She didn’t answer right away. “What?”
He exhaled, quiet, almost to himself. “Today… for the first time in months, I actually felt like I can do this. Like I might not fuck it all up.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond. The door clicked shut behind him.
She locked it, pressed her forehead to the wood, heart slamming. The room felt too quiet, too empty. Her body still hummed—skin hot, core aching, thighs slick with the evidence of how badly she’d wanted him to close that last inch.
She didn’t sleep much after that.
???
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mia
The flight from Miami to Europe felt endless—recycled air and the low hum of engines matching the constant churn in Mia’s stomach. The season had shifted gears: no more transcontinental sprints for a while, just the familiar, relentless European leg. Imola, Monaco, Barcelona. Marquee circuits, high expectations, and the media microscope turned up to maximum.
She hadn’t seen Lucas since he’d left her hotel room at 2 a.m. in South Beach. He’d boarded a different flight the next morning—team logistics—and they’d spent the next two days in separate time zones, separate silences. When they finally crossed paths again at the factory in the UK, neither mentioned Miami. Not the knock, not the tequila, not the way his thumb had grazed her lip before he’d pulled back like he’d been burned.
They simply… started working.
It wasn’t avoidance, exactly. It was survival.
Back at the factory, Mia found her way to Dana’s cubicle. She hovered in the doorway for a second before stepping in and closing the door behind her.
Dana looked up from her screen. “You okay? You’ve got that look.”
Mia dropped into the spare chair. “Lucas came to my room. After the party in Miami.”
Dana’s eyebrows went up, but she didn’t interrupt—justwaited.
“Like… 2 a.m.,” Mia went on, quieter now. “Drunk. Knocked, came in, said he could feel me watching him the whole night on the dance floor. Every time one of those girls touched him, he was thinking about me. Whether it pissed me off. Whether it… you know. Turned me on.”
Dana let out a slow breath, half-laugh, half-wince. “He actually said that? Out loud?”
“Yeah.” Mia’s face heated again just remembering. “And then he… touched my face.” She brushed her own lower lip. “We were literally this close. I forgot how to breathe. And then he just pulled back. Muttered something about it not being fair, then left.”
Dana leaned back, folding her arms. “Jesus. That’s… very Lucas.”
Mia buried her face in her hands for a second. “I don’t even know what I wanted. Part of me was dying for him to kiss me. The other part wanted to shove him out the door. I’m a mess.”
“Hey.” Dana’s voice softened. “You’re allowed to be a mess. The guy’s intense. Always has been.”
Mia peeked through her fingers. “You’re not even surprised.”
Dana gave a small shrug. “I’ve known him since he was fourteen. My little brother raced karts back then—pretty good, actually. Won a few regional things, had sponsors sniffing around. But nowhere near Lucas’s level. Lucas was already the one everyone whispered about. The kid who could lap the field without breaking a sweat.”
Mia lowered her hands. “You were around the circuits?”
“All the time. Mum and Dad dragged me along to every weekend. I’d sit in the stands or hang around the paddock, watching the drivers, the crews, the whole circus. Got totally hooked. Knew I wanted to work in motorsport somehow. Didn’t have the talent to drive, obviously, so I went the physio route—liked the idea of fixing people, getting them back in the seat. Andyeah… Lucas was always there, being this scary-talented, quiet kid who didn’t talk much but made the kart do things nobody else could.”
Mia nodded slowly. “Makes sense why you’re not fazed by him.”
“Exactly. He doesn’t do half-measures. When he locks onto something—or someone—he’s all in. Doesn’t always know how to handle it, though.” Dana tilted her head. “You okay?”
“You’re literally the only person I could say it to without feeling like an absolute idiot.”
“Then keep saying it. Whenever. No judgment.”
