He shoots me a lazy smile. “Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Come closer then.” He drags me a little closer, his eyes never missing a beat of my expression.

His smile is cocky and boyish, but his eyes are never playful, ever. They’re always intense, always gleaming, and I’m shocked to realize that almost every time I look, I find them resting on me.

He runs his fingertip along the bridge of my nose. “You always had these freckles?”

“No. Not always. They’ve become more numerous since we started racing.”

I look at his face. “Do you have any birth marks?”

“Not on skin-surface,” he says.

“Were you a quiet baby?”

“Restless one. You?”

“Me too. My dad says you either work it out when you’re young, or when you’re older.”

“I definitely am still in the process of working it out.” He smirks.

I laugh, and then whisper, “My boyfriend. His name was David. He passed.”

His eyes drop to my body as I tremble at the memory. He looks like he wants to reach out and grab me even closer, but he doesn’t. He keeps his hold loose, giving me a chance to move away.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“He was my best friend since we were little. He died. It was … at a high school rally. He fell off the back of a pickup truck and broke his head.”

He’s quiet.

“Have you ever loved someone?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer; he just looks at me intently.

“I loved him very much,” I continue. “I’ve been focused on racing because I just don’t believe lightning can strike in the same place twice. My family is my world. My brothers and my dad—” My voice cracks. “I should go to my room.”

He eases off the bed when I step away from him and head to the door. “I wanted you in St. Petersburg because it seemed like I needed a good bout of casual sex. But there’s nothing casual about you and me, Racer. Or about this.”

“No. There’s nothing casual about it,” he gruffs out.

I smile wanly before retracing my steps, cupping his jaw and pressing my lips to his dimple, even though it’s hiding now. “Thank you for giving your trophy to my dad. I haven’t seen him this happy.”

I open the door to leave.

“Lana,” his growl reaches me.

I turn, and his eyes gleam dark and sharp.

“David’s not here anymore. But I am.”

Racer

Watching her leave was never part of the plan. Hell neither was the look in her eyes; the look of someone who’s lost somebody she cared about.

She’s been gone for an hour. I’m still battling the urge to go to her room, knock on her door, and pull her into my arms.

I’m caving into the impulse and dressing to do just that when I get a text from a fighter friend of my dad, saying he’s visiting my parents with his wife and wants to Skype. I turn on my iPad and take the call. I can see him on camera with my dad behind him, both of them peering into the screen.

“Racer. Hey, buddy, congratulations,” he says. “I thought I’d check in with the champ and advise you one thing: don’t fuck before a race. Keeps your testosterone up. I do that before fights and works like a charm.”

My dad laughs behind him. “That’s total bullshit,” he growls. “I fuck before fighting all the time. When I fought.”

“TMI, Dad.” I laugh and shoot him a scowl.

He gives me the finger. I give him two. Mom walks in and peers at the screen, and I fold back my fingers.

“Wow. So much love in this household,” she says sarcastically. We laugh, and she says, “I miss your face, baby boy.”

“I miss yours, Mom.”

She blows me a kiss and tells me to call them soon, that they’re watching every race and are proud of me, and then it’s back to my dad and Maverick.

“Seriously, Maverick, you can fuck whenever you want, but stop telling me when you fuck Reese,” I tell the guy.

“Why, you jealous?”

“Yeah, she’s my girl,” I say, yanking his chain. I’ve always suspected he’s jealous Reese changed my diapers and cleaned my dick before his. Reese is the first girl I loved aside from my mother. She was my babysitter when I was three, and was a little too sweet to put up with a little devil like me.

“Too bad she married me. And is too old for you,” Maverick says, that usual possessive look on his face when he talks about his wife.

Reese’s laughter reaches me, and she peers from behind Maverick as my dad gives her space. “Racer, Iris told us that a girl caught your eye,” she says.

“Yeah. More than my eye, actually.”

“Wow. You like this girl,” Reese says.

“I’m going to marry her.”

“Wow.” She seems genuinely stunned. “One day, she was going about her life as usual, and next thing she knows, she’s met one of the most amazing men I have ever known.” She smiles and taps the screen where I suppose my forehead is. “Show her the kind of good trouble you can stir, sir.”

“Reese …” I begin, and she stops before leaving.

“I should tell her. Right?”

She hesitates.

“I’m lying to her. The whole team.”

“Don’t tell her until you feel she’s ready. Sometimes it’s a lot.”

I’m silent, restless.

“It’s recent for you,” Reese says. “You’ll learn to manage it, figure out what triggers you, you will cope like your father. You’ll come to terms with it, and if she’s even half as worthy as she sounds, she’ll be ready at some point.”