“Hey, Tess?”
“What?”
“Don’t make that noise again.”
My eyebrows furrow. “What noise?”
“The moan you just made when you took a drink of your Diet Coke…”
Oh.
“It sounds an awful lot like–”
“Rome!” I shout.
His chuckle is throaty, and if he could see me, I would flip him off.
Embarrassment stains my cheeks, and I sigh. “Will you please focus on the race? It’s minutes from take-off.”
“Fine.”
Rome’s deep breaths filter through my headphones as the race nears, and like a switch, he’s ready.
The countdown starts, the beeps matching the rhythm of my heart.
5…4…3…2…1.
I hold my breath when the light turns green.
Take-off is one of the most critical parts of a race. Depending on where you start on line, it decides your position and can limit any overtaking opportunities.
The first few seconds, Rome manages his clutch control, and I stay quiet, trusting that he knows what to do.
I reach for my Diet Coke and take another two mouthfuls, the burn of the soda easing my nerves for a split second.
“Take the outside,” I stress.
Rome says nothing.
He does exactly as I say and moves to the outside to come around Vinny. He moves to third, where he started.
“Yes!” I squeeze out between clenched teeth.
“Good call, Princess.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop calling me that, anyone could be listening.”
He chuckles. “Everyone calls you Vanstone’s Princess.”
“There’s a difference, and you know it.”
A few laps pass, and Rome does a phenomenal job holding his position. However, the track is fast, and some of the drivers are driving aggressively, whether on purpose or not, I’m not sure.
“Behind,” I say.
Milo King, a driver from the Australia team, is forced off the racing line, causing some unnecessary drama between a few cars. One spins into a curb, the other two nearly sliding against one another.
I wait for the flag to change and stare up ahead.
