Five laps later, we coasted back to the garage. Asher killed the engine and hopped off. He lifted my helmet free, then pulled off his own. The grin on his face stretched wide, his eyes gleaming brighter than ever against his sun-warmed skin.
“So? How was it?” he asked.
“Incredible.” Adrenaline still thrummed through me and my legs would wobble if I stood, but I wouldn’t have minded another lap.
Ash yanked off his gloves and flung them onto the saddle. “Come here.”
He slipped an arm around my waist and helped me off the bike. The second my feet hit the ground, he cradled my face in his hands and kissed me with such intensity my knees trembled—not from the track, but from him.
Lightheaded, I stepped back when we broke apart.
“I want to take you somewhere special,” he said. “Keep the suit on. It’s a thirty-minute ride.”
***
The sun sank into a wash of crimson as we stood on a secluded hilltop above Stetbourg, fingers linked. A cool breeze carried the faint scent of pine. Asher ran his thumb over mine and turned his gaze from the view to me.
“Did you have fun on the track?”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “So much. Now I get why you love it. It’s freeing.”
“Yeah.” He kissed my forehead. “Helps me put my thoughts in order—so long as I don’t obsess about performance.”
“You’ll do great in Emerport, Ash. I’m sure you’ll win,” I added.
He sighed. “I need to. Dad won his first race with Forward Racing. I need to do his legacy justice. Look.”
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the gallery. A photo lit the screen: a man I recognized as his father, holding a racing trophy, his grin triumphant. The resemblance to Asher was uncanny. Off to the side, another young man clapped, pride on his face.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
He pocketed the phone. “Miguel—my father’s mechanic and best friend. They were like brothers. I’ve been trying to reach him since I got here, but he changed his number and ghosted my emails.”
“Why?”
“Fuck if I know, peque. Anyway—enough about that. Tonight’s about you. Give me your hand.”
When I offered it, cool metal pressed against my warm palm. Asher pulled his hand away and produced a pair of dainty silver earrings shaped like roses—the rose fromThe Little Prince. My eyes blurred. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I love them. I’ve got something for you too.”
“You didn’t have to,” he said. “You’re already my favorite gift.”
I turned to the backpack on the saddle and took out a framed photo Imani had taken after a showcase last year. I wanted him to have a picture of me actually smiling. “It’s nothing big,” I said, handing it to him. “You might not display it, but when you’re away—”
He hooked an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Love it.” His whisper warmed my lips.
He stowed the photograph in his backpack, then pressed a soft kiss to my mouth that quickly heated. Our tongues tangled; I dug my fingers into his hair and held him.
“I need you,” he murmured, cupping my face.
“Me too,” I breathed.
Asher lifted me; my throat tightened and my heart stuttered when he sat me sideways on his bike and planted his palms on my knees. His thumbs drew tiny circles on my kneecaps and, even through the suit, my skin hummed at his touch.
He eased my legs apart and positioned himself between them. Goosebumps rose when he kissed below my ear.
“Your scent is my favorite,” he murmured, lips brushing my neck. He left a trail of wet kisses down to my shoulder, tugged at the zipper of my suit, and pushed the material aside where it blocked his path.
“Take it off, Ash.” I wanted to feel his mouth on my skin.
