Page 23 of Revved up & Ready

“Come on,” I laugh, trying to hide the nerves in my voice. “Noteveryone’sgirlfriend comes to their races.”

“I guess they don’talwayscome,” he says. “But races are the best. You’ll miss out on everything if you never come.”

“Nothing about a motorcycle race sounds appealing,” I say, shuddering my shoulders in an effort to physically shake off the mental images of bloody asphalt.It’s been twelve years since my crash, but the memories have never left me.“Actually, I’d say it sounds like the opposite of fun.”

Cam tilts his head—like he’s trying to wrap his mind around the concept of someone not wanting to watch a motorcycle race.

“It’s just not my thing,” I offer, doing my best to laugh it off. The last thing I want to do is unload my trauma on him right now.

Brow still furrowed, he grabs a leather jacket off of a hook by the door. “Most races are out of state—so if you can’t travel for those—that’s normal.” He sighs, disappointment pulling his lips down. “But it’ll be a pretty tough sell if you’reneverthere.”

He’s not even a little bit wrong.How inconvenient.

He searches my face. “Maybe if you explained your aversion, I could—”

“No, you’re right,” I wave my hand in an unconvincing display of nonchalance. “I should be there as often as I can. I’ll be—” I shake my head, rephrasing, “It’ll be fine.”

He laughs, but it’s mirthless. “That’sobviouslybullshit. Why don’t you just tell me why you don’t want to go?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” I answer.

He slides his arms into the jacket. “You don’t have to explain yourself, but all of this will be a hell of a lot easier if you talk to me.”

I bite my lip while trying to force a smile.I probably look unhinged.“All good.”

“Little liar,” he laughs for real this time, but settles quickly. “This thing we’re doing won’t work if you don’t trust me. I hope you tell me eventually.”

Again, he makes an extremely valid point. So inconvenient.Still, I don’t agree—at least not verbally.

He pulls me in for a hug, surrounding me with the warmth from his chest and the rich smell of leather. “It’ll be fine, whatever it is.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I joke, clearly unable to mask my concern.

He gives me ayou’re-not-fooling-anybodylook, and says, “First race of the season is next Sunday. It’s only a two-hour drive from here. It’ll be the easiest one for you to get to. Will you consider it?”

“Sure,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.

He opens the door to the garage, giving me a broad smile before he leaves. “See you later, Sadie Winslow.”

“Have fun today. Don’t crash,” I respond.

“Woah.” His mouth drops open, and he steps back into the entryway, shutting the garage door behind him. “You cannot say shit like that to me.”

“Why not?” I ask. “I don’t want you to crash.”

He flinches, pulling his mouth back in a grimace.

“Isn’t it a good thing that I want you to be safe?” I point out.

“I’d be pretty fucking concerned if you were hoping I get hurt,” he says, running both of his hands back through the sides of his hair. “Believe me when I tell you I am aware of the risks. I know how dangerous this is. I’vebeenhurt. I’ve seen other racers hurt.” He takes a step closer to me. “Iamcareful. I’m not fucking around out there. But when you saydon’t crash,” he whispers the words, like he doesn’t want the race gods to hear him, “all I hear iscrash,” again the word is whispered, “and it’ll get stuck in my head. I can’t be thinking about that while I’m out there.”

“But I don’t want you tocrash,” I whisper the word this time, too.

“Which I appreciate.” He looks up to the side as tattooed fingers tousle his deep copper hair again. “How about this? Think of it kind of like how you don’t tell a performer good luck before a show.”

“So—break a leg?” I sputter a laugh. “That cannot possibly be better.”

“It’s absolutely not,” he laughs. “Have funwas great. That’s always a good one. If it’s a race day, you can tell me to make sure I win, kick some ass.”

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