Racer

by Katy Evans

  “I appreciate that, son.”

  He extracts his credit card to pay the check and once we all stand to gather our things, my dad slaps Racer’s back, and Racer slaps his back in return, and they’re smiling at each other, and I’m standing in one of those moments where you realize beauty is made up of a thousand tiny pieces—some pain, some bittersweetness, some hope, some love—and the end product is that life is worth living it.

  Before we fly back to the United States, I help the team pack up the collection of trophies that we accumulated during the season, as they will travel along with our cars.

  Before the cars are packed up in the trailer, I watch as Racer strokes a hand over Kelsey, then he leans over and kisses her nose. He flips a coin inside her and takes my hand to lead me out of there.

  “Superstition?” I ask.

  “Just don’t want her to feel lonely.” He smirks.

  I smile. “You’re lucky I’m not jealous.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “What?”

  He rubs his index finger down the freckles of my nose. “If you could see the look in your eyes when the girls come over for my autograph.”

  I stiffen, and he chuckles, peering down at my face before pecking my lips in that fast way of his that leaves me no choice but to endure it. Mmm.

  “I like you being jealous of me. I’m jealous of you; you’re mine,” he says, opening the door of his rental for me while my brothers board the SUV with my dad.

  “You’re mine too.”

  “I am. I race for you. Live for you, girl.” He takes my hand and kisses the back of my knuckles, igniting the engine and driving us down to the airport for our flights to Spain, where my family and I will pack (as we agreed just recently), and then to Seattle.

  Lana

  We’re still celebrating in Seattle. My family, his family, the team mechanics, some of Racer’s friends. Given the huge amount of prize money both HW Racing and our driver received, we’ve been splurging a little on kick-ass food and plenty of spirits (for those who drink to celebrate), and we’re not one bit ashamed about it.

  I’ve moved in with Racer. To both his apartments, to be exact: the one in Seattle and the one in St. Pete, which we’ve been visiting on and off for the past month.

  I know we’re moving fast, but this guy loves speed so what can I say? I adore playing house with him, fitting my clothes into the closet with his. I love us driving to nowhere during the weekends just for the hell of it, and I love it when we stay in and continue negotiating what we’ll be playing on TV.

  He has steep prices for whenever I plot to have my way sometimes, but it’s quite the thrill because they’re usually prices I’m very willing to pay.

  We’re in his parents’ living room in their Seattle home now.

  Racer has been talking to Henley all this time, knocking his fist onto his friend’s head when he suggests he go back to street racing in his spare time.

  “I’ve got the fastest car in the land—I race at 250 mph and it’s legal. Why would I risk that for a few extra bucks?”

  “For me, man,” Henley says.

  Racer just laughs, and my heart feels as if it literally cannot fit inside my chest.

  He smirks at me, his eyes darkening a little like they do when our eyes meet—and they flood with lust, proprietariness and tenderness. God. I’m so grateful, so lucky.

  “What are you thinking?” he prods as he comes up to me, pushing my hair back.

  “You’re the eye-reader, you tell me.”

  “I want you to tell me in your own words.” He watches me. “That you’re happy. That you’re hopelessly in love with me.”

  I start nodding and nodding. “You made all our dreams come true. You brought love into my life …” I press my lips trying to find more words.

  He starts shaking his head, and I become puzzled. “What?” I ask.

  “It’s all you,” he says, low, shifting closer, his gaze intent. “I always wanted to race—never in my wildest dreams did I think it would happen. I wanted a girl, never in my life did I think it would happen—and it happened the same day you crashed my car, and that day the universe brought my girl to me.”

  I reach out and cup his jaw in my hands, my thumb tracing his dimple. “You’re the best man in the world, Racer.”

  He raises his brows, obviously surprised I replaced ‘driver’ with man. He ducks his dark head and expertly pecks my lips wearing a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Best kisser too.”

  “Oooh …” I playfully shake my head and tap the corner of my lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know about that. You’ll have to keep working on that … and I’ll let you know.”

  He only grins in mischief.

  “So.” I decide to ask something that’s been on my mind and I haven’t been able to discuss with him. “I had a special sign made that said you’re the best driver in the world for your celebration. Does this mean I need to fix your car?”

  “No.” He seems to be relishing every moment of this, his dimple as deep as I’ve ever seen it. “I don’t want you to fix my car or me.” He pauses meaningfully and leans closer a fraction. “I want you to drive it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” Something about the wicked expression on his face makes my heartbeat speed up. “You said you’d race for me. Didn’t you? Was that a lie too, Alana?”

  His eyes keep glinting and I can tell he’s loving this.

  “I … well I mean … no. It wasn’t a lie.” I stumble over my words because I hardly remember making this promise. I was so caught up in the excitement of freaking winning.

  “So, you’ll race my car for me, as promised?” He’s watching me with an unreadable expression all of a sudden, and something like a challenge in those blue, blue eyes.

  “Huh?” I’m confused by his words.

  Racer laughs softly to himself and breathes in my neck, his eyes gleaming full of devil’s intent as he gazes down at me.

  “How about I give you the ultimate prize if you win for me, crasher?”

  He’s been giving me driving lessons daily for the past few weeks, teasing me that he’s going to make me work for an engagement ring—because I’ve made him work for every step ahead he’s gained with me. Now he kisses me and grabs my butt as Henley comes over.

  Racer organized a race with me and an old lady. Like, she’s literally eighty.

  And it’s really a race!

  “Okay, you ready, Lana Tate?” Henley asks.

  “It’s … I’m not his sister.” I shake my head at Henley, confused that he calls me Tate.

  Henley smirks at Racer, and Racer just smirks back.

  “Okay … remember, girls”—Henley eyes me and the old lady—“Mr. Tate here is marrying whoever wins this race.”

  “Racer …” I say, nervous that I might not win.

  He grabs my shoulders and gazes into my eyes, the thirst for the win right there in his baby blues. “Listen to me very well, Lana,” he says soberly. “It’s very important that you win this race, baby. All those hours I’ve spent tutoring you won’t be for nothing—and you’re the woman I’m walking down the aisle, so make me proud.”

  “But Racer, what if I get too nervous—”

  “I’m marrying the winner of the race, sweetheart; you’d better step on it.” His eyes twinkle, and his dimple is shamelessly on full display, as he ushers me in and straps me down. “Now go and kick ass. Wait. Kiss me first.”

  “Oh god.”

  I kiss him. With tongue and everything.

  Then I sit down on the seat of his mustang and look at the old lady. She’s blinking behind her glasses.

  I exhale, and turn on the engine.

  Henley gives us the signal.

  And suddenly I’m racing for my goddamn life. For my boyfriend’s hand in marriage.

  “I’m insane,” I gasp, pushing the pedal and seeing the old lady is way, way behind. I start feeling high from the race, then brake and turn around carefu
lly before I drive back. I pass the old lady, who literally is about ten feet from the starting line—the slowest woman I’ve ever seen.

  I don’t care. I’m high on it because my prize is …

  My racer.

  “Hey! You’re a fucking star—come here.” He reaches into the car and pulls my head to his and kisses me long and hard, and I moan when he pries his sexy, wicked mouth free. I’m so hot for him I could be the embodiment of fire right now.

  “You totally paid her to go slow,” I chide.

  “No,” he denies, eyes twinkling. “I’d rather spend my money on you.”

  “We just made sure her car was shit,” Henley says from behind him.

  “Shut up, Hen,” Racer growls, turning back proudly to me. “Hell, you found her,” he says.

  “Who?”

  “The best driver in the world.”

  “Who? You mean—me? You tease.” I laugh, then look into his eyes, breathless. “Are you going to marry me or what?”

  His eyes flicker possessively, as if he loves me being possessive and greedy for him too. He leans over to peck my lips and looks down at me with tender blue eyes. “You’re trouble,” he rasps with pride.

  I nod, breathless. “Trouble likes me. Follows me wherever I go. Claims he’s going to marry me.”

  “Let’s not make a liar out of him then. Alana.” He pulls the car door open, and as I step out, Racer folds down to his knee.

  I turn to stone and blink down at him—my guy, Racer fucking Tate, on one knee, with his dimple popping out on one cheek.

  There’s a ring in his palm, and if it weren’t for me leaning on the door of his mustang, my knees would have buckled and I’d be right there, with Racer, on the ground.

  “Lana Heyworth. Marry me. Be with me. Be my girl, always. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.”

  I had been daydreaming about this day, secretly, for quite some time. I had been wanting a family of my own, even though I was sure I might not ever have it. I had been wanting a home, some security, and I wanted … maybe, despite my fears, to love even harder, to be loved even more.

  I gaze down at the guy I will spend the rest of my life with. Whose name he wrote down on a page that I saved because for some reason, it seemed important.

  Turns out, the page wasn’t that important.

  But it turns out, he was.

  “Lana …” Racer prods warningly.

  “Yes!” I squeak out, throwing myself into his arms and wrapping my arms around him, because I’ve never wanted anything more.

  Lana

  Racer wants me in white. He wants me walking down the aisle to him, in white … and he wants me to have everything I could have ever dreamed of.

  We’re having the whole enchilada. Church wedding, and then a reception with about 120 guests at the largest ballroom in the city’s top hotel.

  I wasn’t the kind of girl who dreamed of her wedding when she was little. I think it’s been a while since I even allowed myself to think, to hope, that I would one day be dressed in white … and the man I love with my whole being would be waiting down a long church aisle for me, ready to make me his.

  My mom showed up for the wedding. We’re not friends, and I know we never will be, but it’s nice to have her here on my big day. She made sure my hair was perfect, and my veil was draped behind my head with no wrinkles or creases, and that I looked as beautiful as could be.

  “You’re a vision,” she whispered when our eyes met in the mirror, and I could see she wanted to cry. All the guilt maybe of the years she has missed, of me and my brothers growing up.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I whisper. Because today I’m getting married and it’s not a day I want to hold onto the past. I’m leaving the past in the past, where it belongs, because my future is staring right at me—and I’ve never loved what I see as much as I do now.

  We head to the church, and my father looks dashing with his shaven head, and his gorgeous smile, and his loving brown eyes.

  “The most beautiful bride ever,” he says.

  I am tempted to say there’s no way, but I’m his only daughter, and the apple of his eye, and I know that to him, it’s true. And I know that to the man who sees me now at the altar, it will be true too.

  My brothers kiss my cheek. “Don’t make him return you. No returns or exchanges,” Drake says.

  “You’re the one who’ll be returned as defective,” I say, as he chuckles and allows Clayton and Adrian to come kiss me too.

  “He’s right. No exchanges,” Clay says, patting the back of my head to smack a wet one on my cheek.

  “Clayton! My veil!” I protest, waiting for Adrian to hug me.

  “Be happy, Lana,” Adrian says. He’s the sweetest of my three brothers, but he speaks this as a command and it makes me laugh.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I feel my mother fix my veil. She’s not talking to my brothers, or more likely, they’re not talking to her, but I know they’re here—together—for me, and it just makes me value my family more.

  I slip my hand into the nook of Dad’s arm, and I whisper, “Thank you, Daddy.”

  “No need to give thanks. It’s been my pleasure being my girl’s dad.” He chuckles and kisses the back of my hand, and we both halt at the doors, my heart hammering in my chest, my whole body buzzing because I can feel him, right behind the church doors. Waiting for me.

  The music begins, and the doors swing open, and it feels like gravity is what pulls me forward. My eyes scan the length of the red carpet and look for the familiar blue of his, and when they lock together, that’s where they stay.

  He looks hot enough to melt the candles.

  So young, so strong, and in that dark tux and crisp white shirt, still so him …

  His dimple keeps deepening as his smile keeps widening as I approach, and a part of me even wonders why I need to say the words when I’m already his.

  Racer

  I tug restlessly on the bow tie at my neck, and I hear Henley say, “You look fine, dude.”

  “Thanks,” I growl, impatient, my gaze glued to the church doors.

  We’re tying the knot before the start of the season next March. I couldn’t wait, and Lana didn’t want to either. But somehow these past ten minutes waiting for her up at the altar have felt about as long as waiting my whole damn life for her.

  The benches are cluttered with our family and friends, and outside, we even needed to field off some reporters, interested in my wedding since I was crowned Formula One champion.

  I could’ve swept my girl up to Vegas and got this circus over with, but I wanted to give her something she deserved—something good, and fucking memorable. Like her.

  I also selfishly wanted to watch her walk up the aisle, and so here I am. Best driver in the world, sometimes selfish motherfucker, future husband and father, chomping at the bit for his bride to tie the knot with him. Yeah, I’m definitely not used to wearing suits, and I’m simmering underneath with the urge to give her my name and call her Mrs. Tate. So every minute feels like a penance for some small or large sins I’ve done since I was kid.

  When we told my parents I’d proposed, Dad pulled me aside and told me, “I’m just going to have to ask you once because I’m your father and I care: are you certain about this?”

  “Dead certain.”

  He’d smiled, patted my shoulder and said, “Good. I can tell she deserves you, and I know sure as fuck you deserve her.”

  “Don’t blow smoke up my ass; you don’t know her well yet.”

  “I saw you two at the hospital—I didn’t need to see more.”

  The music starts ratcheting up, and when the doors of the church open and I spot Lana on her dad’s arm, I blink my eyes and open them back up. I had fantasies. Watching this girl walk up to me in a white dress, her eyes screaming that she loved me.

  Nothing fucking compares to the reality.

  Because fuck me, I never thought something so perfect, so lovely, and so damned sweet could ever be mine. Could ever lo
ve me like she does, accept me as I am, want me back.

  I run my hand over the front of my tux and hold her gaze, my insides roiling with hunger, lust, love, everything I fucking feel for this girl. Her veil is attached to the top of her head and falling down her back. She made sure not to wear it over her face; I wanted to see her face as she walked towards me, and I see her now and feel like someone just slammed the back of my knees.

  My bride’s smile is like the brightest sun on any possible galaxy out there. In her eyes is everything I need to know. Has always been there, no matter how scared, how reluctant, how much I took her by surprise.

  Our families look happy about the wedding. Maybe they’d never expected us to find each other. Hell, maybe we didn’t either. But we did. Now I’m not letting this girl go.

  I mean to watch her sweet, lovely body swell up with my kids. Have them walk up to her, call her their mother.

  I want to step out of the race track, sweaty and dehydrated, and have her always standing there to get my kiss.

  And on our off days, I want to hop into my car, ignite the engine, pull us into the road with the wind in her hair, my hand on her, a song on the stereo. The road before us, our fucking love as real as the wind, sometimes soft or slow, sometimes wet and wild, always there.

  She can crash my party at any time.

  My smile as wide as I’ve ever felt it, I step off the platform and open my hand for hers. As her father hands her over to me, he gives me a steady, admiring look. “You love her hard, boy, and know that I have never seen my daughter as happy as she is with you or as in love as she is now.”

  I nod respectfully back at him, my hand still open as Lana’s fingers slip into mine, and I grip her as tight as I can without hurting her—as tight as I plan to hold on to her, my whole damn life. We’re smiling at each other as I pull her up to my side. My wife.

  “You’re so screwed,” I rasp in her ear, a teasing tone in my voice. “I’m going to ruin you for everyone else your whole life.”

  “I’m counting on it,” she breathes as those green eyes of hers happily caress my face.