I crouch down and pluck a clover from the grass, twirling it between my good fingers as we walk.
By the time we reach them, Luc is in performance mode, one arm slung around Mason’s shoulders, the other holding up his phone.
“Salut tout le monde, Luc Delacroix and Mason Payne here, your final two contenders for the overall cup.” He grins wide, cocky as ever. “With Crews and Raine out and the rest of the field crying in the mud, it’s down to us. So cancel your weekend plans because we’re giving you a fucking show.”
“Which means he’s going to talk shit the entire weekend while I actually race,” Mason says, dry as dirt.
I snort, and Finn huffs a laugh next to me.
“Excuse you,” Luc says, scandalized. “I’m adding drama to the sport.”
They keep talking, trading jabs that come as naturally asbreathing, but my attention is gone, derailed by the way Mason’s jersey is pulled tight across his biceps. The fabric bunches slightly where Luc’s arm is still slung over him, hand curled casually around his side.
God. They’re so damn hot.
I pretend to focus on the clover in my hand, and the air feels ten degrees hotter as I look down at the three leaves.
My brain starts doing slow, stupid laps around the wordthreesomebefore I can stop it.
I glance at Finn, warming when I see him grinning at the guys.
Foursome,my brain adds, so helpfully.
I need to find a lucky four. Fast.
“You’re adding noise, as usual,” Mason says, pulling my thoughts out of the gutter.
“Better loud and charming than mousy and brooding,” Luc fires back.
Mason shrugs. “Silence is a virtue.”
Keeping his phone held up, Luc turns to him, and without warning, hooks two fingers under Mason’s jaw, tilting his face up like he’s about to kiss or bite him.
Impossible to tell with Luc.
“You ever try being loud just once, hmm?” he murmurs, as he leans in. “I bet you’d beincroyable.”
Mason chokes on air.
Jesus.
After a beat of charged silence, Luc bursts into laughter like he didn’t just nearly kill Mason with innuendo, lets go of him, and swings the camera our way. “We have some more famous people here. Finn Greer! Wanna place a bet?”
Finn lets go of my hand and crosses his arms over his chest. “My money’s on Payne.”
Luc flashes the phone back to him and clutches his heart. “Ouch.I thought we had something.” Then heswivels the camera to me, eyes gleaming. “Alaina-fucking-Crews,” he drawls. “Who’s your money on?”
I smirk. “You know I don’t choose.”
“Oh, Iknow.” Luc licks his lips but keeps the camera on me as his eyes drag down the length of my body in a way that lands low and hot, winding me up even tighter in a way that is not fit for live feeds. When his gaze slides back up to meet mine, there’s fire behind it. “Anything else you want to tell the MTB world while I’ve got them all listening?”
The comments I read online fill my head—the bile, the misogyny, the way they talked shit about me.
If she wanted to race, she should’ve stayed in her lane.
Can she make a sandwich, tho?
Women can’t compete with men.
