Racer

“You’re currently holding the fastest track lap,” I say, still disbelieving as Racer hangs tight and leads Kelsey to another perfect lap—and then, straight and at full speed past the waving checkered flag.

The first checkered flag HW Racing Team has ever seen in Formula One Grand Prix.

“What a stellar pass from rookie U.S. driver Racer Tate! Racer Tate, who jumped from starting point four to lead nearly the entire race …” the announcer is saying.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, my eyes wide as I take off the headset and turn to see my dad.

I feel my dad squeeze my hand, and his smile? It could brighten a whole sky; it’s like the sun.

We’re both silent, smiling at each other, before I launch myself at him and he catches me, laughing gregariously.

“P1!!!” Drake yells, coming over to lift my dad in the air.

“Careful, Drake!” I call worriedly, but my dad couldn’t care less. His whole face is pink with excitement.

Oh god.

Is this really the same team that was scrambling to make it just a little while ago?

And as the car pulls into pits, it feels as if I hold my breath for an eternity, because my lungs ache the moment Racer leaps out of the car, onto his feet, his fist pumping the air in pure devil’s pride.

I take a ton of pictures as he goes up to the podium to get recognized for this achievement. “And this year’s surprise, U.S. rookie Racer Tate, with his first first-place trophy here at the Grand Prix …”

The crowd cheers, and his dimple is on full display, and I can’t get enough pictures as I snap, snap, snap my phone and wish I had a professional camera—but I know professional photographers are taking these shots and I’ll be hounding for them online; our team will get tagged with them for sure.

“Hope you enjoy P1—that’s going to be my place from now on,” I hear Clark say as he comes up beside him.

Racer scoffs. “Not if I nudge you towards a wall.” A razor-sharp smile touches his lips.

I feel chills rise up my arms because Racer sounds quietly determined, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone stand up to the Clarks before. They’re legends around here, and usually everyone kisses their ass, hoping one day to enjoy even half of the support the Clarks do. Well. Racer Tate doesn’t seem to know whom to treat nicely here, or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Sir,” he says as he brings up his huge silver trophy.

Dad is grinning ear to ear as Racer hands him the trophy.

“I can’t believe we have two podiums and already a first place,” Adrian says, congratulating him.

They make a great team, Racer and Adrian. Racer seems to know exactly what he wants the car to do and Adrian is good at giving it to him.

I also step up to congratulate him, and I shake. Just completely shake with anticipation. And when his strong, lean-muscled arms embrace me as my arms go around his wide frame, the shakes increase tenfold. “Congratulations,” I tremulously say, feeling as if the whole contents of a volcano have been poured into my veins and muscles.

He stares down at me with those magnetic, male, satisfied blue eyes, his dimple so close I could rise up on tiptoes, lean forward a few inches, and lick it.

As soon as we’re able to pack up, we head to the hotel.

In the elevator, Racer and I stand close to each other, while my dad hugs his trophy and my brothers keep making plans for subsequent races. Racer’s breath is warm on the top of my head as he stands behind me, all of us sort of crammed in here. My heart pounds as someone else steps in, and I take a step back, nearly tripping on his feet.

“Sorry,” I breathe, turning my head a bit to meet his gaze.

He looks at me with the most intense expression on his face.

I suck in a breath and turn forward again, aware of his hand curling around my hip. I want to close my eyes, and I want to turn and draw his arm closer and tighter around me. I want my lips on his and I want to share everything that I know and am with him, and I want him to share all of himself with me too.

It’s crazy, I don’t even know this guy—but he looks at me as if he’s known me for a long time. Maybe, even, as if he’s waited for me for a long, long time.

My family steps out. “Lainie, you getting off?” Clayton asks.

“I’m just making sure this guy eats,” I call back, because we all ended up with rooms on the same floor except Racer.

They all nod—Drake looking a little suspicious—and the elevator doors shut, and we’re alone.

He smiles a little as I turn to him and give him a smile too.

“You’re going to stay out of trouble. Aren’t you?” I ask.

“Depends.” His dimple appears.

“On what?” We step out and walk toward his room.

“On whether trouble wants to step into my room with me.”

He opens the door, then pushes it wide open, looking down at me.

I gulp because I’d never seen such a hot, inviting look in anyone’s eyes before.

I said I’d see him tonight, but I can’t help evading for a moment.

“You won,” I say.

“Aha.”

“And you think you get laid if you win. This isn’t street racing.”

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

He waits, watching me with this gorgeous smile on his lips, and then I step inside and let him draw me up to the bed. We lie down side by side, and I let him move me so that I’m spooning his side, one of my legs draped over the length of his as I look up at him, my heart racing so hard I think I’ll go deaf from the racket it’s making.