Racer
“So your dad, Remington Tate? Is he glad you’re racing?” Lana’s father asks me as we sit in a set of tables around the tents, lunching on chicken-and-spinach wraps that Lana ordered from a Shanghai food delivery service.
I sip on my Gatorade, having finished two wraps already while the rest of them seem to still be working on their first.
“My mom doesn’t like the risk I take. My dad always wanted me to be a fighter like he was,” I explain. I don’t tell them that my dad doesn’t trust me behind the wheel of a car knowing I’m BP1. That he’s concerned I might lose control, or not make the wisest choices.
He doesn’t get that cars make me feel better. Keep my brain sharp.
“I used to race little go-karts when I was young,” Mr. Heyworth says with a reminiscent look on his face. “I stopped when I married. My wife …” he smiles a regretful smile, “let’s just say she didn’t want my attention on anything that could detract from my attention to her. I set my dreams aside. She left, and I decided it was time to chase my dreams before it was really too late.” He lifts his water bottle in a toast. “You’ve got what it takes, kid.”
I lift my Gatorade. “Thanks, sir.”
His phone rings, and he tosses his wrap away, and I watch Lana follow him to the chair with a heavy sensation in my chest, a frown on my face. She didn’t say what he had, but she looked completely wrecked about it.
“Tate. You stare at my sister far, far longer than I’m comfortable with,” Drake drawls.
“Look away.” I shoot him a look and smirk.
“Hands off. You hear?”
I meet his determined gaze, then I realize this is going to have to get settled the old way. I stand. “I’ll fight you for her.” I start to roll up the sleeves of my white undershirt.
“Huh?”
“You heard me. I’ll fight you for her.”
“Jesus, you’re insane. Hands off, Lana, buddy.”
“Not that easy, Drake. Can’t.”
“Why the fuck can’t you, Tate.”
“I’m going to marry your sister.” I give him a meaningful look, and he narrows his eyes.
“You’re insane.” He laughs, then narrows his eyes. “She’s been hurt before. She doesn’t want to go through that again.”
“Guys! We have a sponsor!” Lana comes over, flushed and excited, her whole body trembling.
“That’s great, Lainie baby,” Clay says, amused as he glances at both me and Drake.
She looks at me then, and her smile falters, and her cheeks flush even more.
“They love you,” she tells me, and I see her dad walk up behind her, beaming as she explains, “We’ll have more budget now. Better tires.”
I nod at that, my chest doing shit at the sight of her so happy. “What do you want me to do?” I ask.
“Keep it going. And wear this—they sent a package!”
She slides a cap with a logo of a sports company on my head, and I grab her hips and tilt my head down to her as she examines the way it looks on my head.
“Yep. You’ll have to do,” she says. “The dimple makes it look even better.”
She laughs, and I feel my dimple deepen even more as our eyes lock.
Her smile falters as her eyes lock on mine, and I force myself to release her hips when I actually want to grab her ass and pull her closer. She turns me the hell on, and I don’t think she’ll ever know how much. Seeing her happy drives me insane. I want to urge her closer, want to open her mouth with mine, tasting her smile, soft and slow.
I can’t.
I force my arms down at my sides, tightening my jaw as I try to suppress the testosterone in my body. Goes ape-shit when she’s near.
“Only reason I’ll wear one is if you wear one too,” I say, to be difficult.
“What, why?” She scowls as I take off my cap and try it on her face.
“You look cute with it.”
She flushes, pulling out another cap from a bag and setting it back on me.
“Okay. But it’s you they want, champ. Wear that on our next podium, okay?”
“Our first-place podium,” I gruff out.
Her smile widens even more, and her eyes gleam with hope. “Yep.”
I shift the cap and make as if I’m going to kiss her, but instead I whisper, “Come to my room tonight.”
Her eyes widen, and before she can even seem to think about it, she smiles a little wider and licks her lips in nervousness and gives me a nod of consent. My dick jerks, and I can barely keep it in my pants.
That afternoon, as we’re heading out of the track, her brothers slap my back.
“Boy, that was some great performance out there. I nearly had a heart attack,” her father says.
“No!” Lana says, her eyes wide. “Daddy. No.”
She seems to realize her reaction and looks at me, then lowers her face and just smiles, breathing fast from the excitement.
I curl my hands at my sides, heading down the walkway by the track.
“An illegal street racer. Really, Lainie?” I hear Clark yell as he steps out of his tent.
I pass him and bump my shoulder hard against his.
“Hey,” he calls.
“Motherfucker,” I growl at him.
I shoot him an eat-shit grin and keep walking, feeling his fury behind me.
It’s on.
