CHAPTER 12
BOUNDARIES, PENDING
Reese Maddox shocked them all that weekend with back-to-back wins in Suzuka.
It wasn’t just that she won—it was how she won. With precision she’d never shown before, discipline that made the pit crew stand taller, and a kind of electric assuredness that rolled off her in waves. Every lap seemed to focus her, pull new possibilities out of her. By the final checkered flag, even the skeptics were leaning in, whispering about her potential, wondering if this was the start of something bigger.
Reese handled the attention with that maddening ease of hers, grinning for cameras, slinging an arm around her crew, basking in the high without letting it swallow her. And every time Sloane caught a glimpse of her with her helmet tucked under one arm, hair damp, eyes bright with triumph, something warm and dangerous twisted in her chest.
Which was precisely the problem.
After their first night in town and the eventful stay in an elevator, Sloane had kept her distance. She had to. She needed room to get her bearings and figure out how she was supposed to proceed where Reese was concerned. And she damnwell couldn’t do that with Reese—radiant, magnetic, infuriating Reese—anywhere in her proximity.
She’d learned that much from a single kiss. Reese Maddox scrambled her logic, blurred her lines, and made every carefully drawn boundary feel flimsy and optional. Sloane needed space, silence, a room without the gravity of Reese’s presence tugging at her. Because when Reese was near, Sloane forgot the rules. She forgot reason. She forgot why wanting her was such a spectacularly bad idea.
Worse, Reese didn’t seem upset or confused or tentative after what had happened. She just looked … lit up. Like kissing Sloane had flipped a switch inside her.
Sloane wasn’t sure whether that terrified her or thrilled her. Possibly both.
They crossed paths in the paddock late Sunday morning, the usual storm of personnel, media, and logistics swirling around them. Reese slowed as she approached, her expression brightening like seeing Sloane was the best thing that had happened to her all day. That didn’t help.
“Why don’t we debrief before you leave town tomorrow?” Sloane asked, tone clipped, professional. At least she hoped so. Reese still had meetings with her team principal, with Julie, and the press. A technical breakdown could wait until the world stopped buzzing around them.
“How about tonight? After the Grand Prix?” Reese countered easily. The F1 race would hold everyone’s attention, and Sloane was surprised Reese wouldn’t want to watch with her team, eat, celebrate, then fall into bed for twelve hours.
“Are you sure you’d be up for it then?”
Reese’s smile edged into challenge. “That sounds like a no.”
“Then let’s do it,” Sloane said, hearing her voice dip into something warmer, something familiar. “I’m free if you are.”
“I’ll see you in the hospitality suite.”
“Perfect.” Sloane kept walking, but something made her glance over her shoulder.
Reese was still standing there. Still watching her walk away. Still wearing that look.
“Stop that,” Sloane said, forcing herself not to smile as she continued on.
“You can’t make me,” Reese called back.
A busy afternoon followed, longer than usual. Sloane spent most of it with Cassidy Simms, helping her understand the nuances of driving on different compounds and how tire evolution changed over a race distance. The rookie listened like every word mattered, eyes sharp with hunger.
Sloane had to give it to her. The girl was determined to learn her sport and learn it quickly.
“Cassidy Simms,” Sloane said as she stepped into Veronica’s onsite office.
Veronica looked up from her laptop. “What about her?”
“She impresses me. She finished in the points today.”
“I caught that,” Veronica said, removing her glasses and raking a hand through her always-gorgeous hair. “When she arrived for race one, I wondered if we’d get a gee-golly kid, in over her head. She’s not even close.”
“She’s a tiger in sheep’s clothing. That’s the beauty of it. They don’t see her coming, Ronnie. She inches up the drivers’ standings every weekend. Give her a couple of years, and she might be starting at the front of the F1 grid.”
“Let’s not get crazy.”
“I’m not even close. Don’t underestimate hard work.”
