Page 70

“You did great,” I say.

He makes a face. “Second.”

“If you’d had another five laps, it would’ve been first.”

Before he can respond, cameras descend. “Theo, what a drive right up to the flag. Tell us about it.”

After a few minutes, the interviewer talking with him turns to me. “And who are you?” she asks.

“Ah. I work on Jameson’s car. Megan and I do.” I glance back to grab her, but she’s talking to Zane.

The interviewer’s expression brightens with interest. “Can you tell us about the adjustments you made?”

“Um. Well…” The spotlight makes me nervous. I’m looking past her, scanning the crowd without knowing what I’m looking for.

Until I see him.

Jameson.

On the other side of the room. Wearing a tux.

My world stops—my breath, my thoughts, the blood pumping through my body.

It’s as if every atom of my being is required to process his mere existence. He’s elegant, polished, and the most beautifully untouchable person I’ve ever seen.

Jameson looks around. Searching.

His gaze locks on me and that spot deep in my chest comes alive. It pulls at my ribs, hungry for all it can get.

Thud goes my heart.

“I didn’t catch that?” the interviewer prompts.

I swallow. “The, ah. Tire pressure. We took a chance and went a little higher.”

His attention drags down my body before returning to my face.

Thud, thud.

“Most teams don’t mess with that.” The interviewer’s voice drifts through my ears, a dull echo.

Thud, thud, thud.

I blink, turning back to her. “Most teams don’t have a driver like Jameson Ashford.”

The interviewer looks like she wants to ask more but gets distracted by the sight of another driver and makes a beeline for him.

“You’re going to be on TV!” Raj shouts, grabbing my arm. “You are basically famous.”

“If you’re not careful, you’ll be famously basic.” Zane narrows his eyes. “Next time if you don’t want to answer a question, you can say ‘no comment.’ ”

The truth is, it feels good to have gotten the win. It might be Jameson’s number on the car, but Megan and I made a real difference.

Then everyone’s gazes shift past me, locking on something at my back.

I feel him before I turn to find Jameson standing behind me, his hair a mess of waves, his eyes nearly as black as his tux.

“That was a hell of a race,” Zane says, looking at both me and Jameson. “No one else could pull that off.”