The car ahead defended aggressively, forcing Reese wide through the final corner and squeezing her toward the curb on the straight.
Sloane felt her breath hitch despite herself.
For two laps, the battle continued, the cars dancing around each other in a delicate balance between aggression and restraint. It was a nail-biter to say the least.
Then Reese made her move.
She braked later than anyone expected into Turn 1, slipping neatly along the inside line and emerging from the corner with better traction on the exit. The red Laurens car surged forward.
Half a car length.
Then a full one.
The timing tower flickered.
P10.
The Laurens garage exploded in cheers.
Someone shouted Reese’s name. Even Veronica allowed herself a satisfied grin.
“Points,” she said.
Sloane laughed softly, relief flooding through her.
“Points,” she echoed.
When the checkered flag waved twenty laps later, Reese crossed the line still holding tenth place.
And judging by the eruption from the Laurens garage, you would have thought she’d just won the race.
Sloane and Veronica made their way down through the paddock as the cars rolled into parc fermé, the air buzzing with adrenaline and celebration.
Reese climbed out of the car moments later.
Sloane stopped walking. The sight still hit her like lightning.
Reese pulled off her helmet and shook out sweat-damp hair that flattened briefly before springing free. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the cockpit, her grin wide and triumphant as she pushed her gloves off and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
Ridiculously sexy.
Ridiculously proud.
Ridiculously hers.
The Laurens crew surrounded her almost immediately, hands clapping her shoulders as congratulations flew from every direction.
“Sixteenth to points!”
“What a drive!”
Reese laughed, still catching her breath as she looked up. And spotted Sloane. For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away.
Sloane walked toward her before she could second-guess the decision.
Reese met her halfway.
“You saw that?” Reese asked.
