His smile widens and the open door is forgotten as he strides two steps back toward me and yanks my body against his. He stops a moment and stares at me, mouths a whisper apart and emotion brimming in our eyes before he crashes his lips to mine in a kiss of pure hunger and carnality. He breaks away just as suddenly as he starts it and looks at me with a smirk. “You can bet your ass that’s one checkered flag I’m definitely claiming.”
I can feel it.
That complete certainty that hits you like a fucking freight train on very few days in your life. I have it today. I feel it today. It’s in the air circling around me as my head flickers here and there through what I need to do today when I hit the track and the rubber connects. Stay clear of Mason—the fucker’s got it out for me—like I knew he had his sights on that barfly last year. It’s not like he was waving a flag or anything staking his fucking claim. Bad blood is never good on the track. Never. Stay high and tight through turns two and three. Binders light. Pedal heavy. Bring it in low on one. I keep repeating my responsibilities in my head, over and over. My way of making sure that I don’t have to think down the chute. Just react.
Today I’m taking the checkered flag, and not just those dick hardening panties that fucking Rylee has on. Sweet Christ, am I claiming that flag. But I can feel it. Everything feels right with the world, and shit, maybe I’m being a pussy but that right feeling started when I woke up with Rylee wrapped in my arms, head nuzzled under my neck, lips pressed to my skin, and heart beating against mine.
Right where she’s supposed to be.
I take a bite of another of my pre-race superstitions—a Snicker’s bar—and look up to search her out. She’s sitting quietly out of the way toward a corner, and her eyes lock with mine immediately. Her lips form that shy smile that turns me motherfucking inside out, and instead of the fear that usually snakes through my system, I feel settled. At ease. Can you say fucking pussy to the whip? But you know what? I’m okay with it because I’m pretty sure she’ll be gentle with me. Won’t crack it too hard. Well, unless I want her to.
“Wood?” I turn and look at Beckett.
Now Becks on the other hand is still going to hand my ass back to me in a hand basket once the stress of this race is over and he realizes it’s minutes before a race and I’m thinking about my fucking voodoo pussy. My fucking Rylee.
I flash a quick smile at Ry before I turn to Becks. “Yup?” I say as I stand and begin the routine of zipping up my suit.
Getting ready to race.
Getting ready to do the one thing I have always loved.
Getting ready to take that motherfucking checkered flag.
There is so much to take in. So many sights and sounds to assault and overwhelm. Hand over my heart, I stand beside Colton as the national anthem is sang on the stage at our backs. Flags wave. The breeze blows. The crowd sings. And my nerves go into overdrive for the man beside me that has transformed into an intense, introspective man as he focuses on the task at hand.
He reaches out a free hand and places it at the small of my back as the camera crew makes its way down the line of drivers standing on pit row with their crew and significant others at their sides. The fact that he’s trying to comfort me in a moment strictly about him warms my insides. I’d tried telling him that I could sit in the pit box during the anthem—that it wasn’t a big deal to me—but he refused. “I’ve got you now, sweetheart, I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he’d said. Argument won. Hands down.
Fireworks boom as the song comes to an end, and all of a sudden pit row is a flurry of activity. Crews going to work to try and make all of their hard preparation come to fruition for their driver. Men descend around Colton before I can wish him one last good luck. Ear buds are stuffed in and taped down. Velcro is fastened. Shoes are double checked to make sure nothing will interfere with the pedal. Gloves are pulled on and situated. Last minute directions are given. I allow myself to be led from the craziness and am helped over the wall by Davis.
“Rylee!” In all of the complete, organized chaos, his voice rings out. Stops me. Starts me. Completes me.
I turn around and face him in all of his suited up glory. His white balaclava is in one hand and helmet in the other. So achingly handsome. So damn sexy. And all mine.
I look at him confused since we already had our moment of privacy in the motor home. Did I do something wrong? “Yeah?”
His smile lights up. A solid figure standing still while everyone else moves in one big blur around him. His eyes hold mine, intense and clear. “I race you, Ryles,” he says in a voice that’s implacable and unwavering amidst the swirling chaos.
My heart stops. Time stands still and it feels like we’re the only two people in the world. Just a damaged boy and a selfless girl. Our eyes lock and in that exchange, words that I can’t shout out in the chaos between us are said. That after the little he explained last night, I know how horribly difficult it is for him to utter those words. That I understand he’s telling me he’s still a broken child inside, but like my boys he’s giving me his heart and trusting that I will hold it with gentle, compassionate, and understanding hands.
“I race you too, Colton.” I mouth to him. Despite the noise, I know he hears what I’ve said for a shy smile graces his lips, and he shakes his head like he’s trying to understand all of this too. Beckett calls his name and he gives me one last glance before his face transforms into work mode. And I can’t help but just stand there and watch him. Love swells, overwhelms, and heals my heart that I once thought was irreparable. Fills me with happiness over the man that I can’t tear my eyes away from him.