“You’re not keeping it!” I shout, my voice lost to the wind as I throw everything I have into the next turn, determined to reclaim my spot at the front.
But Diego, damn him, is already a step ahead. His kart weaves effortlessly through the twists and turns like he owns the track. The smirk that flashes across his face when he glances back at me is infuriating, his silent victory cry.
I’m not out yet, not by a long shot.
I lean forward, narrowing the gap between us with every second, willing my kart to go faster despite its pedal to the floor. My determination burns brighter than ever. If he thinks this is over, he’s got another thing coming.
I’m right on his tail now, inches away from overtaking him. The next turn is sharp, and I take it aggressively, cutting the corner so tightly that the tires barely hold the track. I’m beside him now. Our karts are neck and neck. My smirk returns, fueled by the taste of imminent victory.
“Gotcha, sucker!”
But then, in a move so quick I almost miss it, Diego veers to the outside and then slingshots back toward the inside lane, using the curve’s momentum to catapult himself forward. My jaw drops, shock rippling through me as his kart surges ahead, the gap between us widening in the blink of an eye.
“What the hell?!”
The precision.
The sheer brilliance of the maneuver.
He executed it like it was second nature. The track employees cheer as his kart crosses the finish line first, his hands lifting briefly off the wheel in triumph before he slows to a stop. My kart rolls across the line a beat later, my grip tight on the steering wheel as disbelief settles over me.
I pull off to the side, my heart still racing, the adrenaline making it hard to focus on anything but the image of him pulling that move and outsmarting me. He climbs out of his kart, claiming victory that only fuels my irritation when he pulls off his helmet and runs a hand through his messy hair to tame it.
Then comes the smile. Broad and brilliant, lighting up his handsome face with a satisfaction that makes my stomach twist. He looks grounded and content. His entire presence relaxes in a way that speaks of something deeper, as if he’s just exorcised some internal demons through sheer speed and instinct. The sight cuts through my frustration, and my defeat feels oddly short-lived as I catch a spark in him.
Something raw and unfiltered.
Something that goes beyond a simple go-kart race.
For a moment, I forget my loss entirely. Too caught up in his unguarded and unburdened demeanor. As though he’s unlocked a part of himself I didn’t even know existed. Now, I can’t look away.
“Let’s get you out of there.”
Diego strides over, his movements unhurried. His helmet swings in one hand while the other reaches for mine. He offers it without a word, and the gesture is simple but leaves no room for argument.
“I don’t need your help.”
Thankfully, he ignores me with a hand under my arm when my legs wobble slightly from the lingering adrenaline.
“Of course you don’t.”
He passes his helmet to the waiting attendant, as do I, and interlaces our fingers to lead me to the neon glow of the snack shop at the edge of the track.
“Two meal deals with Cokes.”
“I’m almost scared to ask what a meal deal is.”
“You’ll see. Now go grab us a table before they fill up.”
He prods, paying with cash, leaving me to look around the mostly empty track on a Friday night and select a round table from the dozens they have open.
He waits at the counter for our order, and when he returns, a tray balanced in his hands, I arch an eyebrow at the sight of four hot dogs nestled beside two baskets of fries.
“This is the meal deal?”
“Best deal in the house,” he quips, setting the tray between us and sliding a Coke my way.
I can’t help it. A laugh bubbles up, soft but genuine, breaking through the tension that’s lingered since the race.
