task for you,” he says. “There’s a new racer I want to test out. The car over there.” He gestures with his chin to the other driver who’s just pulled up. “I want you to do one lap. Let’s see how you both fare.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
He offers a grin and nods before heading back into the pit. I can’t see anything in the other car, so I have no idea how young this guy is, but I’m going to make him eat my fucking dust. Once the sound goes, I put my foot down and speed away, but my competition is hot on my heels.
I gear up when I need to, taking the turns, but this guy is good because when I take the corner on the inside, he takes it on the out and overtakes me easily. I’ve never lost. That word doesn’t fit into my vocabulary. But right now, it looks like I’m going to come in second.
And that’s not going to fly.
I work the car, but the asshole is taking the corners and bends like a pro, not allowing me to pass. It’s something I learned early on in my racing career—if you can stop your competition from passing you, overtaking you, then you do it. No matter what.
I’ve done it a few times when I needed to, but the more I’m pushed back, the more frustration burns in my veins. After this morning’s phone call, and now it seems Colton is testing me, I can’t stop the irritation from taking hold.
He said this is a new driver, but whoever it is, rides like someone who knows what they’re doing. There are a few mishaps here and there, especially with the last S-bend, but other than that, the race is clean, easy even.
After we come into the pits and the engines die off, leaving us in silence, I’m out of the car, pulling off the helmet and making my way to the new racer who’s slowly getting out of the car.
“What the fuck was that, man?” I ask, and he must know what the fuck I’m talking about because he did cut me off, swerve around so I couldn’t overtake. And it makes me angry, even though I can’t spot him for being wrong.
But the moment the new driver pulls off the helmet, breath is knocked from my lungs. It’s not a man at fucking all. It’s a chick. It’s her. Long, brown curls fall to the middle of her back, and when she turns around, my dick jolts at the sight of her dark eyes and those plump, pouty lips. They were made for one thing only, and that’s sucking me off.
“What the fuck?” I can no longer explain why I’m angry. I can’t deny this initial attraction that’s lured me to her. Last night when I laid my eyes on her, I wanted her, but now that I see her in those racing overalls, I want to rip them off and pound her into submission.
The happiness in her expression falls when she looks at me. “Hi, I’m Haelee,” she greets with a shyness that has my body—head to toe—rigid with need. If I didn’t think she was fuckable yesterday, I most certainly fucking do now.
“A girl?” I bite out, lifting my gaze to Colton, who’s grinning. The asshole set me up. I want to laugh because, in actual effect, it’s funny as hell and something I would do, but right now, I’m in a foul mood.
“She’s good.” He steps up to us, holding out his hand, and I begrudgingly shake it. He knew what he was doing, and he knew the car she’s in has more force than the one I had taken that morning.
If it was done on purpose, I don’t know, but she’s lucky. That’s all it is. I turn to her. “Don’t get too confident. That was a fluke. Girls don’t race. They’re the sexy ones who walk around in skimpy outfits for us to gawk at,” I insult before turning on my heel and leaving the garage.
Colton is hot on my heels. I can feel the amusement emanating from him. “You know, it is the twenty-first century,” he remarks. “I’m thinking of signing her.” His words have me halting my retreat. “I don’t want you to be angry, but I think she’d be a good addition to the team.”
“I’m not angry. I had a call from the board at my father’s company this morning. I took my frustration out