Racer

Lana

I try to calm down for a few minutes, alone in my room, trying to gather my thoughts, but my heart still won’t stop feeling heavy and crazy in my chest. My hands are shaking, and even my legs are quivering from the fright. I pull out my phone and I send Racer a text.

I just want to know he’s okay. That he’s aware of his mistake and will be more careful.

But what I REALLY want is maybe for him to promise me that I will never in my life have to see him flip like that again.

Can you talk?

R.T.: Downstairs at the bar

You don’t drink … I text, frowning.

He sends me an image of an empty tequila shot.

My frown deepens, and I head back downstairs, trying to calm my racing heart, but I think I might need a little sugar for the scare. My brain keeps replaying as Kelsey flipped in the air, and all I could think of was Racer.

His dimple.

His playful blue eyes.

And wanting to die.

I spot him at the bar, nursing his drink, and my stomach shudders uncontrollably. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared at the track. It’s always frightening to see an accident … but today, the guy in the accident was …

HIM.

My knees quake as I take the seat next to his.

His body heat envelops me. He looks about as sturdy as stone, like nobody can hurt him. And suddenly I can’t bear to think of what I’d do if he got hurt.

His hand runs across his jaw as he shakes his head in frustration and eyes me. “I am not feeling quite right, right now, Lana. And I don’t want to say shit to hurt you, and I’m mad at myself.” His eyes are a stormy dark blue that take my breath away. “I don’t want you to hate me. You fucking get that?” That restless little muscle tics in the back of his jaw again. “So leave. Now.”

“I don’t want to,” I croak. “What’s wrong?”

I don’t reach out to touch him; I can sense the energy simmering, just beneath the surface of his clothes. But I sit here, beside him, feeling my own body sort of feel unsettled because his is. Because he is.

“What is it that you’re hiding?” I ask him. “Your physical came out great. You’re in top shape. You’re a serious athlete. You eat right, you pay attention to what goes into your body, you’re disciplined. I’ve never had a driver with your dedication to health.”

“Not everything can be measured in tests … not everything is static. Situations change. In the blink of an eye, they change.”

“What’s changed?”

He clenches his jaw, shakes his head. “Nothing. But I don’t want it to. I fucked up. I’m fucking sorry.” He squeezes his jaw really tight. “I don’t know why I … I wanted to slam Clark into the wall. I’ve never been jealous before.”

“Jealous over what?”

“You.”

I’m still trembling from the scare he gave me. “Clark is an asshole.”

“He wants what’s mine!” he growls.

“I’m not … Racer. Goddammit! What the fuck. Were you concentrating at all? You flipped and could have fucking died. What were you thinking?!”

“Your pussy.” His eyes flash darkly. “Your sweet wet pussy craving me and only me, taking me and only me.” He looks a little wild as he grabs my elbow, tugging me close until our foreheads touch and our eyes are locked. “Tell me you want me, all of me.”

My throat closes as he lifts his eyes from my mouth to mine, and they look dark and tortured.

“I was scared, you jerk.” I punch his arm, a little harder than I expected, not that it has any effect at all. “Don’t do that again. I was fucking scared!”

His eyes widen in shock, and I realize my voice sounds uneven and that I’m not really stable myself. He’s right, I should leave, so I whip up to my feet and start walking away toward the elevator.

He comes up behind me, following me into the elevator like a black storm.

“What the fuck?! You think I wanted to screw up?” he demands, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to turn.

I clench my lips together, my eyes watering.

“I don’t want to care about you! I’m already losing my dad, day by day, I already lost the only boy I ever loved, and I don’t want to lose you. You fucking asshole!” I punch him, and he grabs my wrist to stop me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he rasps, his eyes vivid with emotion.

I swallow the lump in my throat and when the doors open, I wiggle my wrist free and hurry towards my room, afraid I’m going to cry.

He plants an arm around me and cages me against my door, breathing in the back of my ear, “Turn around and look at me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m the best driver in the world, remember.”

“No you’re not.” I swallow and open the door, walk inside and avoid turning to look at him, but he walks in behind me, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Yes I am. Best kisser, too.” He grabs me up in his arms, turns me around, and lifts me, and suddenly everything I feel is unleashed in the kiss he gives me and that I give him back. He fucks my tongue almost as if our lives depend on it, and he squeezes my ass as my mouth attacks his in return, my nails in his scalp as we devour each other.

He thrusts me against the door.

I claw my nails down his arms and tug at his shirt, suddenly not wanting this shirt, not wanting anything between us, nothing to keep me from tasting him, feeling him.

I’ve got his shirt halfway over his dark head when he helps me by yanking it up with one fist. His hair stands up on end as he tosses it aside and dives back for my mouth, stealing his hands under my top. I shudder when his fingers make contact with my skin, and I make a soft sound against his mouth, like a moan.