Is she serious?
Tessa’s hips sway with purpose toward the simulator. She stops right in front of it and flips her long hair over shoulder before climbing down intomyseat.
“You’re done for the day, right?” she asks, feigning sweetness.
I meet her fluttering eyelashes and coy smile.
It’s a test if I’ve ever seen one.
She’s baiting me and trying to manipulate me into dragging her out of my car so I’ll keep practicing, but the only thing her fiery attitude is tempting me to do is throw her over my shoulder and plop her sassy ass on the desk to show her who’s really in charge.
I flick the image away. “And miss out on proving you wrong?”
She scoffs, and I’m drunk on excitement.
“Let's see what you’ve got, Princess.” I sit on the edge of the desk lined with monitors. I glance at the presets. They’re the ones she recommended yesterday. The same ones I argued with.
I should let her do her job, but coming from a different racing team, I have a wealth of knowledge that those at Vanstone don’tpossess, unless, of course, the cheating was going on for far longer than I realized and all the things I learned were skewed in a way that isn’t possible.
The buzzing of the sim’s engine pulls me back to Tessa.
Why does she seem so comfortable in my seat, as if she’s born to do this?
She clearly trusts her abilities as a driver and engineer, which is what this is all about.
You have to trust your car…and your team.
As of right now, I trust neither.
Tessa takes off, and I sit back to watch silently, ready at a moment's notice to prove my point. Except, the longer she drives, the more agitated I become.
After the second chicane, I’m eating my words.
Fuck.
I glance at the monitor and then back to her driving.
The data proves it.
She’s right.
Fuck me–she’sright.
“Impressive, huh?”
I jerk against the chair, and Van comes into view.
When did he get here?
I lean farther back, and Beck is here too.
My body heats. I was so engrossed in Tessa driving that the rest of the world shut off. I no longer had control of my surroundings, kind of like when I’m in the middle of a race.
“She’s alright,” I say, refusing to fully agree.
“I heard that!” she shouts. “I’m better than alright, and you know it.”
Beck makes a noise of frustration. “I’m glad she doesn’t drive, ‘cause she’d be the star driver of Vanstone instead of any of us.”
