Racer

I don’t care. I’m high on it because my prize is …

My racer.

“Hey! You’re a fucking star—come here.” He reaches into the car and pulls my head to his and kisses me long and hard, and I moan when he pries his sexy, wicked mouth free. I’m so hot for him I could be the embodiment of fire right now.

“You totally paid her to go slow,” I chide.

“No,” he denies, eyes twinkling. “I’d rather spend my money on you.”

“We just made sure her car was shit,” Henley says from behind him.

“Shut up, Hen,” Racer growls, turning back proudly to me. “Hell, you found her,” he says.

“Who?”

“The best driver in the world.”

“Who? You mean—me? You tease.” I laugh, then look into his eyes, breathless. “Are you going to marry me or what?”

His eyes flicker possessively, as if he loves me being possessive and greedy for him too. He leans over to peck my lips and looks down at me with tender blue eyes. “You’re trouble,” he rasps with pride.

I nod, breathless. “Trouble likes me. Follows me wherever I go. Claims he’s going to marry me.”

“Let’s not make a liar out of him then. Alana.” He pulls the car door open, and as I step out, Racer folds down to his knee.

I turn to stone and blink down at him—my guy, Racer fucking Tate, on one knee, with his dimple popping out on one cheek.

There’s a ring in his palm, and if it weren’t for me leaning on the door of his mustang, my knees would have buckled and I’d be right there, with Racer, on the ground.

“Lana Heyworth. Marry me. Be with me. Be my girl, always. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.”

I had been daydreaming about this day, secretly, for quite some time. I had been wanting a family of my own, even though I was sure I might not ever have it. I had been wanting a home, some security, and I wanted … maybe, despite my fears, to love even harder, to be loved even more.

I gaze down at the guy I will spend the rest of my life with. Whose name he wrote down on a page that I saved because for some reason, it seemed important.

Turns out, the page wasn’t that important.

But it turns out, he was.

“Lana …” Racer prods warningly.

“Yes!” I squeak out, throwing myself into his arms and wrapping my arms around him, because I’ve never wanted anything more.

Lana

Racer wants me in white. He wants me walking down the aisle to him, in white … and he wants me to have everything I could have ever dreamed of.

We’re having the whole enchilada. Church wedding, and then a reception with about 120 guests at the largest ballroom in the city’s top hotel.

I wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed of her wedding when she was little. I think it’s been a while since I even allowed myself to think, to hope, that I would one day be dressed in white … and the man I love with my whole being would be waiting down a long church aisle for me, ready to make me his.

My mom showed up for the wedding. We’re not friends, and I know we never will be, but it’s nice to have her here on my big day. She made sure my hair was perfect, and my veil was draped behind my head with no wrinkles or creases, and that I looked as beautiful as could be.

“You’re a vision,” she whispered when our eyes met in the mirror, and I could see she wanted to cry. All the guilt maybe of the years she has missed, of me and my brothers growing up.

“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper. Because today I’m getting married and it’s not a day I want to hold onto the past. I’m leaving the past in the past, where it belongs, because my future is staring right at me—and I’ve never loved what I see as much as I do now.

We head to the church, and my father looks dashing with his shaven head, and his gorgeous smile, and his loving brown eyes.

“The most beautiful bride ever,” he says.

I am tempted to say there’s no way, but I’m his only daughter, and the apple of his eye, and I know that to him, it’s true. And I know that to the man who sees me now at the altar, it will be true too.

My brothers kiss my cheek. “Don’t make him return you. No returns or exchanges,” Drake says.

“You’re the one who’ll be returned as defective,” I say, as he chuckles and allows Clayton and Adrian to come kiss me too.

“He’s right. No exchanges,” Clay says, patting the back of my head to smack a wet one on my cheek.

“Clayton! My veil!” I protest, waiting for Adrian to hug me.

“Be happy, Lana,” Adrian says. He’s the sweetest of my three brothers, but he speaks this as a command and it makes me laugh.

“Yes, sir.”

I feel my mother fix my veil. She’s not talking to my brothers, or more likely, they’re not talking to her, but I know they’re here—together—for me, and it just makes me value my family more.

I slip my hand into the nook of Dad’s arm, and I whisper, “Thank you, Daddy.”

“No need to give thanks. It’s been my pleasure being my girl’s dad.” He chuckles and kisses the back of my hand, and we both halt at the doors, my heart hammering in my chest, my whole body buzzing because I can feel him, right behind the church doors. Waiting for me.

The music begins, and the doors swing open, and it feels like gravity is what pulls me forward. My eyes scan the length of the red carpet and look for the familiar blue of his, and when they lock together, that’s where they stay.

He looks hot enough to melt the candles.