I’m running my fingers through my hair, getting the tangles out, when I see Carrick watching me.
The heat in his eyes is discernable, but I play it off.
“You’ve never seen a girl do her hair before?” I say with a tilt of my lips.
“I’ve never seen you do your hair before. And I’ve never seen it down either. Looks nice.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks flush. “But it’s not staying down.” I start to quickly plait it. When I’m done, I fasten the band at the end.
Carrick is still watching me.
And the way he’s looking at me is making me want things I really can’t have.
I pull my fireproof balaclava on, covering my face. “You getting yours on? Or are you delaying ’cause you’re worried I’m gonna beat you?”
He grins widely. “Prepare to get your arse kicked, Amaro.”
I love winding him up about this. Seriously, there is no way I’m going to beat Carrick out here, but it’s fun making him think that I think I can.
I’m not a bad racer, but I’m definitely no champion like him.
Carrick pulls his balaclava on, covering his gorgeous face, and then he brings his helmet down over his head, keeping his visor up. He puts his gloves on.
I pull my own helmet on and then my gloves.
“Ready?” He jerks his head in the direction of the karts.
“Yep.”
We walk over to the karts, and an idea strikes me. Carrick never lets anyone pay for anything, and I’m guaranteed to lose. So, I’m thinking a bet is in order, and I know he won’t be able to turn it down because he’s too competitive.
“I think we should bet on this race.”
He turns his face to me, so I can see his eyes through his still open visor.
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“Yep.”
“All right. What are the terms?”
“Loser buys dinner.”
He pauses for a minute. “Deal.”
He puts his gloved hand out to me, and I shake it.
Smiling to myself, I snap my visor down and climb in my kart.
Carrick gets in his beside me.
The marshal stands at the side of the track, green flag in hand.
We’re on for fifteen minutes. Looking at probably less than a minute a lap, it’s going to be about fifteen laps.
He holds out three fingers, indicating his countdown.
Three…
Two…
I rev my engine.
One.
Flag goes down, and we’re off, zooming and building speed down the track.
Carrick is ahead of me but not as far as he should be, and I know he’s holding back for me.
I should take it as a nice thing, but I’m competitive by nature, and it just pisses me off. I don’t need sympathy.
We’re racing around, but Carrick isn’t putting too much distance between us. He’s either trying to wind me up or be kind.
Well, whatever it is, it’s bugging the hell out of me.
My killer instinct kicks in, and I now have to win this race no matter what.
When I eventually see the marshal on the track, he’s showing the white flag, telling us we’re on our last lap, and I already know what I’m going to do.
I’m going to win, no matter what.
Carrick is still just ahead of me, and I know he’s just waiting until the last corner to get through, and then he’ll fly off and cross the finish line.
Yeah, not going to happen, buddy.
We approach the final corner.
I see my opportunity coming up. We’re down at forty kilometers per hour to take the corner, so I take advantage. Instead of slowing further to take it like Carrick is, I keep speed and clip the back end of his kart, spinning him off the track and onto the dirt.
Ha!
Glancing back to check that he’s okay, I see his kart on the dirt, and Carrick’s head is turned my way. I don’t have to see his face to know he’s pissed.
Laughing to myself, I slam my foot on the pedal and zip over the finish line.
The checkered flag comes down, and I win.
Winner!
Grinning to myself, I drive my kart over to the pit. Stopping, I climb out and pull my helmet and balaclava off.
Seeing Carrick driving in toward me, I start dancing around, doing a little victory dance.
Carrick slams on the brakes, parking the kart behind mine.
He climbs out, yanking his helmet and balaclava off. He’s scowling.
Oh, he’s mad!
That only makes my smile wider, and keeps me dancing.
“I can’t believe you just did that!” he exclaims.
“Did what?” I play dumb.
“Knocked me off the track! You fucking cheated!”
Stopping my winner’s dance, I place my hands on my hips. “I did not cheat. I won.”
“By cheating!” He throws his hands up.
“Oh, someone’s a bad loser. Well, if you hadn’t been doing the pity drive, you might have thought of the move yourself and won. You’re just mad ’cause I got there first! A strategic move is not cheating, Carrick.”
He growls, which only sets me off laughing.
“I beat the great Carrick Ryan, and he can’t take it!” I sing.
He gives me an exasperated look, a hand tugging on his hair. “You didn’t win because you fucking cheated!”
“Winner! Winner! Andi’s the winner!” I chant. Lifting my hands in the air, I move my body around like I’m doing a cheer.
“Cheater!”
“Sore loser!”
I’m laughing so hard now that I have to bend over to catch my breath. I currently have tears in my eyes. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard. But I do remember the last time I did laugh, and it was with him.