“I’m not going to lie. Our team is on its last legs, but this is my father’s dream, and so it’s mine too, and you’re the only guy that can get us this—make us win again.”
Racer is silent.
“Street cars and F1 are a whole other beast,” he gruffs out, looking slightly bemused.
“I know. But I’d love for you to test, and if it goes well …”
“When’s this test?” he cuts me off.
“Yesterday.” I grin. “Now. As soon as possible. The season starts in two days.”
He looks at me, then laughs softly as he pushes off the wall and we start walking again. “Fucking F1?”
“Yes.”
“You’re talking about F1.”
“Yes.” I laugh, feeling giddy because of the way his blue eyes start to glint.
His lips curve mischievously, and he drags a hand across his face before he turns sober. “When do we leave?”
Oh god. He said yes?
He looks thirsty for it; his gaze feral all of a sudden. Competitive.
“Tonight? Can you make it?”
“I’ll make it,” he assures.
I smile and reach out, embracing him. He wraps his arms around me too and I feel him inhale along the back of my ear before we step away—my heart beating fast.
He’s seriously god’s handiwork. The natural selection process of evolution couldn’t be enough to produce something like him. He’s illegal.
His only law is breaking the law, and a flicker of insecurity slithers inside me. Do I have the ability to control a guy like him?
Drake, Clay, and Adrian … all three of my brothers together plotting in some way or another against me have never made me as nervous as this guy on his own.
The last thing I want is get involved with a driver. I cannot keep feeling like this around him.
“It won’t be a problem with your family—”
“I’ll handle my family.” He chuckles over my worry and reaches out and grabs my face, smiling down at me. “You’re too gorgeous for your own good.” He brushes my mouth with his, causing my whole body to awaken and to tingle, his eyes twinkling, and he walks away. “Send me the flight information and I’ll meet you at the airport.”
“Good but if we can keep this professional I’d be really—grateful.”
He stops walking and turns, looking at me.
I close the distance between us, breathless. “Last night we almost went too far.”
“I’m not letting you get away.” He looks uncompromising. Determined.
I wring my hands. “This is more complicated than I thought.”
He looks at my face, and I lick my lips, lean over, and kiss his cheek. I found him. He’s the one driver I’ve chosen to believe in, to bring into our fold and try out, and this cannot happen, especially with my family around.
I ease back, but it’s like something unleashes, and he growls, takes my hands and pulls me up, pinning me against him.
“Are we in agreement …” he says, his eyes starting to twinkle as his lips curve mischievously.
“Agreement of what?” I breathe.
He’s got a big ego, I can tell.
“I’m the best driver in the world.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“You don’t want to fix my car, that’s the only reason you won’t admit it.”
“No. I’m not in agreement. I haven’t seen much.”
He’s breathing hard, smells freshly showered and feels so warm as I try to pry myself free and we head outside, walking side by side.
“What do you get when you win your street races.”
“I get laid.”
“Oh. You got laid.”
He shakes his head. “My prize walked away on me last night.”
“Oh really? I wasn’t your prize. Obviously you had a real prize somewhere and she must feel very rejected.”
“She’s paid to feel happy no matter I fuck her or not.”
My smile fades, and I clear my throat and decide this is too intimate. Feeling jealous over him is not the thing. He’s not mine; I’m not his. We’re nothing to each other but business partners now. “Okay so. We leave tonight. I’ll get us tickets.”
He narrows his eyes, as if confused that I shut down so fast. “I said I’ll be there and I will. I don’t lie.”
He tightens his jaw and it looks square as he flexes a muscle in the back, looking frustrated as I simply nod and add,
“Racer. Tomorrow this never happened. What almost happened between us—never happened.”
He grins and hikes up one eyebrow, then just says, “Understood.” He nods, and I watch him head toward a black Jeep Cherokee, and I assume his mustang is getting fixed after the thousand kisses he gave it during his street race.
He’ll be driving Kelsey, I think mournfully, praying he doesn’t leave those sorts of marks on her too. We have no money for that—no room for error.
God, please let me be right about him.
Racer
“You weren’t at the gym today.”
First thing my dad says when I meet them for lunch at a restaurant by the gym I usually visit.
“No.” I meet his irritated gaze. I’m like a carbon copy of the guy, except he’s got two dimples, and I’ve got one. He’s also hard for fighting. I’m hard for cars. Not that he knows what I still do with my cars.
Leaning over to kiss my mom on the cheek and rumple my eighteen-year-old sister’s hair, I glance at my mom while she sips her tea. “Tell Dad to cut me some slack, huh?”