Street bikes could run on track days, but headlights and taillights were distractions. Painter tape covered the glare and came off easily. “But if you’re not keeping up, they’ll black flag you and relegate you to a slower group,” I said and lifted my gaze to his. “There are no trophies today. It’s racing, but it’s not a race.”
Over the next hour, trailers, tents, and bikes filled the paddock. Cece ran around with her group of friends. I introduced Ryatt to everyone. He quickly made friends with the regulars.
Ryatt sipped a can of soda and ate a donut while we sat through the rider meeting. While he focused on my dad, I focused on him. There was an easy calmness about him. He smiled at everyone, asked questions, and listened without interrupting. I could feel the anticipation buzzing around him. I’d almost forgotten how track days were supposed to feel.
Because I was always worried about the tension between my dad and Cruz.
“We’ll take the afternoon sessions.” I leaned in and whispered to him. “The track will be faster with the afternoon heat. But we’ll work with my dad on each other’s pits.”
There was that smile again. I couldn’t help smiling back.
Once the meeting was over, we were given our monitoring assignment. After grabbing our flags and radios, we wandered back over to our pit.
I pulled on a baseball cap and handed a spare to Ryatt. “It’ll get hot on the track.”
We grabbed our water bottles and headed down to the entrance to the racetrack.
“Micki Mouse!” I turned at the high-pitched squeal.
“Come on,” I grabbed onto Ryatt’s arm. “I want you to meet my friend. There aren’t a lot of girls here, so we stick together. You’ll like her.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I swallowed the bitter taste on my tongue. What if he did like her? I shouldn’t care. Ryatt and I were just friends. I’d verbally broken up with Cruz, but I’d been here before, and I already missed him.
I wasn’t looking for a new boyfriend. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to share Ryatt, either.
“You must be racing the afternoon sessions,” she said.
“Ryatt, this is Katrina. Call her KitKat. She rides the red Ducati.” I pointed to her bike. “We’re both riding in the afternoon session,” I said about me and Ryatt.
Katrina was a couple years older than me. Her pink and white riding leathers hugged her body. She wore her red hair in a short and feisty chin-length cut. Freckles dusted her nose, and she had the most intense green eyes I’d ever seen.
In a word, she was hot.
“What do you ride?” she asked Ryatt as we strode over to her bike.
“R1.”
“Nice,” she said and giggled in that annoying way girls do when they flirt. God, I’d heard it out of my own mouth on occasion. Then I promptly put the bitchiness back into my tone because Cruz preferred fire over sweetness.
But Ryatt was nothing like Cruz. He was sweet and funny, and with the light breeze ruffling his slightly overgrown hair, he’d make any girl a little thirsty. Not me. Okay, maybe me, too.
KitKat tucked her hair behind her ear. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah.” He smiled at me. “If you look for McKelle, you’ll find me.”
“Oh. Okay. Do you want to meet up at the lunch break?”
He arched a brow, waiting for me to reply.
“Okay,” I said. “We need to head out to the track.” I curled my fingers around Ryatt’s elbow and led him toward the track. Once we were a few yards away, I said, “She’s going to think we’re together.”
He glanced over his shoulder then shrugged. “She seems like a cool girl—”
“If you want to get to know her, weshouldmeet up for lunch.”
“I was going to say, she seems cool, but I’m not interested.” He smiled at me.
“Not into redheads?”
