He sounds dehydrated. And mischievous.

“Ha! I’ll be the judge of that. Plus I’m not sure what you’re implying I do with him.” I shoot him a scowl.

He laughs, and shakes his head. “Anything you want. Free of charge. Driving lessons. Petting sessions.”

“Really?” I frown. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me, Alana.” He stops me, his eyes twinkling as he frowns down at my mouth as if he wants to take a bite out of it and is annoyed that he can’t. His voice lowers. “I’ll stop by tonight for a kiss, for P3.”

My lungs suddenly feel like rocks in my chest, but I try to sound stern as I say, “You can knock, but that doesn’t mean that door is going to open.” I see his dimple deepen as he watches me walk away, my whole stomach buzzing in a way it has

never

in my whole damned life

buzzed before.

Racer

I’m hyped and wired, not one bit tired after the day. P fucking 3.

I’ll take it.

Not bad for a first timer. I’m planning to work myself up from there, get to know the car better. The wheels. The turns.

I’m freshly showered after hitting the hotel gym for an hour, and rather than strip and hit the bed, I’m pulling on a pair of jeans and a fresh T-shirt.

Some Clark guy is after her.

I don’t want anyone touching her. Looking at her. Kissing her.

I want to kiss her again, deep this time, figure out what she tastes like in every hot spot of hers, draw out more and more of that taste, and add a little moan or two. I’m working myself to a lather over the idea of it, my cock already taking to the idea—fast and hard like I like it—and immediately I clench my jaw because I’m being a selfish prick. No girl should need to live with my bullshit. Hell I even try to spare my mom; she’s got enough with my dad.

But I head over—needing a look at her.

I knock on her door.

She opens in a little pajama that makes my cock thick.

She blinks.

“Hey.”

She exhales, looking at me, and I look at her and see her nipples, want to touch them, suck them, and I can’t snap out of it for a long time. I know she’s worried we work together and I shouldn’t kiss her, but I don’t have any qualms about that.

I want to take it easy on her, though, so I just stand there and get a whiff of her scent. What is that?

She’s talking to me.

My eyes feel heavy as I pull them up from watching her lips speak to looking into her eyes. She’s saying—

“Racer, please.”

I open my mouth to correct her, to tell her to call me just Tate. That’s my preference. I snap it shut. Frown down at her.

Well shit I kind of like my name coming from her mouth. I kind of like the idea of her saying it when she’s coming.

I’m fast in all things but not in this. Hell I don’t even know what this is. I reach out. There’s a slight widening of her eyes, and I can see it. Interest. Lust. Whatnot. Whatever you want to call it.

This girl’s hot for me; her eyes say it so much. And I’m burning like fuel at full speed.

“You want to try saying it again.” I feel my lips curve into a smile.

“What? Racer?” she asks, confused.

“All of it.”

“Racer … please.”

“Please what.”

“I …”

“Please what.”

“Please make me look good. No more of this.” She starts shaking her head, and I lean down to peck her lips.

Like I knew, she knew, I would do.

“Tell you what, Alana,” I rasp, cupping her face and teasing her with her bullshit name. “Tell me you’re fixing my car because you know I’m the best driver in the world, and I’ll go back to my room.”

“Tell you what, Racer,” she says, pushing me at arm’s length. “Go get some rest. Keep trying to achieve your dreams. And maybe when you get there, I’ll be close to admitting that.” She grins, and as she starts to close the door, she kisses the tip of two fingers and places them on my jaw.

I laugh, and scrape a hand down my jaw where she just set the sweetest fucking kiss on me.

Racer

I’m fired up. I hit the gym at midnight, worked on my stamina, upper body, killed my legs, worked my arms.

I snatch up a coffee early morning, get one for Lana, and head out to the track.

I spot her with her brothers. Her eyes widen when I give her a cup of coffee, and she has a shit ton of coffees on the table beside her. “Oh. I brought you one too.”

I nod, and eye her as I watch her take mine and drink it in silence before I head to the drivers’ meeting.

The race director briefs us all on the basics. “This is the situation with the safety car …” he’s saying.

He indicates which turns have safe havens (in case a car breaks down). “The safe havens are indicated with orange cones or turn marks.”

The Clarks snicker and whisper among themselves.

What jackasses.

It’ll be a goddamned pleasure to beat their asses this year.

After the drivers’ briefing, I head back to the tent to talk strategy with Adrian, Lana’s youngest brother. Aside from the mechanics that make up HW Racing Team, Lana’s family make up the most important roles. Adrian is the race engineer. Clayton’s the driver’s coach, the guy I usually discuss driving skills with and am on the headset with during the races. The eldest, Drake, is the team manager. Lana’s dad is the team owner: a man who loves to live on the track and rarely leaves until the entire team does.