Marissa smiled. “In this thing.”
Reese let the moment settle because this was it. This improbable, hard-won life.
She could want and complain all she wanted, but she looked around the room and understood. She really was the luckiest.
CHAPTER 22
THE LONGEST MINUTE
Two weeks later, Sloane arrived at the Red Bull Ring in Austria, the mountains rising steep and green beyond the barriers, the crisp air a welcome change from the paddock heat. The track wound tightly through the hills, a contrast to Madrid’s wide, flowing turns, demanding precision and patience on every corner. One wrong move and a driver would end their race instantly.
She moved through the garage with ease, absorbing the rhythm of the teams, the hum of engines, the scent of burned rubber always in the air. It felt good to be back. More than that, it felt settled. Somewhere along the way, she’d found her footing at the academy, no longer just surviving it, but belonging.
Plus, she was back in the throes of racing, the sport she loved with an intensity that had never dulled. Even after the accident. She worked alongside her best friend, someone who could finish her thoughts before she realized she was having them. And she was seeing a woman who, quietly and steadily, was becoming the center of her world.
She’d sent Reese off to work two hours earlier with a lingering kiss in the doorway of Sloane’s hotel room, the kind that promised there would be more later. They’d allowedthemselves a semi-lazy morning first, lounging in bed, tangled sheets, conversation drifting everywhere and nowhere.
“I know you love sliced apples,” Reese had said, absently tracing patterns on Sloane’s stomach. “You eat them every afternoon. I’ve seen it. But what other fruits?”
“Grapefruit gets a bad rap,” Sloane replied. “People hate it unnecessarily. It just needs a sweetener.”
Reese sat up abruptly, clutching the sheet to her chest. “No, no, no. Tell me that’s not true. I don’t know if I can be with a grapefruit fan. There are lines that shouldn’t be crossed.”
Sloane propped her head on her arm, smiling. “Look how cute you get when you’re outraged. Drop the sheet and do it again. I’ll even say it louder. Grapefruit is a stellar fruit!”
“You stop that right now,” Reese warned, grin betraying her. She let the sheet fall and crawled toward Sloane, unapologetically topless.
“What are you going to do about it? Grapefruit. Grapefruit. Grapefruit.”
“Oh, it’s on,” Reese said, sliding a thigh between Sloane’s legs and grinding into her. The onslaught of sensation, the pinpricks of pleasure, forced Sloane’s eyes closed. “And you’re wet. Youdolike grapefruit.”
“I think maybe it’s you naked. I like the way your breasts sway when you crawl.”
Reese must have appreciated that. Moments later, warm breath traced the inside of Sloane’s thighs, teasing, unhurried. Reese took her time, tracing lazy circles with her tongue around Sloane’s center until her lips found Sloane’s clit and gently sucked. Sloane rocked her hips, finding a perfect rhythm, reaching until the tension snapped and she came apart, gripping the sheets as pleasure tore through her—clean and bright, like a jet slicing through the night sky.
They’d lost the better part of an hour to each other, making up for time spent apart, finishing with Sloane taking Reese from behind—something that had become a favorite. One of many discoveries. Being with Reese had taught her that she loved trying new things, especially with someone who was, impossibly, the hottest woman she’d ever met. Confident in her body for days. And the funniest. The kindest. The list grew longer every day.
Now, Sloane stood at the pit wall at Redline Racing, eyes locked on Cassidy Simms as she began Lap 45 of the feature race. She’d moved from P11 to P6—all fought for and earned. No chaos. No safety car miracles. Just clean, continuous progress toward the front.
The thing was, Cassidy was patient in a car that rewarded discipline over bravado. She threaded through traffic without forcing moves. When she made mistakes, she learned from them and never repeated them. Raw talent, honed fast. She wasn’t driving at the car anymore. She was driving with it.
On Lap 47, Cassidy made her move. Late but controlled. A lunge that only worked if you knew exactly how much the car would give. It held and rotated beautifully. The pass was so clean it felt ordained.
Sloane smiled, more than a little impressed. “Fucking brilliant,” she murmured, earning a nod from the team principal.
That was racecraft. That was growth. Cassidy wasn’t just surviving the academy anymore. She was becoming a problem for the others. And Sloane, who had seen hundreds of talented young drivers flame out for lack of adaptability, knew this when she saw it.
Cassidy Simms wasn’t done climbing. Not today. Not ever, if she kept learning like this.
She passed Veronica on her way out of the paddock. “Simms,” Sloane said, nothing more, the look doing the rest.
“I know. I saw.” She shook her head. “I took a chance on that one. I had no idea how nicely it would pay off.”
“That’s why they hand you the big bucks, Vance.”
Veronica’s eyes sparkled. “Why, thank you, Foster. But they could honestly pay me a little more.”
“I have a feeling it’s coming.” The attention on the academy had exceeded everyone’s expectations, and Veronica was the woman of the hour. As she should be.
