penny for your thoughts?” The low and rough tone of his voice runs against my skin like a caress.

Nope. Not touching his first question with a ten-foot checkered flag.

“Right, racing. And honestly, you’re a millionaire. You can spare more than a couple of pennies for what goes on in my mind.” I tap on my temple.

He laughs as he lifts his drink to his lips. His throat bobs while he chugs the last bit of beer, his eyes remaining on me the entire time. I hate the way I notice everything about him. Like how good his lips look wrapped around the rim of his beer bottle or the tiniest bump in his nose hinting at a previous injury. I especially dislike the way he looks at me right now, like he doesn’t know which way he wants to fuck me first. And most of all, I hate how much I love every second of his attention.

His eyes lazily trace over my face before they fall on my chest. The audacity of this man.

“Cute shirt.” His lips twitch.

Like an idiot, I glance down. The sweet Free Hugs saying mocks me, pressing against my bust with the words centered above a prickly cactus. That’s me: a woman who has an affection level comparable to a desert plant.

“Thanks. I love graphic tees.” That sounds as stupid in my head as it does when it leaves my lips. I cringe at my inability to play it cool around Liam.

“Do I make you nervous?” Liam takes advantage of my flustered state. The contact of his hand grasping mine sparks excitement from me, an involuntary reaction I want to control. His fingers brush against my knuckles and leave behind a trail of heat. Safe to say, our stint of attraction still burns strong, unwavering with time.

I never thought holding hands could be such a sensory experience. But my mind takes control, not wanting to go there with someone like him, prompting me to pull my hand away from his.

He laughs, a full throaty sound tugging at my restraint. “You don’t need to be scared. Have a little fun.”

“I think we both have two different definitions of fun.” My version includes a laminated list of items, while his includes screwing around until he gets bored or detached.

On paper, Liam seems like a good option to help me complete my Fuck It list. But in reality, Liam would be the worst choice—too good-looking, too accessible, too risky. Not to mention, he drives for a rival team, which could result in extra unwanted press for both of us.

And to be extra honest, courtesy of tequila, completing items with Liam scares me. I thought I’d cross them off with random guys from different countries, not with one I have to see every week. Avoiding Liam will be damn near impossible, so why bother making things awkward?

Sirens sound off in my head despite an alcohol-induced haziness, warning me why being with him is not worth it. I stand, my head swimming. My body replaces balance and a fragment of mental clarity again as I grab my purse off the table. A ride-share sounds like a great idea.

I avoid direct eye contact with Liam as I fumble through the items in my purse, grabbing things left and right. He sits and watches me with a smirk on his face. Unable to replace my phone, I curse to myself. My hands sift through the contents again. My fingertips brush against the rough texture of my phone case at the bottom. As I pull it out, I replace my list attached to the back of my case, stuck together by static or voodoo. I watch with horror as the laminated paper flutters to the ground.

Liam grabs it off the cement floor before I have a chance to pick it up. “What’s this?”

Unlike movies where horrific moments are slowed down, my heart speeds up and I attempt to snatch the paper with lightning speed. “Let me have that. It’s nothing, just a shopping list.” My voice fails to hide how horrified I feel.

Liam grips the paper harder as he sends me a devilish grin that liquefies my insides. “Tsk, tsk. How rude of you to grab something from my hands. You greedy little thing.” He pulls the paper toward his eyes as he attempts to make out the letters in the dimly lit bar. I barely breathe, taking in enough oxygen to not pass out. Although a medical scare sounds like a great diversion.

He holds back a laugh. “A Fuck It list? I’m curious about what type of things you’re shopping for here.”

“I hate groceries, so fuck it. Right?” I dash for the list again. My fingers grasp the slick plastic coating before Liam lifts himself from the couch.

Liam has to be a foot taller than me, my list no longer in reaching distance. A growl of frustration escapes my lips as I stomp my foot. He smiles down at me like he replaces my irritated display cute.

I teeter on my feet, my hands grabbing onto his arms for stability. The warm skin of his biceps heats my fingers. His rigid muscles tense under my hands, teasing me to feel him up like a creep.

I look up at him as I step away, putting some room between us. He offers me a toothy grin as he pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight to assess my items. I want to die right here, right now, in some dingy Chinese bar to an Asian rendition of Elvis Presley.

“You even color-coded it?” Liam’s surprised voice comes off sincere.

My eyes hold his steady, facing my fate. “I like to be organized and detail-oriented. Why make a list if it isn’t perfect? Now give it back.” I hold my palm out and tap my foot.

Liam childishly waves it above my head. His height makes the task of snatching my list impossible. I bounce up and down to no avail, unable to reach his hand. My body rubs against his firm chest. The contact makes me jump back a foot and nearly twist an ankle.

His chuckle sounds more like a rumble. “You’re making it hard to read. Cut it out.”

“Well, excuse me for the inconvenience. Didn’t your mom teach you that it’s not nice to take things from others?”

“Must have missed that lecture. But my mama taught me how sharing is caring, so maybe you need a lesson or two yourself.” His smirk and the alcohol I’ve consumed override my senses. That and the way he pronounces mama, hinting at his accent and boyishness.

“My, my, Miss Mitchell, what a dirty mind you have. I’ve clearly underestimated you.” Liam shakes his head as his flashlight illuminates the page.

I rub my eyes, attempting to rid myself of this nightmare.

Nope, didn’t work. Liam is still here, in his sexy glory, illuminating my list with his phone.

He reads my list, ignoring my state of distress. “Go skinny-dipping. Buy a vibrator. Try foreplay with ice, now that is quite bold. You’re in luck, wanting to kiss a foreigner, because turns out you have one at your disposal right here. Do karaoke while drinking, completed. Try new food, go skydiving, watch porn, play strip poker, kiss someone in front of the Eiffel Tower. Ah, now you’re talking. Get tied up and be blindfolded.”

I attempt to rip the list from his hands, but he holds strong, continuing my torture.

“No need to get rough. Come from oral sex and experience multiple orgasms in one night. Basic, but I like it. Mirror sex sounds hot as fuck, you secret voyeur. Have sex in public, have sex against a wall, have a quickie, and get high. And last but most certainly not least, have outdoor sex. I have to say, I’m impressed by your level of creativity and boldness.”

If I had a drink in my hand, I wonder if I would’ve thrown it in Liam’s face. His smirk tempts me to go to the bar and fulfill my fantasy.

He taps my scrunched nose. “You know what we have to do now, right?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me whether I ask or not.”

“Smart girl. I’m making it my project to help you with this. It’ll be our secret.” His words make my skin break out in goosebumps. Liam has a way of screwing me without ever getting me in bed.

Mindfucked. Every damn time.