“Tested your theory the other day,” Racer tells Maverick, and Maverick’s eyebrows rise in instant interest.
“And,” Maverick prods.
“I fucking was ready to eat my competitors’ heads off.” Racer’s lips twist into a wry smile as he shoots a meaningful look in my direction. “But I’m not sacrificing some time with my girl again.”
“Only when it matters.” Maverick steps beside him and lowers his voice so that maybe I don’t overhear. “Besides, it’s sweet to celebrate with your girl after.”
“Yeah. But I intend to celebrate winning this championship by walking her down the aisle in a fucking white dress.”
“Wow! Look at him,” Reese says in amazement, obviously able to overhear like me. She confides to me in a whisper, “He never wanted to get married.”
I’m surprised by that, but then realize Racer’s intent blue gaze is fixed on me, as if he’s curious as to my response to this, so I direct my question to him.
“Why didn’t you?”
A naughty spark appears in his eyes. “I didn’t want anyone to have to deal with my shit.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then I met you, and I wanted to take care of you.”
I bite my lip, and I see Reese take Maverick’s hand and pull him away while Racer continues looking at me as if we’re not in the track—as if there’s no one but us here.
“And I knew myself enough to know that for the one time I’d need you to be patient with me, I would be a hundred times patient for you.” He clenches his jaw as passion and lust and love glow in his eyes. “I’ve never loved anything in my life the way I love you. My crasher. You looked at me with these two eyes … and I haven’t been able to see anything else. You little witch, you crashed my single party.”
“Racer,” I laugh, and he runs his thumb along the back of my arm as he starts leading me back to our tent.
I shiver head to toe, side to side; even inside of me there are tiny delicious shivers.
His mom is telling something to his dad close to our tent, and he’s smiling, laughing at something she says. He’s an older version of Racer, a little thicker, with blue eyes as dark as Racer’s, two dimples, and a bit of silver at his temples. I feel my stomach clutch in yearning, and I never realized how much I want that. What his parents have.
“Your dad’s a DILF.”
Racer bursts out laughing, then shoots me a jealous look. “Thanks. I really didn’t need to know that.”
“Well, it’s true.”
He smiles and shakes his head, and I resist the urge to reach out and grab his fingers and tug him back to me and kiss him, tell him that I want that—the kind of relationship his parents have with each other—with him, and I’d never, ever, wanted it before in this way.
As we walk forward, his mom looks at me and pulls away from his dad.
She studies me as she approaches, and a part of me feels vulnerable—because I’ve never been studied this way by another woman. By a mother figure. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from my mom, and she never did really look into my eyes—my expressive eyes, as Racer calls them—and try to figure out what was up with me.
His mom looks at me. “Remy told me you were with Racer at the hospital. Thank you for taking care of him.”
“Oh god, you don’t need to thank me at all.”
“Yeah, well”—her lips tilt a little—“I know it’s frightening.”
I nod, dropping my eyes.
“I could tell you that it’s always worth it. But sometimes it’s hard; it’s hard for the both of you. He wants to be better, you want him to be better, and sometimes there’s nothing either of you can do but hang on and ride the wave. And it is a wave. It passes. And then the water is calm again, and you can see the reflection of what you have, and that’s when it’s worth it. Every wave is worth it because one wave doesn’t reflect the whole ocean.”
A tear slips and I wipe it away.
I glance at Racer and see him sitting with his dad, his racing suit covering his thick thighs and the sleeves tied at his waist.
I want to go to him, I want to put my arm around him and tell him that I can’t deny it, that he’s my guy, that we don’t get to choose the tests we will have in life, all we can hope for is to pass every one, and to hang on to those who matter, those who love and love you back. I want to tell him that maybe I don’t deserve him, that I’m not as strong as his mom. But that I want to be. That I want to learn.
“You’re a sweet girl. You’re stronger than you think,” his mom says.
“It’s just that it all comes at you together. Like it’s never a single wave; it’s always two or three. My dad …”
I swallow, and she comes to sit by me and puts her hand on mine. “You can talk to me, really.”
“Thank you.” Another tear slips, and I wipe it away.
We’re silent for a moment as his dad and Racer walk up.
“Mr. Tate,” I greet, on my feet.
“I think we can skip to the part where you call me Remington.” He shakes my hand.
“Or Dad.” Racer’s gruff voice reaches me.
I feel my mouth part in surprise and maybe even a little excitement, and when he looks at me with a dark primal glimmer in his eyes, I feel myself blush.
His father slaps his back. “You’re in trouble,” he whispers to Racer, winking at him.
Racer suddenly is staring at me so possessively I feel a little bit impaled on the spot. A little bit … fucked. In the best ways. He moves up to me, and his body heat envelops me as we watch the other cars on the track as his parents head to their seats.