Racer

by Katy Evans

  She nods, her eyes still shining with emotion. “How did you find out?” she asks, lying down on her side on the bed.

  I stretch out on my side and look at her, stroking a hand down her bare arm.

  We stroke each other for a couple of minutes, and there’s something about feeling her touch me that relaxes me. That calms the worry of her not taking this well.

  “My whole life my parents were concerned about me or Iris having it because of my dad. But I was okay; 19 years, and nothing. Then at 20, something happened. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus or listen. I felt wired, like I was pounding Red Bulls. The next week, I didn’t come out of my room for days; nothing mattered. Nothing seemed important. Even shit I loved. Even music or food. Hate it most when I feel like that. At 21, I was diagnosed, put on Lithium.”

  She’s still stroking my shoulder with the same arm I’m caressing, drinking in my every word.

  I clench my jaw and stare up at the ceiling as I roll to my back and force myself to continue. “My dad … it was hard for me to deal. Looking at him.”

  “Why? Your dad loves you,” she says, confused as she sits up to look into my eyes.

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t what he wanted for me. He has it too.” I sit up and twist my mouth, remembering the day my father learned about me. Worst day of my fucking life and I’m only too happy to never remember it again. “It triggered him. I couldn’t fucking deal with the fact that I was a huge disappointment to my father. That his perfect son turned out to have the one thing he didn’t want him to have.”

  She swallows, and I push the memory away.

  “It’s hard to live up to your dad’s worst fear. It took me some time on meds to stabilize. To look him in the eye and say I don’t want to be this, but I’ll take it.” I smile at her and tweak her nose, gruffly say, “I’ll make it my bitch.”

  She laughs. “Racer!”

  I chuckle too, grab her skull and pull her closer. “Hey. Don’t ever worry about me. This bitch is mine.”

  “And when it’s not?”

  “And when it’s not … I’ve got it. That’s what my meds are for,” I tell her, stroking her cheek.

  “Is there any way I can know when you’ve been … triggered?”

  “I’ll tell you,” I assure her.

  “Promise me?”

  I look at her, into her eyes, and see my own worst fear reflected back at me. That one day, someone I love won’t understand this, won’t be able to live with this, bear with me through this, and leave. “It’s not going to be pretty,” I rasp.

  She shakes her head, a twinkle in her eye. “I’m used to you not being pretty—have you seen your ugly face, Mr. Tate?”

  I smile. Then clench my jaw and cover her cheek with my palm, staring down at her. “If I say or do anything to hurt you, Lana …” I rasp, my eyes narrowed.

  “You won’t.”

  I hope so. Fucking pray so. No, I’ll make it so. “Don’t ever feel sorry for me.”

  “Never.”

  I peck her lips, rewarding her with my tongue. “Come here,” I quietly summon.

  She drops the sheets and slides beneath them, her bare skin flush against mine, getting me all riled up and then some.

  “How did your mom take it when she found out about your dad?” she asks.

  “She was already too in love with him to care,” he says.

  “I can relate,” she mutters. She absently kisses my nipple as she speaks, looking up at me innocently as if she doesn’t realize what she just did or fucking said.

  Damn me, it does shit to me.

  Makes my balls hurt, my cock swell even more, and my chest feel like it’s doubled in width.

  I take in her features as she waits for my reply, and she’ll never fucking know how much I want that. How I’d never thought I’d want that until she crashed my goddamned cherry mustang.

  I thought I’d best be a loner, race my heart out, live the single life, not make loving me become anyone’s curse.

  Then she happened, and all I can think of is this one girl and how much I want to take care of her.

  Fuck, this girl, my girl, takes care of everybody—and I want to be the one taking care of her for a change.

  I press my mouth to hers and open her lips with mine, smoothing my hands down her body, my cock continuing to stir hungrily as she moans softly under my kiss.

  I’m kissing her raw and fierce because I feel all damn bare, bared my soul right here.

  I’ve never been so fucking real with a girl in my life.

  For the first time in my life. Bare as fuck before the girl I want. Wanting her to want me back. Letting her glimpse every facet of what makes me up.

  And this girl presses her lips back to mine, her body closer against mine, pressing a hot kiss to my dimple. Of all things.

  “You’re wonderful, Racer Tate,” she says as she slides her hands around my neck and presses me closer like she needs me like air.

  Like she needs me like I fucking need her and need to be inside her right now.

  “I know,” I rasp, just to tease her, but maybe I’m lying because nothing has ever felt as wonderful—not even me at my goddamned best—as this green-eyed girl, taking me at my real value, and still wanting more.

  Lana

  “We’re changing this right now.”

  I watch Racer in our tent, his racing suit halfway down his body, his hair standing up after a practice session, and he’s looming over Adrian as he points at the motor and gives him some specs.

  “What the fuck do you want to take out? Why the fuck are you changing this shit an hour before qualifying?”

  Racer laughs and slaps his back confidently. “Do it.”

  “Tate,” he calls as Racer strides over to grab a water bottle from the cooler.

  “I’m aiming for another track record,” Racer says calmly, coming back after guzzling down half the bottle of water, peering into the engine as Adrian and the mechanics get to work on the changes he wants.

  I feel a little thirsty myself.

  But not for water.

  I don’t think that when my brothers commanded me to keep him out of trouble, the idea was to keep Racer Tate entertained with my body. But my body seems very entertained by feeling his.

  Of feeling his hands run over me, let his eyes look at me in ways no guy has ever looked at me.

  I grew up with four brothers, and my mother didn’t even let me walk out to breakfast in my pajamas. I was always quite modest in that respect.

  While they went around shirtless and in boxers, I’ve never really stood in my underwear in front of a guy. But this guy makes me greedy for those eyes of his, the way the blue turns a little more electric when he looks at me, and I’m both shy at the idea of those eyes seeing me, and at the same time, I’m excited about it.

  What do I really know about BP? What do I know about mental illness except that it takes lives, that it’s hard for everyone, the families, those suffering. It’s scary, and it makes the scared girl in me, who’s lost a loved one and fears of losing another every day, want to stay away—that is the truth. I’m only human and nobody wants to see the fire and fly straight in except the moths who don’t know better. I’m not a moth, I’m a girl, and he’s not only bipolar but a racer. And yet no matter how much I rationalize, the truth is that I don’t get a choice, not when I’m already falling for him.

  I’m trapped—helplessly and totally—in Racer Tate’s irresistible fire.

  I want more dates with him like the one we had the night before I found his pill bottle. Where we talked and ate in a small street café, stealing touches only because I was so worried that my brothers would walk past.

  I want to find out his every secret, figure out what makes him up.

  I want to make a bible out of his body, an encyclopedia out of his muscles and bones, every detail registered, examined, and stored away for me to enjoy and relive, over and over.

  I want to do what we did last night again and again a
nd again.

  The problem is, my brothers seem to be noticing something’s going on, and they’re being … well. They’re being my fucking brothers.

  “Lana used to be a very fussy baby,” Clayton tells Racer as we eat in one large table at the tent. “Even Mom said she was born with everything. Acid reflux, colic, she was born with it all, right Drake?” Clayton says.

  “Yep. We never wanted to sleep near her ‘cause she’d never let anyone shut an eye.”

  Racer just looks at me, one sleek eyebrow coming up questioningly, and I scowl at my three brothers, even Adrian who hasn’t said a thing. Yet. “Stop telling Racer what’s wrong with me,” I whisper-hiss at Clayton, kicking Drake under the table too.

  “Come on.” Clayton laughs, not bothering to whisper. “Thank me we’re not telling him how you are at the same time every month. Moody and crampy and chewing everyone’s head off.”

  Racer grabs his drink, steps away, shooting my brothers a hard glare.

  “Nice way to impress him.” I glower, watching him head to the motorhome.

  “That’s the thing, Lane. Why are you not giving him the cold shoulder like you do all the other guys,” Clayton says.

  “He’s on our team! And he’s …” I stop myself from saying more.

  My brothers are watching me. I think they suspect. They look pissy and protective. Are they trying to scare him off?

  I start getting riled. “Shut up, Clay and Drake, and you shut up too,” I tell Adrian.

  Adrian raises his hands defensively. “I didn’t say shit.”

  “You’re trying to scare him off!” I grab my shoe and toss it at the table, spilling their food. “You’re absolute dicks!” I throw the other one, and they laugh as I march to the motorhome.

  Racer’s grabbing his phone and his earbuds. He seems pissed.

  “Hey,” I say.

  He clenches his jaw and tosses the earbuds and phone aside.

  “Do me a favor,” he growls, eyebrows slanted. He paces a little, cracks his knuckles, and wheels around. He curls his hand around my wrist and squeezes me, his gaze penetrating me all the way to the depths of my soul. “Don’t ever let them treat you like that.”

  “They’re my brothers, that’s what they do.”

  “Don’t ever let them talk about you like that.”

  I open my mouth, then shut it. “They were trying to scare you away,” I breathe.

  He stares at me, his eyes narrowed.

  “Besides. Why do you care so much.”

  “Because you’re mine.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right,” he growls, still mad.

  “Racer …” I start laughing, and he looks at my mouth, and I stop laughing because I want to kiss him so hard too that my lip gloss is going to be all over that sexy mouth of his.

  “They’re saying all that because they can obviously tell that you, that I … that I’m obsessed with everything about you. Your beautiful eyes and your hot bod, your personality and just … who you are.”

  He grins a little bit, studying me with those intense eyes. “Go out with me again. Let’s go for a drive. Just you and me. Some music. The breeze. No cares in the world.” His lips quirk mischievously, and so do mine. “Or will you have a cramp or colic?”

  “No, no cramps or colic. I just had my period so I won’t be ovulating until, well, another week or so …” I trail off.

  “I have a sister, I know all about cycles. She and Mom talk about it over the dinner table.”

  I laugh and picture him and his father just bearing it. “Do you two get along?”

  “I suppose. I feel protective of her. She’s younger than me.”

  “Do you treat her like a baby like my brothers do?”

  “Maybe. I don’t mean to.” He looks at me with intimate intensity. “You’re very regular?”

  I nod.

  “Wh … why do you ask?”

  His eyes are very dark.

  “You’re not thinking to have your way with me without any … um …”

  “I want to come inside you.”

  I think my ovaries just shuddered.

  “I want to put my stamp in your walls.” He smirks, and I start to perspire.

  “We’ll … we’ll see.”

  I sit on his lap, and I start to realize that something very hard is growing beneath my bottom. And growing even more. I hear—I actually hear—the sound of me catching my breath, my eyes flying up to his.

  He looks at me, his eyes a little hooded. “Can’t help it.” A smirk touches his eyes and I want to kiss the smirk on his lips and those eyes too.

  I swallow nervously instead, reach out and place my hand on the squarish curve of his shoulder, holding his eyes.

  His smile falters, and his eyes shadow like midnight.

  I watch his Adam’s apple work as he swallows too, his gaze dropping and fastening to my lips.

  He tugs me close, his nose almost against mine. “I’m starting P2 today. P2’s got to be more than kissing.”

  “You’ve just got to have the healthiest self-esteem of anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “I can be very stubborn too,” he gruffs out, his eyes gleaming mischievously. He winks.

  He lifts my hand and turns it around, gently kissing the center of my palm. I’m so surprised I hear my mouth open on a gasp, but my throat doesn’t seem to release the gasp, it gets caught somewhere in the middle when his tongue flicks out to lick me.

  Slowly, I look at his bent head, the head of messy black hair, his chiseled profile, his eyes drifting shut as he savors my palm like I’m the most delicious morsel on the planet.

  “Racer …” I begin.

  He circles his tongue around the center, then sort of drags it into the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist, where he presses both his lips and his hot wet tongue to my pulse point. I’ve never been seduced by a guy, or ever been wanted like this by a guy.

  I can’t move and am paralyzed from the pleasure as I simply watch him, grappling with the urge to duck my head and nuzzle the top of his head, nudge his face around so that his tongue—rather than lick my wrist, is licking inside me, inside my mouth.

  I’m salivating for this guy and so wound-up that I’m suddenly doing just that, following the impulse to drop my head and nudge his face around, and as he turns, his hard jaw rasps against my cheek and then … then the softness of his mouth is pressing against mine and I’m pressing back just as hard.

  I’m trembling so hard, my body is jerking a little, but my arms wind around his wide shoulders and I press closer, feeling as though he’s the only thing that will center me right now, that will give me some semblance of balance now.

  Our mouths move, simultaneously, his opening wider and going slower than mine.

  His chest is a wall against my puckered nipples and his strength is like a cloak around him, around us both.

  “Eight p.m. tonight, baby,” he says, pecking my lips as a finale.

  “Yes, baby,” I whisper back, pecking him back.

  His expression slips, and instead of indifference or arrogance, his expression reveals the rawness of his need.

  It does something to me; seeing that he wants me like this.

  He seems to lose control and pulls me closer, deeper into his arms. “You turn me on like nothing in my life, Lana,” he rasps.

  “Not even Kelsey.”

  He smirks, eyes dancing. “She’s a close second. But yeah. Not even her. Or Dolly.”

  His contagious grin makes me smile and I wiggle free, perspiring head to toe, my toes curling as I step out of the motorhome, watching my brothers watch me walk away. I flip them the bird, seeing their smiles fade as my own appears. Bullies.

  Racer

  We drive along the streets of London, the wind in her hair, before I park us at a cliff overlooking the Thames.

  “All right, come here, Lana.”

  She hops out of the convertible and walks forward while I pull out some food and a cooler of dr
inks from the trunk.

  I set them down and pull her down with me. She seems curious as she watches me open a bottle of wine, sized perfectly for one, and gifts me with a damn gorgeous smile when I hand it over to her.

  “Time someone took care of you for a change,” I gruff out, dropping a kiss on her lips.

  I fiddle with my phone, setting it up to play music via Bluetooth. I scroll through my library looking for one of the ones I know she likes. I play Favorite Record and turn the car volume up.

  Her eyes light up when it starts playing, and she seems impressed. “You remember.”

  “I pay attention.”

  She flushes pink.

  “This is such a nice spot.” She looks around at the river and at the city lights of London.

  “I told you that you’d go out on a drive with me and never be the same again.”

  “Ha.” She rolls her eyes, and I’m chuckling and reaching out to push her hair back.

  “I’m into you, girl,” I rasp, shifting to stare into her eyes.

  “Yeah?” she breathes.

  “You know it,” I say, swooping down to kiss her, but before I do, I force myself to hold back and tease her. “And because I’m clearly sweeping you off your feet, I thought it fair to warn you of some of my more unsavory traits.”

  “Oh, wow, thank you, that’s thoughtful.”

  I start counting with my fingers. “I’m a very light sleeper, and I like the room to be so damn cold a morgue couldn’t compete. I’m also stubborn as fuck; I always get my way.”

  “Are you going to get your way with the championship?” she taunts.

  “Watch me get my way.” I grin.

  She laughs, her eyes sparkling and flooded with happiness, her cheeks so pink I can notice her flush in the dark.

  “We’re doing well with the championship,” she says, setting her bottle aside.

  “Second place is not good enough,” I say, staring out at the Thames. “It’s first or it’s nothing, as far as I’m concerned.”

  She eyes me in wonder, then out at the city as she draws her knees up to her chin and takes a sip of her wine. “Clark will play dirty.”