Page 22 of Revved up & Ready

“Come sit here by me,” Cam says when I meet him in the backyard. Right outside the living room’s glass slider, there’s a pergola with magenta papery bougainvillea flowers growing up the side. Underneath it is a sturdy oak patio set, and just beyond it is our bean-shaped pool. I join him on the loveseat-style rocker he’s sitting on, and he drapes his arm across its back, barely grazing my shoulders.

“That was very sneaky with the coffee,” I say, lifting my cup for another appreciative sip. “And reallygood.”

“Seemed like something a boyfriend would do.” He shrugs, but the smile on his face betrays just how pleased he is with himself.It’s kind of endearing.

I smile up at him. “It’s something agoodboyfriend would do.”

“No more bad boyfriends for you, Sadie,” he says, a slightly too big smile spreading across his face.

“We can only hope,” I say, opening my phone to show him the picture I took. “I was thinking I could post this.” Nerves about what I’m about to ask tighten my throat, but I swallow them down. “Would it be okay if I tagged you?”

“Yes, it’s okay,” he laughs, pulling me closer to him. “Ofcourseit’s okay. This is exactly the kind of shit we need to do. I’ll repost it.”

Fresh nerves flutter through me.The man has millions of followers.So far, we’re only hinting, but eventually, there should be no doubt in his followers’ minds that I’m his girlfriend.And they’ll judge everything about me. What if no one believes we’re actually dating because I don’t look like the kind of girla famous motorcycle racer would date?It’s an old thought—that I’m not pretty enough—one that I’ve worked really hard to overcome in the past year, so I don’t let it take hold. If Cam thinks we’re a believable couple, then everyone else should too.

“Look,” I whisper, pointing past the pool to the white concrete breezeblock wall that surrounds our little backyard. Boo jumps off it, landing on the smooth, gray rocks below and takes a cautious step toward us.

“Does he get close enough for you to pet him?” Cam whispers.

“He’s rubbed against my leg a few times, but any time I’ve reached for him, he’s run away,” I answer. “Maybe if we’re quiet, he’ll get closer.”

My phone buzzes with another text—this one from Jared.That was quick.My gut twists with a mix of nerves.

Jared: Are you seeing someone?

“It’s working already,” I say, reading Cam the text.

Cam’s smile is devious. “Good.”

“I’m not sure what to say back, though. Should I confirm it? We haven’t told our friends yet, but I doubt—”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Cam interrupts.

“That’ll make him really mad,” I giggle.

“Exactly. Let him believe you’re so happy with me, you can’t even be bothered to text him back,” he says, then shares details with me about the reactions to the picture he posted of us last night. People are eating it up, speculating about whether or not we’re dating.It’s not a surprise.Even though I avoided reading the comments on that post in particular, I did a deep-dive scroll on his social media last night, and as far as I can tell, he’s never posted a photo like that with a girl before.

“Let me get a picture of you now,” he says, snapping a photo of me sipping my coffee.

“Are you going to post that one, too?” I ask.

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But I need a photo for your contact in my phone.”

My response is a sigh of relief. Something about him posting a picture of me by myself makes me feel much more exposed than a picture of us together.

“Do you think he’ll get spooked if I stand up?” Cam asks, pointing at the little black cat who’s now a few feet closer to us.

“Yeah, but don’t let that stop you,” I answer. “Do you have to go somewhere?”

When Cam stands, the loveseat rocks in his wake. Boo bolts across the yard and disappears from view. “I have to get to the track,” he says.

“You have a race today?” I ask, following him into the house. My heart beats faster as I imagine him on a motorcycle.Racing a motorcycle—crashing that motorcycle.This is why I could neveractuallydate him. We’re barely even friends, and I get anxious just thinking about him on a motorcycle.

“My first race of the season isn’t until the weekend after next,” he says. “Just a training day. I’d invite you to join, but you have to work now, right?”

I huff a laugh. “I’m not going to watch you ride motorcycles.”

His dark red brows furrow. “I guess we didn’t talk about this, but if you’re gonna act like my girl, you’ll have to come to races.”

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