Chapter 68 Closer

Chapter 68 Closer
Primo’s POV
THERE CAME a point when patience stopped being noble and started becoming stupidity.
I reached that point on a Tuesday morning.
For weeks, I had watched Carlos Santiago slowly remove himself from Natasha's life.
At first, I assumed it would pass.
Despite our rivalry, I knew Carlos well enough to understand that whatever existed between him and Tasha wasn't superficial. People didn't look at each other the way they did and simply stop caring overnight.
I expected him to come to his senses. I expected him to fight. Instead, he retreated. The more distance he created, the more opportunities appeared.
And unlike Carlos, I had no intention of wasting them.
I spotted Tasha leaving the Engineering Building just after her morning lecture. She looked distracted. That wasn't unusual anymore.
Ever since returning from Monaco, she seemed permanently trapped inside her own thoughts.
I fell into step beside her. “You're developing a dangerous habit.”
She glanced sideways at me. “Good morning to you too.”
“Good morning,” I replied. “Now explain why you nearly walked into a lamp post.”
“I was not going to walk into a lamp post.”
“You were absolutely going to walk into a lamp post.”
She rolled her eyes. “I saw it.”
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. There she was. The version of Tasha I preferred. Not the exhausted girl carrying the weight of a dozen secrets. The stubborn one. The one who argued over everything.
“Where are you headed?” I asked.
“The library.”
“Excellent.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately. “Why is that excellent?”
“Because I'm going there too.”
“No, you're not.”
“I am now.”
Lately, making Tasha laugh felt strangely important. Maybe because she wasn't doing enough of it. Maybe because every smile felt earned. Or maybe because I simply liked being the reason behind it.
The walk to the library took less than ten minutes. By the time we arrived, Tasha had already shifted into investigation mode.
The moment she sat down, notebooks appeared. Documents appeared. Questions appeared. I sometimes wondered if she ever truly rested.
“You know,” I said while placing several folders on the table, “most people take breaks.”
“Most people aren't investigating a twenty-year-old mystery.”
“Fair.”
She frowned at the folders. “What are those?”
“Research.”
Immediately, her attention sharpened. “Research on what?”
I slid the top folder toward her. “Financial records connected to several racing sponsors from the year of Hamilton’s accident.”
Her eyes widened. “You found these?”
“It took some effort.”
“Primo, some of these aren't publicly accessible.” She stared at me. “Should I be concerned?”
“Probably.”
“That's not reassuring.”
Tasha opened the folder and began flipping through pages. For several moments, silence settled between us. Not uncomfortable silence, but focused silence.
The kind that appeared whenever she discovered something interesting.
Eventually, she looked up. “Why are you helping me?”
The question wasn't new. She had asked versions of it before. Usually, I gave her partial answers. Today, I wasn't interested in being careful.
“Because I want answers too.”
She studied me. “That isn't the whole reason.”
I leaned back in my chair. Around us, students moved quietly through the library. Nobody paid attention to our corner. Nobody interrupted.
For once, there was nowhere for either of us to escape.
“Tasha.” Something in my tone made her pause. “Have you noticed something?”
“About what?” she asked.
A quiet laugh escaped me. The answer was becoming almost adorable.
“Tasha,” I said patiently.
“What?” she replied, sounding genuinely exasperated.
I held her gaze for a moment before deciding there was no point dancing around it anymore.
“I'm courting you.”
The words landed between us like a dropped wrench in a silent workshop.
Tasha froze. For several seconds, she simply stared at me. Then she blinked.
I watched her entire thought process collapse in real time, and I had to fight the urge to smile.
“Primo,” she finally said.
“Yes?” I asked, completely unbothered.
She glanced around the library as if searching for someone else to deal with this conversation for her.
“You can't just say things like that.”
“Apparently I can,” I replied, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug.
Her eyes widened.
“That's not the point.”
“Then what's the point?”
Tasha opened her mouth, paused, then pointed an accusing finger at me.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
I couldn't stop the smile that appeared.
“I do,” I admitted. “That's why I said it.”
The color in her cheeks deepened.
And suddenly the confident engineer who could dismantle complex racing systems seemed completely uncertain.
I found that far more charming than I should have.
“Tasha,” I continued, “I think part of the problem is that you've spent too much time around men who expect you to read their minds.”
She looked away immediately. Because only one person fit that description.
Carlos.
I chose not to say his name. There was no need. Instead, I leaned forward slightly.
“Let me make this simple,” I said and held her gaze. “I'm not pretending I'm helping because we're friends, Tasha.”
The words immediately captured her attention. For the first time since the conversation started, she wasn't looking anywhere else. Just at me.
Waiting. Listening.
I continued calmly. “We are friends. I like that we're friends.”
“Primo—”
“No.” I shook my head gently. “You asked for honesty.”
She remained silent. So I gave it to her. “I'm helping because I care about you.” The library suddenly felt very quiet. “Tasha, if all I wanted was friendship, I would have stopped months ago.”
Her breath caught slightly. I noticed. Unfortunately for her, I noticed everything.
“I walk you to class because I enjoy spending time with you.”
She lowered her gaze. I continued anyway.
“I help with the investigation because I want answers, but also because those answers matter to you.”
The blush returned. Stronger this time.
“I bring you research because I like seeing you excited when you discover something useful.”
“Primo...”
“And yes,” I added, “I am absolutely interested in taking you on a real date eventually.”
Her eyes widened. I almost laughed. Not because I was mocking her. Because watching Tasha Hamilton become flustered was an extraordinarily rare experience.
She was usually composed. Sharp and difficult to surprise. Now she looked completely unprepared.
“You planned this conversation,” Tasha accused, staring at me as though she had just uncovered some elaborate conspiracy.
I leaned back in my chair and made a show of considering the question.
“A little,” I admitted.
“A little?” she repeated incredulously.
I couldn't stop the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“Fine,” I said. “More than a little.”
Tasha let out a frustrated groan and covered her face with one hand. “I can't believe you.”
“That's unfortunate,” I replied.
Her hand immediately dropped from her face. “Why?”
“Because I haven't finished.”
Her head snapped upward so quickly that I almost laughed. “There’s more?”
“Of course.”
“Telling me you're courting me wasn't enough?”
“Not remotely.”
I folded my arms across my chest and settled deeper into my chair, fully aware that she looked seconds away from throwing one of the research folders at me.
“Tasha,” I said, my voice growing more serious, “I know your life is complicated right now.”
The irritation on her face faded slightly.
For the first time since this conversation started, she wasn't looking for an escape route.
She was listening.
I continued before she could interrupt. “I know you're carrying questions that nobody seems willing to answer.”
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the folder in front of her. A moment later, she nodded.
“I know you're worried about Ricardo Hamilton.”
This time, her response was slower. The brief spark of embarrassment disappeared completely, replaced by something heavier.
Another quiet nod.
“And I know you're probably not in a position to make decisions about relationships or feelings right now.”
Tasha lowered her gaze to the documents spread across the table. For several seconds, she said nothing. When she finally looked back at me, the vulnerability in her expression caught me off guard.
“Then why tell me now?” she asked softly.
The question wasn't defensive. It wasn't angry. It was honest. I appreciated that more than she realized.
I held her gaze for a moment before answering. “Because,” I said quietly, “I'm tired of pretending.”
A flicker of surprise crossed her face. I wasn't sure she had expected a serious answer.
“You deserve honesty, Tasha.”
She stared at me. Completely silent.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my forearms on the table between us. “If I spend time with you, you'll know why.”
Her breath seemed to catch for a second. I continued before she could look away.
“If I help with the investigation, you'll know why.”
The color slowly returned to her cheeks.
“And if I walk you to class, bring you research, or look for excuses to spend time with you, you'll know exactly why.”
Neither of us spoke after that. The silence stretched between us. 
Tasha broke eye contact first. She glanced down at the folders scattered across the table and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture might have looked insignificant to anyone else.
To me, it revealed exactly how flustered she had become.
“You're impossible,” she muttered.
I smiled. “There it is again.” 
Her eyes immediately lifted to mine. “I mean it.”
“I know.”
She shook her head, clearly frustrated that I wasn't taking the accusation as an insult. “You say things like they're completely normal.”
“Because they are.”
Despite herself, a reluctant smile appeared on her lips. The moment she realized it, she tried to suppress it.
Unfortunately for her, I had already seen it.
And that small victory felt far more satisfying than it probably should have.
Dangerously beautiful.
Now, I felt like I was finally moving forward instead of waiting for someone else's story to end.