“That’s a dagger,” Reese said, covering her heart. “You know that, right? You did that on purpose to wound me mortally.”
“I’ve met you, and you’ll get over it.” She tapped Reese on the shoulder as she passed. “Maybe there’s a woman at the bar you can teach all about racing.”
“And I’m dead. No point in the podium now.”
But Sloane laughed, and it was everything. Remarkably so. Reese would take jab after jab if it meant she got to experience the sound again. Light and easy with a melodic tone. She got the feeling Sloane didn’t laugh a ton. Reese instantly wanted to change that. She also wanted to know what made her laugh, which movies made her light up, and which foods were her absolute favorites—all of it. And where had that come from? The realization was more than a bit jarring.
“Did you hear what I said?” Sloane asked, quirking her head. “Hmm. I don’t think you did. You drifted off to somewhere that actually looked awesome.”
“What’s that?” Reese straightened from the dreamy posture. “Say it again. Please?” A few of the Ravensport crew passed by, smacking her on the back and calling their congratulations.
They stood in front of each other, and even in the midst of her excitement and continued congratulations from everyone as they passed, all Reese could think about was the way Sloane looked with her hair down. She seemed free. Sexy. Like a day at the beach. It was a small rebellion against her usual polish: loose, natural, and entirely captivating. She had a strand of hair that cut across her forehead, nearly shading one eye. Lengthwise, it brushed a little past her shoulders and was thicker than Reese had realized. She’d been pretty before, noticeably so to anyone with a pulse, but today she absolutely stunned. Reese’s brain short-circuited somewhere between professional admiration and something she definitely shouldn’t be feeling for a mentor.
“Um. You still in there? Basking in your glory? Think I lost you again.” Sloane said with a slight turn of her head. Her tone was teasing, but her eyes—steady, curious—seemed to see right through Reese’s scramble to recover. That jarred Reese back into action.
“Sorry. I was, um,” she sighed, smiled, and shook her head. “Nothing.”
Sloane stepped in. “It was more than nothing. You showed a lot of talent and control out there, a nice balance. Enjoy it.” Her hand found Reese’s arm in a quick, confident squeeze, which was gone too fast. But the contact lit something low in Reese’s stomach that had nothing to do with racing adrenaline. Sloane disappeared into the crowd, and Reese couldn’t help but think that control had never looked so damn good. She let out a slow breath, reveling in the moment, loving the win and stomach flutter, a one-two punch that she didn’t mind in the slightest.
Sloane was probably on her way to similarly stroke the egos of the top two finishers, and that was fine. This was enough. Because Reese knew she had many more race weekends to make her mark on the academy. And if fate was kind, maybe a few more moments like this one. Turns out, she had a lot more to learn. And maybe she wouldn’t mind if it was from Sloane Foster.
CHAPTER 7
QUEER QUORUM
Monterey forced Reese to slow down in ways she hadn’t expected. The coastal air, the steady rhythm of the circuit, the way every corner asked for restraint instead of her usual bravado, which maybe after all this time had been bullshit. It all demanded a kind of focus she’d been working toward, but thus far, hadn’t mastered. She came into the weekend not trying to dominate the race, but to understand it.
So far, so good.
Reese returned to the hotel after qualifying, feeling good about her showing. She’d be starting P4 for tomorrow’s sprint race. No, it wasn’t pole position, not even the front row, but she’d earned something that mattered more. She’d found a rhythm.
Her laps had come together with a steady precision that felt new, her times dropping one after the other as her confidence grew. She was able to settle in and focus. For once, she wasn’t chasing perfection. She was building it, lap by lap. The car felt like an extension of her, her breathing synced to the turns, her mind clear in a way it hadn’t been for months. This is what racing was supposed to be.
Now, walking through the quiet hotel corridor with her helmet bag slung over one shoulder, she could still feel the hum of the track in her bones. Her muscles ached, but it was the good kind. A ghost of engine vibration still tingled in her fingertips, the phantom sensation of speed still clinging.
By the time she reached her room, a small, proud smile tugged at her mouth. She hadn’t conquered the field, but she’d conquered herself. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she had a grip on her own destiny rather than making it up as she went each step of the way.
She sat near the corner of the bed, unzipping her suit halfway, the adrenaline finally fading. She knew, deep down, where that steadiness had come from. Sloane’s voice had been in her head, urging her to measure her risks and trust the long game. It had sounded so simple when Sloane imparted it, but no one had ever framed it quite that way before.
“Because she’s a driver,” Reese mumbled, the words soft but certain.
She trusted Julie implicitly and respected her more than others. But Julie had never been in that seat, never felt the surge of fear and exhilaration as the world blurred at 200 miles an hour. Sloane had. And somehow, Reese could feel that difference every time Sloane spoke.
She lay back on the bed, the mattress squeaking beneath her weight. The room’s decor didn’t help her find peace. She was surrounded by the world’s strangest ode to ocean science. Was this place owned by the same folks from Miami? Perhaps a marine biologist had discovered their passion for interior design. A massive jellyfish mural glowed faintly blue across the wall, and a mobile of plastic clownfish rotated lazily near the air vent. The bedside lamp was shaped like a coral reef, and when she walked through the hotel lobby, she was greeted with the sounds of whale calls. Even the carpet looked like someonehad printed satellite images of the Great Barrier Reef and called it a day. Veronica’s assistant, Miranda, whom she heard was responsible for booking accommodations, certainly had an affinity for unique spots.
Before she could get even the slightest bit comfortable, there was a knock at the door. “No. Go away,” she called, her voice muffled by a pillow. Her body had hit too many adrenaline peaks and valleys today, screaming for stillness. “Immediately.”
“You’re sending me away? Me?!”
Delaney. Reese softened instantly and laughed, imagining her friend’s incredulous face. “Well, not you.” She sat up with a groan and swung her legs off the bed. “I’ll get up for you. But understand, I don’t move around for many people.”
She opened the door to find Delaney leaning against the doorframe, smirking. “I guess I’m honored to be on the VIP list.”
“Is that code for teammate? Because you’re my only one of those.”
Delaney grinned as she stepped in. She’d finished qualifying P5 for the race tomorrow, which meant they’d start practically side by side, two neon-blue blurs defending their turf.
“You looked good out there,” Reese said, collapsing onto the small couch in the living area. It had a coral reef pattern that seemed to vibrate under the lamplight. “VeryFinding Nemochic in here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
