Lana
I could barely watch. But I could hear every time 38 drove past how Racer was shifting, accelerating.
Brap, brap, brap, braaaaap, like hard, fast, wicked slaps on the motor as he effortlessly switched gears.
The adrenaline is so high in my body my legs are trembling.
“P2! Fucking shit me right now!” Clayton and Adrian are whooting.
“Kelsey’s never gone this fast.”
“Jesus,” Drake curses in disbelief.
My dad is pulling me into a hug, and I pull free as Racer pulls in.
The car gets weighed, and then he gets weighed. I know we can get disqualified if the car and driver weigh less than expected.
When Racer hops on the scale, I take note of his weight and notice he’s lost 8 lbs of body water in sweat (something we’d thankfully calculated when adding the proper weights to the car). I hurry to bring him a bottle of plain water, Gatorades in different flavors, and my favorite coconut water, tucking them all in my arms so that he gets to pick.
Once he’s cleared, he leaps off the scale, seething with energy as he pulls off his helmet and marches away, tossing the helmet back into his car seat.
I don’t know what’s going on but he starts right for the motorhome, and I have to chase after him.
“Racer?”
I follow him up the motorhome steps, and I stop the door from slamming shut so I can enter behind him.
“Racer!”
The door shuts behind me.
He spins around and pulls me flat against his hard-as-fuck body. One second, I am standing inside the steps of the motorhome, and the next, I’m in the air, pressed against his warm, sweaty body as his lips crush down on mine.
I hear a splat as the bottle hits the ground. Our mouths are moving in synchrony, and I desperately hang onto my heart as his tongue flicks over mine—wet. Slow.
He’s kissing me.
Hard.
And he kisses so good that I can only struggle to breathe right as his hand slides down to grab my butt and pull me a little closer to him, where he sets another kiss, this one a peck on the lips, on me.
He eases back, and all I know is my world is blue, the most electric gorgeous blue. There’s no words to how I feel when he looks down at me like that, his gaze brilliant blue and fired up, his lips slightly curving to show his dimple. His whole body feels electric, and his eyes seem the most electric of all as he looks down at my lips, then at me with the most mischievous smile in the world.
“Why—why did you do that,” I whisper, first breathless, then a little panicked and mad.
He moves his hand to cup my skull, pressing them a little harder before he eases back. It takes me seconds, maybe a minute, to register the feel of his warm lips, to calm down the fire that suddenly exploded inside of me at the touch of his lips.
I’m breathless, my chest rising and falling fast. “You know I have three brothers, and a father, who happens to be your boss. What the fuck.”
“So.”
“So you can’t go around doing that.”
“I couldn’t help myself.” He inhales me and growls, leaning close again. “I just want to fucking kiss you right now.”
“Don’t kiss me here,” I protest. “Not on the track.”
“Where,” he grinds out impatiently.
“Somewhere else,” I breathe, stepping away before my brothers can see.
Did I just say somewhere else?
Like I want it to happen, just not here?
Judging by the look in his eyes when I glance past my shoulders, I think we both know I did.
We head to dinner that night, to celebrate.
My brothers are looking at him and me all night, and it takes all my effort not to crawl under the tablecloth. I focus on my meal and am happy to see my dad’s appetite is well and solid as they talk cars and strategy at the dinner table. Racer seems keen on hearing suggestions from the team, and I try to keep my attention on anything but him.
But I marvel over that internal radar of his, something that seems to make him aware of me because every time I lift my eyes to him, they meet his, and he’s looking at me.
