Off the Grid (Full Throttle, #1)

by K. Bromberg

“Save it.” I hold up my hand to stop him from speaking. “No need to explain to me why grown men think shit like this is funny, just like there’s no need for me to tell all your friends that your game is pitifully weak and your kissing skills are subpar.” Shock flashes through his eyes. “But hey, we all can’t be good at everything, right?” I say with a shrug and a fuck you smile. “Lose my number.”

His presence is like a feather skimming over my skin. It creates chills at the same time I want to brush it away. Or a better comparison would be the static electricity in the air before a lightning strike.

Like something I desperately need, as if I’m drowning and Camilla is the only thing that can revive me.

“There are two things I want, Cami. The one you mentioned—keeping a ride in F1—but I can do that myself.” “The other?” My nerves skitter through every part of me. I need to leave. I can’t— “Camilla. Look at me.” He waits for my eyes to flutter up to his, and the serious expression in his eyes shocks me. “You. You’re the other thing I want.”

“You’re the one who offered to pay me for sex.” “You’re the one who gave it to me for free.”

What you do to me? Ruin me. Wreck me. Own me.

“Let’s stop playing this game, Gasket.” “What game?” “The no-strings one. I’m in love with you. Can’t you see that? Baggy clothes. No clothes. A Mount Everest of clothes, I don’t fucking care. You’re it for me, Camilla. The kind of it I never expected, I never wanted. I thought love was for weak men and saps. I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong. Hands down. Head over heels wrong. You drive me crazy but fuck if that madness doesn’t make me love you more. You challenge me. You make me the kind of man who would give up his dream because it’s the right thing to do. And that’s fucking saying a lot. Because I would. I did. And I’d do it a million times over if that’s what you needed, because I’m in fucking love with you.”

I love you Riggs. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.”

“Yes. This is really happening,” he says, reading my mind. “I’m really here, on my knee, asking the woman I love to marry me. I’m really here, telling her that life hasn’t been the same since my massive fuck up at a bar where I almost lost her before I even knew I wanted her. I’m really here, asking her to take the dare card this time. To marry me. To do this life together with me. To break into private parks for picnics and have a ludicrous, whimsical life together where we never know what comes next but are excited for it because we’ll face it together. Marry me, Gasket. Please.” “Ludicrous whimsical, huh?” “Not my term.” He laughs. “It’s my wife’s.”