We’re in his parents’ living room in their Seattle home now.

Racer has been talking to Henley all this time, knocking his fist onto his friend’s head when he suggests he go back to street racing in his spare time.

“I’ve got the fastest car in the land—I race at 250 mph and it’s legal. Why would I risk that for a few extra bucks?”

“For me, man,” Henley says.

Racer just laughs, and my heart feels as if it literally cannot fit inside my chest.

He smirks at me, his eyes darkening a little like they do when our eyes meet—and they flood with lust, proprietariness and tenderness. God. I’m so grateful, so lucky.

“What are you thinking?” he prods as he comes up to me, pushing my hair back.

“You’re the eye-reader, you tell me.”

“I want you to tell me in your own words.” He watches me. “That you’re happy. That you’re hopelessly in love with me.”

I start nodding and nodding. “You made all our dreams come true. You brought love into my life …” I press my lips trying to find more words.

He starts shaking his head, and I become puzzled. “What?” I ask.

“It’s all you,” he says, low, shifting closer, his gaze intent. “I always wanted to race—never in my wildest dreams did I think it would happen. I wanted a girl, never in my life did I think it would happen—and it happened the same day you crashed my car, and that day the universe brought my girl to me.”

I reach out and cup his jaw in my hands, my thumb tracing his dimple. “You’re the best man in the world, Racer.”

He raises his brows, obviously surprised I replaced ‘driver’ with man. He ducks his dark head and expertly pecks my lips wearing a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Best kisser too.”

“Oooh …” I playfully shake my head and tap the corner of my lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know about that. You’ll have to keep working on that … and I’ll let you know.”

He only grins in mischief.

“So.” I decide to ask something that’s been on my mind and I haven’t been able to discuss with him. “I had a special sign made that said you’re the best driver in the world for your celebration. Does this mean I need to fix your car?”

“No.” He seems to be relishing every moment of this, his dimple as deep as I’ve ever seen it. “I don’t want you to fix my car or me.” He pauses meaningfully and leans closer a fraction. “I want you to drive it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Something about the wicked expression on his face makes my heartbeat speed up. “You said you’d race for me. Didn’t you? Was that a lie too, Alana?”

His eyes keep glinting and I can tell he’s loving this.

“I … well I mean … no. It wasn’t a lie.” I stumble over my words because I hardly remember making this promise. I was so caught up in the excitement of freaking winning.

“So, you’ll race my car for me, as promised?” He’s watching me with an unreadable expression all of a sudden, and something like a challenge in those blue, blue eyes.

“Huh?” I’m confused by his words.

Racer laughs softly to himself and breathes in my neck, his eyes gleaming full of devil’s intent as he gazes down at me.

“How about I give you the ultimate prize if you win for me, crasher?”

He’s been giving me driving lessons daily for the past few weeks, teasing me that he’s going to make me work for an engagement ring—because I’ve made him work for every step ahead he’s gained with me. Now he kisses me and grabs my butt as Henley comes over.

Racer organized a race with me and an old lady. Like, she’s literally eighty.

And it’s really a race!

“Okay, you ready, Lana Tate?” Henley asks.

“It’s … I’m not his sister.” I shake my head at Henley, confused that he calls me Tate.

Henley smirks at Racer, and Racer just smirks back.

“Okay … remember, girls”—Henley eyes me and the old lady—“Mr. Tate here is marrying whoever wins this race.”

“Racer …” I say, nervous that I might not win.

He grabs my shoulders and gazes into my eyes, the thirst for the win right there in his baby blues. “Listen to me very well, Lana,” he says soberly. “It’s very important that you win this race, baby. All those hours I’ve spent tutoring you won’t be for nothing—and you’re the woman I’m walking down the aisle, so make me proud.”

“But Racer, what if I get too nervous—”

“I’m marrying the winner of the race, sweetheart; you’d better step on it.” His eyes twinkle, and his dimple is shamelessly on full display, as he ushers me in and straps me down. “Now go and kick ass. Wait. Kiss me first.”

“Oh god.”

I kiss him. With tongue and everything.

Then I sit down on the seat of his mustang and look at the old lady. She’s blinking behind her glasses.

I exhale, and turn on the engine.

Henley gives us the signal.

And suddenly I’m racing for my goddamn life. For my boyfriend’s hand in marriage.

“I’m insane,” I gasp, pushing the pedal and seeing the old lady is way, way behind. I start feeling high from the race, then brake and turn around carefully before I drive back. I pass the old lady, who literally is about ten feet from the starting line—the slowest woman I’ve ever seen.