“I’ll throw in a dog picture for you,” he added.
“Now we’re talking.”
On impulse, he reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She stilled, eyes locked on his. For a second, the pits, the heat, the smell of fuel, all of it fell away.
He could have kissed her. He wanted to. Her mouth parted on a small inhale, like she’d read the thought.
Not here, he told himself. Not with Marcus watching from across the row and rumors ready to flare.
“I’ll see you later,” he said instead.
Her smile told him she’d heard all the words he hadn’t said. “Later,” she agreed.
She turned and headed back toward the path. Heidi was waiting just inside the Red Dragons’ area, arms folded, mouth already moving. Bree listened, then answered calmly, her chin up. Heidi’s eyes flashed; she tossed her hair and sauntered away, hips swinging as she cut a path directly to Marcus.
She stopped in front of him, pressed a hand to his chest, and leaned in to say something that made him laugh. She soaked up the attention like the sun, head tipping back, throat exposed, every inch of her body language screaming Look at me, not at her.
Marcus obliged, his gaze sliding to Bree once Heidi had his attention, a smirk touching his mouth.
Einstein never looked up.
He stayed crouched by the bike, hands working under the seat, focus locked on whatever he was wiring or adjusting. Only when one of the other crew members walked too close did he lift his head, eyes sharp and cold as he said something that made the guy change direction fast.
Hank filed that away.
“Problem?” Colby asked quietly at his shoulder.
“Not yet,” Hank said. “But it’s coming.”
He could feel it in his bones, in the way the air felt charged, like the seconds before a storm broke.
He rested a hand on Julie’s tank, the metal warm under his palm, and let his mind run through tomorrow’s grid. His line, his braking points, the spots where someone might try something dirty.
He wasn’t just racing for a Cup anymore.
He was racing with a painter on the edge of the track, a woman who trusted him to keep her safe while he chased the last big win of his life.
And as much as the thought scared him, it lit something in him too; something sharp and focused and very, very clear.
Chapter 10
Bree wiped her hands on a small hotel towel and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The steam from her shower had faded, leaving the glass clear, revealing damp hair, a faint flush in her cheeks, and shadows under her eyes that hadn’t quite disappeared since Bryn died.
She tilted her head, considered the soft green T-shirt she’d pulled on over faded jeans, and made a face at herself. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was clean, and she could move in it. Movement mattered when you spent hours with a sketchbook.
Her phone buzzed on the edge of the sink.
Her pulse jumped before she flipped it over.
A photo filled the screen. Julie from the front, gleaming and ready, Hank kneeling on one knee beside her. He’d taken it from a low angle, so the horizon cut the shot diagonally, the pits and ocean behind him blurred. His mouth was tipped in a half-smile, as if he’d been caught between focusing on the camera and watching something off to the side.
Underneath it, he’d typed, For reference. In case you want to make me prettier in the painting.
Her mouth curved. She sank onto the closed toilet lid, thumb hovering over the keyboard.
You’re assuming you’re the subject, she wrote. Maybe I’m painting Brian.
He answered almost immediately. Brian’s hair would take too much paint.
