She doesn’t say anything. For a second, I panic. Shit. Did I mess up? I know how she feels about people copying her work.
“I should’ve asked first,” I rush out. “I know how personal this is for you, but I thought…”
Her hands grip my face, cutting me off as she pulls me into a kiss. It’s quick but full of something deeper. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright.
“I love it,” she whispers.
I exhale, relieved. “You had me worried for a minute.”
“I was surprised. This is the best present ever.”
I grin. “Good.”
Mark clears his throat, reminding us that we’re not alone. “What colors?” he asks.
Izzy answers first. “Blue flames with a black outline.Jones Racingin gold in the middle.”
I follow. “Green flames with a black outline.Sweeney Racingin gold.”
Mark nods. “I can have them done by Friday, but the paint will still be fresh. I wouldn’t wear them this weekend, or the dirt will mess them up.”
“That works. We’ll be back on Friday.” I shake his hand before leading Izzy back to the truck.
The second we’re inside, she leans over, resting her head on my shoulder for a brief moment. “Thank you, X,” she says softly.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. She has no idea what she does to me. How much I’d do for her. How I’d burn the whole damn world down if it meant keeping her safe.
I press a quick kiss to her temple and start the truck.
“Anything for you, Izzy.”
Chapter Fifteen
Xavier
The sun filters through the open garage window, dust motes drifting in the breeze. It’s hot as hell, the scent of motor oil thick in the air, mixing with sweat and steel. I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm, but it doesn’t help much. Grease smears across my skin, and I shake my head. This engine swap has been a bitch, but we’re getting there. Two more weeks until the race, and this car will be ready.
I glance up from under the hood, my eyes locking onto Izzy. She’s crouched by the front tire, her hands covered in oil, her ripped jeans clinging to her curves, her black tank top streaked with grease. Her blonde hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, a few loose strands sticking to her face. And damn if she doesn’t look good like this, like she belongs here.
It’s just the two of us today. My dad’s at the track with hers, going over details for the weekend’s race. My mom’s out running errands. No distractions. No one to get in the way. Just me, her, and the hum of the engine we’ve spent hours working on.
The radio’s cranked up, background noise blending with the rhythm of turning wrenches and clanking metal. Then our song comes on. Keeper of the Stars. Tracy Byrd’s deep drawl fills thegarage, slow and steady, wrapping around me like a memory of our Homecoming, where I first kissed Izzy.
I set my tools down, wiping my hands on a rag, and without thinking, I reach for her. Izzy looks up, her green eyes meeting mine, and I don’t give her time to question it. I take her hand and pull her to her feet. She doesn’t resist.
I slide an arm around her waist, drawing her close, feeling her breath hitch against my neck as we sway to the music. Her body melts into mine, and I don’t know whether it’s the song, the heat, or just her, but something in my chest tightens. I don’t fight it. I don’t want to.
The lyrics spill from my lips before I think, my voice low, meant only for her ears. I’m not a singer, but it doesn’t matter. She tilts her head back, looking up at me, and my words trail off. That look. It wrecks me. Drowns me, as if I’m caught in something too big to fight. Her green eyes shine, and I know what she’s feeling because I feel it, too.
I tip my head down, closing the distance. When our lips meet, it’s fire. A slow burn that ignites the second her fingers tangle in my hair, holding me to her. I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her flush against me. Her body fits mine as if she were made for me, and when her mouth parts, letting me in, the last thread of my control snaps.
A low growl rumbles in my chest as our tongues collide, the kiss turning desperate, all hunger and heat. I push her back against the workbench, hands gripping her hips, fingers digging into the curve of her ass as she presses into me. My jeans are too tight, but I don’t care. Izzy gasps into my mouth as I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist like she belongs there. And fuck, maybe she does.
I deepen the kiss, my hands sliding over her, claiming every inch I can reach. Her body moves against mine, meeting me stroke for stroke, as if she’s always been mine and always will be.
A shaky breath leaves her lips, and then she tenses. A soft whimper, barely audible, but I feel it. I feel her body give in completely, breaking apart in my arms.
Holy. Shit.
