“Perfect,” Reese replied. “I knew this place had potential.”
It was dinnertime in Venice Beach, and Reese’s mouth watered. For more reasons than one, if she was being honest.
Sloane stood at the stove, barefoot, weight shifting easily from one foot to the other as she worked, knowing the rhythm of her own space. The stir-fry chicken and vegetables she’d tossed together made the kitchen smell heavenly of garlic and ginger, and a bite of citrus cutting through it all. Sloane’s hair was pulled up in a careless twist, the kind that suggested it hadn’t been meant to last, wisps escaping at her temples and along the elegant line of her neck. That neck—bare, vulnerable, impossibly distracting—caught the late light pouring through the windows and turned it into something Reese felt low in her body.
She didn’t even realize she’d gone still until a second passed. Then another.
There was something almost obscene about how good Sloane looked doing something so ordinary. Cooking and simply existing casually in her own home. Reese had seen her in race gear, in pressed jackets, in rooms where power clung to her, butthis? This was different. This felt private. And Reese knew how incredibly lucky she was to experience it.
Sloane shifted, reaching for a lemon, and Reese had to bite the inside of her cheek. Desire rolled through her, sharp and immediate, but threaded with something warmer. A sense of landing right where she was supposed to be.
Sloane glanced over her shoulder, smiling like she’d heard her anyway. “You’re staring.”
“That’s because you’re so fucking sexy right now that I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Me? Really? Like this? Well, I have an idea.”
“Yeah?” Reese leaned against the counter, facing Sloane. “And what is it?”
“You can start by grabbing the sesame oil from inside the fridge door. I’d be very appreciative.”
“I can do that.” After a successful sesame mission, Reese stepped in behind her, hands settling at Sloane’s waist, her chin brushing Sloane’s shoulder as she leaned in. Up close, the temptation was almost unbearable. The heat of her skin, the curve of her body, the quiet intimacy of the moment. “Just how important is it that this food finishes cooking?”
Sloane grinned as she stirred. “I mean, this is a very important stir-fry, Reese. Our nightly nourishment depends on it.”
She kissed Sloane’s neck slowly, feeling her muscles relax beneath the touch. “What if I promised another kind of nourishment?” She encircled Sloane’s waist and placed her palms flat against her stomach, then slid them downward toward her thighs.
“Reese Maddox, you’re instigating.”
“Because you look so good. What about after dinner?”
“Hmm. I think I’m free,” Sloane said, reaching behind her and touching the back of Reese’s neck.
The stir-fry finished cooking, plates were filled, and they carried everything to the small table near the windows where the light had softened into evening. Conversation drifted easily, bits of the day, a story Sloane told that made Reese laugh, the quiet comfort of sharing food in a space that already felt familiar. At some point, between bites and shared glances, Reese felt it bloom fully in her chest—this sense that this wasn’t just a good night, or even a good relationship. It was something rarer. Something reliable. She set her fork down, suddenly needing to say it out loud.
“I’ve never had this before.”
Sloane watched her like she knew exactly what Reese meant. “Me neither.”
She picked up Sloane’s hand and studied it. “You understand me. You challenge me. You thrill me. And you make everything matter.”
Sloane swallowed.
“Since I met you, I’m the best version of myself, and I only see that continuing.”
“So, what do we do?” Sloane asked.
“We’re honest with each other, which means I need to be honest right now.”
“Okay,” Sloane said, sweeping a strand of hair from Reese’s forehead. “I’m right here. Tell me.”
“I’m in love with you.”
“You are?” A small smile debuted.
“Oh, there is zero doubt in my mind about that. In fact, I’m so confident in my feelings that I want to tell everyone. I’d be so annoying about it, too. I’d boast about it.” Sloane laughed as she listened. “I want to walk down the pit lane holding your hand and kiss you in front of the whole world the next time I have a podium finish.” She threaded their fingers. “And then I want to come home and have chicken stir-fry and watch a movie orexplore whatever city we might be in that week.” She took a deep breath, seeing the whole thing playing out like a movie in her mind. She wanted it all for them so badly. “And when it’s time to retire from racing, I want to find our own little corner of the world and be boring and happy and laugh and make love and maybe get a dog or two. Maybe three. I might want three dogs. We’ll see.” She exhaled. “There. That’s the life that I want. And it’s with you.”
Sloane laughed. “Wow.”
