Reese’s dark hair was down, loose around her shoulders in a way that caught the orange-pink glow outside. A soft, sheer gloss warmed her lips, making them look even more impossibly smooth. They were slightly parted, like she’d been caught midthought. Breathtaking. The sleeveless black top showed off the contour of her arms, and she wore jeans that made her look both casual and impossibly put together. Black leather heeled sandals with narrow straps showed off just enough skin to feel effortlessly stylish in the Suzuka heat. Her posture was relaxed as she waited, almost unguarded. Totally Reese.
But it wasn’t the outfit. It wasn’t even the way the light gilded her cheekbones. It was her expression that was so soft, faraway, and contemplative. Like she was somewhere else entirely, somewhere tender and private that Sloane had never been invited to before. Somewhere Sloane suddenly wanted to know far too much about.
And the sight of it hit Sloane like a hand to the sternum.
God, Reese was beautiful. Not because she tried, but because she simply existed in a way that made everything else feel less interesting by comparison.
She gestured toward the table to let the host know she had spotted her dinner date.
As she approached, Reese turned and broke into a smile that could end wars, which left Sloane grinning right back. Her chest did something traitorous and warm. It really was good to see her. “Hi. Welcome to Japan.” Reese placed her napkin on the table and stood without hesitation.
“Thank you.” She looked around the small dining room with so many personal touches. It seemed family-owned, with thought put into each piece of art or decor. “This place is great.”
“Right? I thought it would give us space without fifteen people we know seated all around us.” She remained standing until Sloane took a seat. “And I just can’t believe you agreed to go on adatewith me.”
Sloane’s eyes went wide, which pulled a laugh from Reese, who held out a hand. “I’m kidding. I promise. You can relax.”
“You do that a lot,” Sloane said, gaze narrowing. “Kid.”
“I can cop. I’m definitely the cutup in this duo.” Her grin showed off that damned dimple on her right cheek. She had a small one on her left, but it was the right one that did Sloane in.
“And now we’re a duo?” She arched a brow.
“Oh, yeah. The moment we were at odds in your talk to the drivers, we became a duo.”
“God, if that’s all it takes, I’m in a lot of duos.”
Reese leaned in. “But are any of them this good? You, a former driver who made history. Me, a current driver about to.”
She passed Reese a smile. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Maddox.”
Reese’s cheeks dusted pink at the use of her last name. Well, look at that. Sloane had unnerved her. A first. After letting the moment slide over her, she studied the menu and easily chose the salt-grilled salmon with a side of gyoza. Reese was more adventurous and picked the yakisoba stir-fry, which she promised to let Sloane steal a bite of. They were relaxing around each other, which, honestly, was like much-needed air.
When the server delivered Reese’s nonalcoholic beer and Sloane’s warm sake, she couldn’t help but pick up on the parallel. She and Reese were as different as those two drinks, but here they sat anyway.
“Now,” Reese said, her glass in hand, “tell me about F1. Everything. No detail must be spared. I worked hard for this intel.”
“Oh, that,” Sloane said. It was a wash of good memories and more difficult ones. “It’s not for the weak, especially when you’re female. I’ll tell you that.”
“You are an absolute badass behind the wheel, so it makes sense that you were one of the few of us to make it to the top of the game. So what’s the hard part?”
“Let’s see. Most of the men don’t think you belong, are sexist, and have their own boys’ club.” She eased a strand of hair behind her ear. “The media has a separate set of expectations for female drivers, and the public is absolutely unforgiving of the tiniest misstep.”
Reese shook her head. “That’s awful.”
“And I don’t think much has changed.”
“That stuff shouldn’t still exist at the highest level of motorsport.”
“I can tell you it’s worse. But you know what?” She met Reese’s green eyes as a wash of nostalgia came over her. “It was still the coolest thing I’ve ever done. There’s nothing like F1.”
“Now the best part.”
She relaxed into a grin because the answer was undeniable. “That speed. Nothing compares to those cars. Nothing. The vibration of the road beneath your steering wheel with that kind of power, constantly reminding you that you’re one of the best in the whole damn world. It’s a drug in the best way.”
“Damn,” Reese said, sitting back with a face full of wonder. “What I wouldn’t give.”
“I remember winning my first Grand Prix in Monza, crossing the finish line beneath that flag, hearing my team losing their minds on the radio as the fireworks burst in the sky.”
