Lucas didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. Because she was right. The physical pull had always been there—sharp, inconvenient, impossible to shake. But today it wasn’t just that. It was the way Mia had looked at him. Curious. Like she was seeing him, really seeing him.
He’d caught the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers had tightened on the water bottle like she needed something to hold onto. The way her eyes had lingered on his scar—and then flicked lower before she yanked them away. That split-second glance had hit him harder than any G-force. Made his blood run hot and slow, made him want to close the distance, pin her against the wall, find out what that flush tasted like.
Dana sighed, softening. “Look, I’m not your mum. But Mia’s one of the good ones—smart as fuck, kind without being soft, and she’s got this quiet steel that keeps the whole media circus from eating you alive. She’s brilliant at what she does, and she’s loyal to a fault. So if you’re going to keep looking at her like that, either do something about it properly or back the fuck off before you hurt her. Because I like you, Lucas—I’ve known you since we were kids, but if you fuck with her head, I’ll make your next physio session feel like medieval torture. And I’ll enjoy it.”
Lucas rubbed a hand over his face. “I know.”
“Then act like it.” Dana pushed off the counter. “Ice that shoulder. And maybe think about what you actually want before you text her something stupid tonight.”
She left him alone with the hum of the fan and the cold press of the ice pack. Lucas stared at the door again.
He reached for his phone anyway. Thumbed open their chat. Stared at the last message she’d sent.
He typed, deleted, typed again. Kept it simple.
Good work today. Thanks for checking in on the social side. You looked tired. You okay?
He hit send before he could second-guess it.
The reply came after a minute—quick, but not instant.
Yeah. Just tired. You? Shoulder holding up?
He exhaled, a small, relieved smile tugging at his mouth.
Better now. See you tomorrow.
He set the phone down on the treatment table and leaned back, the ice pack still pressed to his shoulder.
Tomorrow. Another day on track.
???
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lucas
Back in England, the factory felt different at night— the usual chaos stripped down to the low hum of servers and the occasional clatter of a late-night engineer packing up. Most of the team had gone home hours ago, but Lucas had stayed to run extra simulator laps, chasing that elusive tenth of a second in Sector 2 that had been nagging him since Barcelona.
He showered in the drivers’ facility, changed into fresh team kit, and grabbed two coffees from the machine on his way out—black for him, strong with an extra shot for her. He’d noticed her order weeks ago, filed it away without thinking too hard about why. Now it felt like a small, deliberate thing.
The media office was dim when he reached it, just her desk lamp and the blue glow of screens. Mia sat hunched over her laptop, rubbing her eyes, dark hair falling loose from its usual neat tuck. She looked tired but focused, the way she always did when she was deep in captions or edits.
“Still here?” he asked from the doorway.
She looked up, startled, then smiled—small, real. “Deadline. You?”
“Thought I’d run a few more laps.” He held up the coffees. “Brought reinforcements.”
She blinked, surprised. “You remembered my order.”
“Hard not to when you drink it like jet fuel.” He crossed the room, set one in front of her, and pulled up the spare chair without asking. “Mind if I join? I promise not to distract.”
“Too late,” she teased, but the warmth in her voice said she didn’t mind at all.
They settled into an easy silence—her editing clips and captions, him scrolling telemetry on his tablet, occasionally murmuring about corner speeds or brake points. It felt… normal. Comfortable. The kind of quiet he’d started craving around her lately.
Eventually he broke it.
