Renegade Runner Nicole Conway (christmas read aloud txt) 📖

to make him stay. At least if Phox left, I could get over it. I could at least try to move on. But this was just … freaking miserable. Like being forced to stare right into a Thermax sunrise.

“He’s quite concerned about you,” Rout added, his tone much more blasé. “Although, if you prefer not to speak to him outside of a professional racing relationship, I can have his room relocated to a different floor. That might deter him from winding up sleeping outside your door at night.”

Um. What?

Phox was sleeping outside my door every night? But … but why?

“It’s fine,” I lied, my voice a broken whisper as I shook my head. Not fine. Not even remotely close to fine.

“You’re certain?”

No. I definitely wasn’t. But what else could I do? I wasn’t about to send Phox off. He was the one who wanted to leave. If he wanted a room somewhere else, somewhere away from me, then he would have to be the one to ask for it.

“Brinna, I don’t usually delight in injecting myself into other people’s personal lives, but since I have a vested interest in yours, I must say, I believe it would be very beneficial if you would just talk to him,” Rout suggested as he began to stroll away. “He may be uncommonly dense, as Unciathris often are, but you two work well together. It would be a shame to bring this tension to the next race, don’t you agree?”

My gaze drifted back to the shimmering gown that hung, waiting for tomorrow’s shit show. The Renegade Run Award Ceremony. I wondered what Phox would be wearing. Hopefully not something else nearly transparent. No one needed to see that. I’d already seen it. And while it was … you know, not as unattractive as I’d expected, I really wasn’t up to an entire evening of standing next to him with everything hanging out for the universe to see.

Sighing, I looked back at the mirror, at my own chaotic appearance, and tried to find one single, quiet spot to hide inside my own head. There wasn’t one. Not anymore.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I replied at last, not even sure if he was still around to hear me. “But he’s an idiot, so I’m not making any promises.”

39

SAY CHEESE

My skin shivered, prickling wildly as I stepped out into the arched, blue glass walkway that cascaded down into a huge atrium of the Crystal Spire—the most extravagant building ever constructed on Thermax. Well, according to Rout, anyway. Apparently, there were only a few cities still lingering on the surface of the planet, and this was the capital. The City of Glass, or so they called it. Gazing out at the gleaming structure before me, I could understand why.

My stomach flipped and fluttered as though an entire Cirque du Soleil performance were going on in my gut as I gaped, my gaze tracking slowly across the room. Three levels filled the cavernous place, each crafted from a mixture of polished metal, smooth white stone, and flawless glass that flowed and blended with a sense of controlled, purposeful beauty. The domed ceiling far above offered a view of the setting red Elder star, flanked by the silent gas giants that slowly drifted by. Looking out through the transparent walls on four of the five sides of the chamber revealed a glittering white cityscape nestled amidst Thermax’s rocky terrain, almost mimicking the natural clusters of crystals on its surface with angular, jutting shapes and hard lines.

All around the room, patrons and guests stopped to look up as Phox and I descended into the crowd, me holding on to his elbow like something from a classic princess film. Only I didn’t feel much like a princess. More like an attraction at a freak show. The dress didn’t help. I’d never walked around this naked in front of so many people. The shining gold and green fabric hung off one of my shoulders, draped snugly against my body and pooled on the floor behind me. A split up the front came all the way to my waist, revealing my whole leg, hip, and the straps of the glorified underwear I’d been given to wear underneath. Needless to say, I was feeling every slight breeze. Not fun.

Rout’s insectoid fashion-expert had spent hours applying my makeup and fixing my hair until it hung like a sheet of polished golden satin down my back. With my eyes outlined in dark black, gold, and pops of electric green, I barely recognized my own reflection as I caught hints and ghostly glimpses of it in the shiny surfaces of the atrium. I didn’t look like a dolled-up corpse anymore.

I looked like … someone else. Someone I didn’t even know.

Maybe that was for the best.

Walking silently beside me, Phox’s ensemble complemented mine, although thankfully without exposing himself in the same way. Close one. I did not need to see that much of his man-thighs. Or what was dangling in between them, honestly.

His evening attire fit more like a bodysuit, tight against his sculpted, brawny frame in the same shade of gold. His long, black, fitted tuxedo-styled jacket was trimmed in green and had long tails in the back adorned with more shining gold embroidery.

The heels of his tall, glossy boots clicked over the polished white stone floors—the only sound he made apart from occasionally clearing his throat. I couldn’t even imagine the fight that insect alien had been through to get Phox to comb his hair back, let alone add on a single swipe of glittering gold paint along his right cheekbone. He didn’t strike me as the hair-gel-and-makeup kind of guy.

As soon as we arrived on the atrium’s topmost floor, a flurry of whispers went up through the crowd of other guests. They all wore the same style of clothing we did—shimmering like mirages in the scarlet light of the sunset. A thousand eyes of every conceivable shape, size, and hue tracked us as