That warm feeling from before? It’s a four-alarm inferno now. Fire on the track is bad. But the fire his words light inside me—although damn delicious—may be even more dangerous.
“Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you,” I add quickly. Ben and I may be the only ones talking over the comms, but we’re not the only ones listening. As grateful as I am to him, this was a team effort, and I want everyone in the garage—and back at headquarters—to know how much I appreciate their support.
I unbuckle my harness and get out of the car, giving it a little love tap. Then I remove my helmet and HANS device so I can glance at the leader board. And there it is, in bright lights: Lewis: P8. Points: 4.
It might be P8, but damn if it doesn’t feel like P1.
Cristian is the first to reach me.
“Fuck yeah,” he shouts, pulling me into a bear hug. “Baby boy got his first points.”
“Congrats to you, too,” I say, hugging him back. “P2. Awesome.”
He smirks as he releases me. “I’ll get that bastard in Austin.”
His boyfriend claimed the top spot today. He and Jasper have been flip flopping all season. On the track. I don’t know—and don’t want to know—what they do in bed.
Someone comes up from behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground.
“Way to go, mon petit rayon de soleil.” It’s Gabe, naturally. That French fuck.
He puts me down and I punch him playfully in the shoulder. Us rookies have to stick together.
“Don’t fret, Boba Fett. Your turn’s coming soon.” He finished in P12 today. So close to putting his first points on the board, but no cigar. Still, like me, he’s improving with every race, and I know it’s just a matter of time before there are some points up there next to his name, too.
The three of us make our way to the scale for our post-race weigh-ins. Then Cristian goes with the other podium winners to receive their trophies while Gabe and I head for our respective garages. As soon as I step inside, I’m mobbed by the engineers and pit crew. Someone pops a bottle of champagne, and before I know it I’m drenched in the stuff, my already sweaty hair now fully saturated and stuck to my forehead.
“Give him some space,” Elodie says, laughing.
“And a towel,” Jacques, standing next to her, adds.
The crowd surrounding me backs off. Someone takes my helmet, HANS device, and balaclava, and someone else throws me a rag. I check to make sure it’s not covered in grease then wipe my face and scan the garage for the one person I want most to see.
He’s leaning against the engineers’ workstation, overseeing everything like a ship’s captain standing alone and aloof on the bridge. A flash of disappointment hits me, and doubt starts to creep in. Why didn’t he rush over to congratulate me like everyone else? Did I do something wrong? Is he upset with me?
Then our eyes meet, and the heat and intensity in Ben’s gaze erases the doubt and disappointment. His lips curve into a smile meant only for me, and time stops. Everything around us—all the sounds, sights, smells of the garage and the people in it—fade to black as we stare at each other across the garage, locked in our own private bubble.
“Go.” Elodie gives me a gentle push toward the paddock, and just like that the bubble pops, forcing me out of my dream state. “Shower and get changed. The press will want to talk to you. And be quick. Kip can only stall them for so long.”
For the first time, I notice my assistant lurking behind her. He gives her a nod of acknowledgement and trots off, presumably to do her bidding and buy me some time.
Jacques shakes my hand and says something vaguely congratulatory. At least that’s what I think he says. I’m having a hard time paying attention to anything but Ben, who I can see out of the corner of my eye still at the engineers’ workstation, his heated gaze still fixed on me.
I mumble a hopefully appropriate response to Jacques and sprint for my driver’s room in Recharge Garage and the brisk, refreshing shower waiting for me there. I’m drying myself off when someone knocks on the door. Probably Kip, coming to light a fire under my ass. I give my hair one last pat, wrap the towel around my waist, and fling the door open.
“I’ll be ready in just a few minutes, Kip—”
But it’s not Kip standing in front of me. It’s Ben. His big frame fills the doorway.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes skating over my nearly naked body. Is it my imagination or do they linger longer than necessary on my bare chest?
My skin pebbles under his shameless inspection, and when I speak my voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s husky and disembodied, like it’s coming from the bottom of a well. “Hey.”
Wow, we’re really hitting the ground running. If I started every race like this, I’d spend my entire career at the back of the pack.
I clear my throat. “Did you need something? I have to —”
He cuts me off, not with words but by pushing me back into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, and sliding the lock into place.
