Page 29 of Formula Fling

“Do you ever get scared?” Posey asks, her voice almost hesitant, as if she’s not sure she wants to hear the answer.

I glance away for a moment, considering a question that has never been asked of me.

Not once in my career.

“Yeah, I do. Every time I get in the car, there’s this small knot of fear. But I think that’s healthy. It keeps you sharp, makes you respect the danger. The minute you stop feeling that fear, that’s when you do something stupid.”

Posey is silent for a moment, processing my words. Then she looks up at me, her eyes soft. “I was terrified when I published my first book,” she admits quietly. “I mean… not the same thing as driving a race car, but I was putting my work out there… it felt like I was baring a piece of my soul to the world. My fear was of rejection and ridicule. I still feel it every time I release a book.”

I nod, understanding more than I expected to. “I’d call that brave. It takes guts to put yourself out there like that.”

A soft smile spreads across her lips, and for a moment, we just stand there, the noise of the supermarket fading into the background as we share a quiet understanding.

Two radically different careers, but both of us operating with fear and courage—her work as an author demands no less than what’s required of me to race cars.

We continue on to the next aisle and as we turn the corner, three young women approach us, all with wide eyes and eager smiles. It’s clear they recognize me, and I brace for the usual routine.

“Lex!” one of them squeals, holding up her phone. “Can we get a picture with you? And maybe an autograph?”

The other two chime in, their eyes raking over me with the kind of admiration that’s both flattering and exhausting. They don’t even glance at Posey.

“Of course,” I say, plastering on my media-friendly smile as I sign one of the women’s grocery receipts and pose for a fewquick selfies. One of the girls, a blond with a coy smile, steps a little closer.

“I’d absolutely kill myself with regret if I didn’t ask,” she says, her voice dripping with suggestion. “What are you doing tonight? Maybe we could meet up?”

I see Posey shift uncomfortably out of the corner of my eye, and something inside me stretches taut, thrumming with irritation.

I reach over, taking Posey’s hand and pulling her close, letting the weight of her presence ground me. “Sorry, ladies,” I say smoothly, giving them a small, apologetic smile. “I’ve got plans tonight.”

The three women are clearly disappointed, their eyes narrowing slightly as they finally take in Posey standing beside me. With a few murmured goodbyes, they walk off, casting doleful glances over their shoulders.

As soon as they’re out of sight, Posey jerks her hand away, looking at me with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “What was that?”

I shrug, a bit sheepish. “Sometimes the attention gets to be too much. You’re the one who pointed out to me it’s the same thing over and over again. They’re not interested in who I am, just the idea of me. It’s… exhausting.”

Posey’s expression softens slightly, but there’s still a hint of wariness in her eyes. “And you think pretending I’m your girlfriend is the solution?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, but it was the easiest way to get them to back off. Besides… you don’t act like that around me, which makes you… different.”

Her eyes flare with surprise, as if that’s the highest compliment she’s ever been given and if that’s the case, it makes me sad. But almost as quick as the shock registered, she waves itoff with a nervous laugh. “Better be careful, Lex. You might fall in love with me.”

It’s a ridiculous statement meant in jest, but there’s a flicker of something more intriguing underneath. “I don’t know about that.” I lift my arms, completely out of my depth. “I’m not really sure what that means.”

Posey shrugs. “Not sure I do either. I write fiction after all.”

She snickers and I can’t help but laugh. A partying bad boy race car driver and a romance author who’s not sure what love is? What an oddball pair we’d make.

♦

The Airbnb isa charming little house near Goldsworth Park Lake, with a path that leads down to the water. The house is cozy, with warm wooden floors, soft rugs and tasteful décor that makes it feel like a home rather than a rental. The living room is furnished with a comfortable sofa and armchairs, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a large window that looks out onto the garden.

Posey and I move through the house, choosing our bedrooms—hers at the back with a view of the lake, mine at the front with a view of the street. We unpack the groceries in the kitchen, a small but well-equipped space with gleaming countertops and stainless steel appliances. There’s an easy rhythm to our movements, like we’ve done this a hundred times before, even though it’s only our first day living together.

After everything is put away, we decide to walk down to the lake. It’s cold outside, not untypical of late February. The sky is gray with the hint of rain in the air, but Posey is bundled in her green parka and determined to trudge a muddy path to the water.

All the trees are barren of their leaves except for the occasional holly bushes along the way. I find it dreary, but Posey points out a patch of snowdrops—whatever those are—pushing up through the cold earth. It seems to delight her and she turns to me with twinkling eyes. “Nothing more exciting than the first signs of spring.”

A gnarled tree sits near the shore with a wooden bench built around the entire base. No one else is out here because… well, it’s cold. We sit on the side facing the water, a tiny current rustling over the top from a chilled breeze. It’s the sort of environment a girl may snuggle into a guy, but Posey keeps a few inches between us, blowing into her hands to warm them up. I itch to take them in my own but ignore the impulses. They’re completely antithetical to the type of man I am, and I can only chalk it up to the general pleasure of being around someone who fascinates me so much.

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