Racer

by Katy Evans

  I text my family and tell them that we’re on our way, and I ask them for a meeting when we arrive on the track.

  I’m relieved to see they didn’t bring in any drivers.

  I know that’s not what they wanted.

  I know that the driver they want—the driver they need, the only driver for us—

  is walking right next to me.

  I walk in with his hand in mine, and I don’t pry it free.

  “Where the fuck were you two?!” Drake rants. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you irresponsible motherfuck—”

  “He was at the hospital,” I cut in. “Now you three jerks are going to sit down and just listen to me for a second.”

  My brothers glare at me.

  “Now!” I yell, planting my hands on my hips.

  I see they’re not happy about it, and they don’t sit, but they calm down.

  “I know that you guys have always been concerned about Racer’s reckless reputation and were afraid that he would one day leave us for a better team. I know that you’ve been concerned that him and I … well, that’s none of your concern now, because we’re dating. And Dad is okay with that, so you three bozos have nothing to say about that. As for the other … Look. We’ve done things this year that we never even dreamed we would ever do. We’re all in this together. Are we in agreement?”

  “Yeah,” Adrian says.

  “Yeah.” Clay.

  Drake finally nods. “Yeah.”

  “Well then, now that we know we’re a team … Family, Racer is—”

  “I’m bipolar.”

  There’s a moment as the words spoken in Racer’s deep voice sink in.

  Racer looks at my brothers in the eye, and then fixes his gaze on my dad. “I’m learning to handle my triggers. I’m also not kidding myself thinking this will never happen again—but I hope to god I can spot it in time and take care of it. I’m not perfect but you’ll never find a driver as hungry as me. Or someone more devoted to this team.”

  My eyes wide, I think my heart just imploded. “What he said,” I say as I watch my brothers and dad digest this. “I want you all to be there for him when he needs us.”

  Drake is the first to move.

  “Hey, you’re like family. We got you.” He puts his hand out, and we pry our hands loose so that he can take it.

  “Thanks. I’m okay,” Racer growls, shaking everyone’s hands and then letting my father silently pull him into an embrace.

  “A man is made up of more than what he battles with,” I hear my dad whisper privately to him.

  “I’m sorry I disappeared for a while. It won’t happen again, sir,” he tells my father, and I know it takes a lot for proud Racer to ask for or accept help.

  “Now let’s get on that track and kick some ass,” Clay says, handing Racer his duffel from the ground.

  I look back at Racer. Pure vivid anticipation glimmers in his blue eyes, and I feel like I’ve never seen his jaw look that square or determined.

  Can you love someone so hard that every part of your being feels it?

  Yes, my heart whispers.

  Racer

  I slide into the seat and strap down, glancing around the car. “You’re back too, Kelsey.” I smirk and rap the dashboard. “Hell so am I. I hope you’re ready.”

  I fire up the engine and pull out of pits, ready for qualifying.

  Her taste is still in my mouth.

  The taste of her soft tears, and her loving eyes.

  My veins are chock-full of fucking meds, and I should feel slower.

  I don’t.

  I feel more powerful than I ever have.

  Because I let her see me—and she responded like I always prayed she would.

  She fucking gets me.

  And I’ve fucking got her.

  “Okay girl,” I say once I’m in the clear for qualifying. “Let’s show the world who we are.”

  Lana

  “FUCKING SHIT, HE QUALIFIED FIRST!!”

  “Un-fucking-believable—fresh out of the hospital, and he qualified first!”

  I’m about to burst from the excitement, and while my brothers are yelling at each other in disbelief, Racer leaps out of the car.

  Racer.

  My Racer.

  All mine, I think greedily. I want everything that he is, all for me.

  There’s euphoria bubbling up inside me as he reaches out for me and gives me a huge kiss and carries me, kissing me as I kiss him back.

  When he sets me down, my brothers leap on him. My brothers’ eyes are glistening, and their smiles are miles and miles wide as they lift him up from the ground.

  My dad’s eyes are misty.

  Anybody who saw us would think we just won the championship.

  They don’t know that we had a moment there where we thought we’d lost him, our #1 driver, and that this is another kind of victory not in any books but ours.

  The ride up the elevator to his floor feels like an eternity. It’s just Racer and I riding upstairs. My dad and my brothers stayed with the rest of the team, making sure Kelsey remains in top-notch condition for the race and downloading the race data to review. I’ve never, ever, been the kind of girl to be obsessed with a guy. Guys had always been a second thing in my life, after David. Definitely not something I couldn’t stop thinking about.

  But this guy?

  I never knew that one guy could melt me with a look or send me flying with a smile.

  His body warmth seeping through my clothes. He’s holding me by the waist and pinning me to his side as we ride upstairs.

  I shift a little to get closer, and he tightens his hold on me, murmuring in my ear, “Are you happy with qualifying?”

  I lift my eyes to his with a grin. “You tell me.”

  He smiles because he knows.

  I shake my head in something beyond happiness, beyond any word. “I knew you could do it, but you were up against more than anyone out there,” I say.

  His eyes gleam mischievously as he looks into mine, sliding a hand down my side as if savoring this happiness of mine. “You’re good medicine,” he says with a husky smirk, pressing his mouth to the top of my head.

  I groan as my whole body tightens for him.

  He shifts me closer, and I hear the music playing in the elevator. The song, Maps by Maroon 5, before the elevator tings.

  He presses his fingers to the small of my back when we reach his floor, and I step out, following him into his room.

  “You were incredible,” I breathe.

  He smiles enough that his dimple shows, his eyes twinkling.

  “I swear you were driving with everything you had. It’s like you pulled out all your stored energy from the past few days,” I continue.

  Racer’s eyes gleam devilishly as he opens his door and leads me inside.

  “You didn’t know if you could do this with your meds, and look what you did!” I say as he shuts the door behind us, leaning up and wrapping my arms around his hard shoulders. “You beat this, Racer Tate, and we can beat it again. As many times as we need to.”

  He chuckles softly, and he looks so boyish and so handsome as he eases back and looks into my face. “Felt good to be back in that car. Felt good to drive.” He strokes his index finger along the freckles on the bridge of my nose, and my lungs begin to struggle for air. “Feels good for your brothers to know about us. And me.” He runs his thumb down my throat and lower, to the start of my T-shirt. “And still nothing feels as good as you, Lana.”

  Racer’s eyes smolder as my breath catches. He corners me against the wall, tugging my T-shirt from the waistband of my jeans.

  My heart feels as if it can’t fit in my chest—because discovering that you love a man this complex, this exciting, this demanding, this consuming … well, it takes a bit from a girl. Not that I don’t like what it takes; or how my heart thrums in my chest, my blood boils with his nearness, even my silly little nipples and how they stand shamelessly up to salute him when he’s near.


  I’m in his room, trembling and anxious to feel him. Racer watches me, those eyes eating me alive as he tugs the fabric of my top downward to reveal my bra. He then tugs my bra down, and pops out a nipple.

  “You’re so pretty. You know that right.”

  He keeps eye contact with me as he opens his mouth, and his tongue comes out to roll a little circle around my nipple.

  I catch my breath, dying inside as I drown in those blue eyes and tremble under that hot tongue caressing my nipple.

  I part swallow, part groan, “Don’t torture me …” I beg.

  He smothers my nipple with his mouth, shutting his eyes as if he can’t help it anymore, sliding his hand between my thighs. He cups me as he suckles me, groaning as he touches me over my panties.

  “Give me all of this girl,” he says, a soft commanding growl as he caresses me over my panties with his index finger.

  I rock and roll my hips up to his fingers, realizing I’m out of control but ohmygod, ohmygod, I’ve never wanted anyone’s touch so much, anyone’s kiss so much, anyone so much.

  His body vibrates as if he’s holding himself back from doing other equally wicked and pleasurable things to me. I don’t want him to hold back. I move against his hands and run my fingers along his arms, pressing my lips to his jaw. “Racer,” I groan, a plea.

  He groans back and eases his finger into my panties, licking into my ear. “God, baby, you want to come right here for me, don’t you? You want to break apart for me, baby,” he purrs.

  I nod.

  A possessive streak of lightning passes across his blue eyes.

  “Tell me you’re mine,” he says, urging me down on the bed as he starts to flick open my buttons.

  I’m trembling.

  “Racer …” I say.

  “Say you’re mine, Lana.” His blue eyes look down at me and quietly demand for me to say it; eyes that are raw and true and so perceptive I know that he knows that it’s true.

  I swallow.

  “Not anyone else’s. Not David’s anymore. Tell me you’re all mine,” he repeats, clenching his jaw in need and arousal. “You told me some stuff in the hospital, and I want you to tell me now that I’m okay, Lana.”

  He shifts, his eyes glimmering as he rubs the pad of his thumb over my lower lip in a caress that I feel down to my toes. He leans down and scents my neck, then pecks my lips, softly, like he does, before licking the seam and easing back to drink in my features once more. His voice rough, husky, male.

  “Tell me who you want here. Who keeps you awake at night. Who you think of every second of the day.”

  He leans his forehead to mine, his eyes gripping my own, his voice deep and textured as he cups my face as a tear slips.

  “It’s me, baby,” he croons tenderly, nuzzles my nose, and brushes the tear from my cheek as he presses a kiss there and then captures my gaze again, “Are you going to tell me my name?”

  I tilt my head for his mouth, trying to stop shivering. “Racer, kiss me—”

  He presses his thumb to my lips, silencing me. “Tell me,” he says, looking down at me. “Tell me now,” he says.

  He slips his hand into the back of my neck and presses his lips to mine—firm but tender, giving me a minute before they stop feeling tender and begin to feel relentless.

  “For me, it’s you,” he whispers in my ear. “The one keeping me awake at night. The one in my every thought.” He slips his hand between my legs, sliding it under my skirt as he captures my mouth and kisses the living daylights out of me. The pain out of me. The fear of whatever is happening between us out of me. Until there is only one giant, tingling feeling—and it’s all over my body. A fire shaking through me, under my skin, IN my skin, in my veins, my tummy, the tips of my breast, the warm spot between my legs that suddenly feels so swollen it’s uncomfortable.

  He nuzzles my curls.

  I groan.

  “Look at me. Look at me, crasher.”

  I do.

  He kisses me. Wipes my tear. His face raw as he pushes his dick inside me. “You feel so right. I want to stay here. I want to pound a path all the way to your damn heart.”

  “Don’t stop.” I clutch him to me, whispering, “Racer, you had my heart from the moment you wrote on my page.”

  “Come again,” he says, driving inside me.

  “Racer Tate.”

  “Again, Lana. I fucking want you to look at me when you say it.”

  “You! You, RACER TATE!” I breathe, our eyes holding, and no one—ever—has ever looked at me with so much love, so much passion, has ever ignited me with those same emotions. I say, “I’m yours, Racer. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

  Lana

  We spend most of our free time together as we visit Malaysia, Singapore, and Japan.

  Racer and I have hit every car museum in each of these cities for the past month and a half. He loves telling me the exact specifics of any car—and I always tease him that this is why he hasn’t had a girlfriend before.

  I don’t think any girl would get turned on hearing about pipes and carburetors, but he’s lucky that I happen to find it quite like dirty talk.

  Not the words, really.

  But the way this guy’s voice sounds as he talks about it and the way he gets an emotional hard-on for cars and speed.

  Not surprising, since he’s a damn F1 pilot.

  Also not surprising that driving around each city has become our thing.

  We like taking drives and seeing the sights on our free days, listening to music we both like as we cruise around, thriving on the feeling of being free.

  We stop at every place we feel like. And our rule is to always take a drive, at least once a week, with no destination in mind. Once, Racer stopped by a huge three-story mansion by the water, and we parked right across and just stared at it while we talked for hours about our upbringings.

  I talked about my mom and never wanting to build a family only to leave it. Racer talked about hoping that, despite his career, he could set roots for his family like the ones his parents gave him when he was a kid.

  I even got to drive a couple of times. He’s giving me “lessons” though mostly he just frowns at me when I shift gears too soon and make the car squeal.

  “Baby you’re killing this vehicle,” he said with a laugh and a frown.

  “I’m trying!” I laughed.

  I was surprised he’d even let me drive. He simply handed the keys over and said, “Drive.”

  “Where to?” I said excitedly.

  “Wherever it takes us.”

  I grinned, loving to explore the world with him.

  We stop for lunch at any place that calls to us. Racer eats a lot, but very clean, and I’m trying to join in for my wellbeing and to tell my father some health-food tips. I’m trying to exercise more too simply because dating a guy that is so fit that his skin is taut over his muscles to the point you can hardly pinch a tenth of an inch only makes you realize how soft your own body is.

  Racer says he likes my softness, so I don’t worry too much when he hits the gym and I end up staying at the hotel to organize the team’s flights and future reservations.

  I usually write down my reservation confirmations on a ton of Post-its and hotel pads, and I’ve noticed lately that he’s writing his name on every one just to irk me.

  We’re negotiating the movie-watching at nights. He likes series, and I like movies with quick resolutions, so we usually alternate a series episode for a movie for me. I watch Sense 8 with him; he watches The Proposal.

  “I’m learning to appreciate the benefits of watching these movies with you, baby,” he confided once after a movie ended and we were in a full-out make-out moment.

  “Why,” I asked, breathless.

  “You acting all warm and romantic. Soft and eager for me.” He grinned, and I groaned and smacked his chest.

  “You’re such a guy!”

  “Good thing. Considering you’re into guys.”

  “I’m into you,” I
whispered, unable to say more because his mouth proved too distracting.

  I’m fully living again. Every moment feels meaningful with him, even the silly, meaningless ones of hurrying in the morning to get dressed.

  Now I watch him climb the car, ready for the race in Japan, and I just wait for that look he always gives me before igniting—one glance, because his eyes are all I can see through his helmet. Just his eyes, connecting with mine, before that visor slips down, and then the hard rumble of the car igniting before it squeals onto the track.

  Lana

  After kicking ass in Singapore, Malaysia, and Japan with two P2’s and one P1, we arrive on U.S. soil.

  I’ve always loved traveling from track to track, but I have a soft spot for the U.S. Grand Prix simply because it feels a little bit like home, even though we have been living abroad for several years now.

  Now we’re close to the end of the season, ready for the United States Grand Prix at the Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas.

  I walk along the stands with Racer before the race, and he’s pointing out his people to me while they wave at him or are too busy looking for their seats.

  “So that’s Melanie and Grey, a couple of my parents’ friends.”

  He points to a beautiful blonde and a distinguished-looking dark-haired man in a black suit.

  “And that’s their other friends.”

  He points to a sable-haired woman with a guy wearing a diamond-stud earring.

  “Pandora and Mackenna. And that’s their daughter Eve.”

  He points to a late-twenties dark-haired girl, and then to a younger girl standing next to her.

  “And their other daughter, Sophie.”

  He moves his finger down the aisle to another couple, him in about his forties, her a little younger with light honey hair.

  “That’s Maverick. He’s a fighter, like my dad, he holds the record of most wins and is still at the top of his game. His wife is Reese. She was my babysitter.”