Page 28 of Revved up & Ready

90s alt-rock blasts through the sounds of engine revs, signaling we’ve made it to the correct pit. Allie runs to Luke, who’s already been here for hours. Cam’s nowhere to be found, so I set the cookies down on a folding table behind a stack of tires and try not to look as awkward as I feel.

The pits are areas designated for each racer and their teams, where they keep bikes, tires, and gear. They’re lined up next to the track in a row of colorful tent shades, each coordinated with the racer it represents. A low concrete wall—like the ones you see along some freeways—is the only thing separating the pits from the track.

Some pits are three or four times the size of others, with Cam’s being on the smaller side. His team seems smaller too, consisting of Luke, two guys I don’t recognize, Allie, and me.

“There she is,” I hear Cam’s voice just as I feel him behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist and kissing the top of my head.

My heart flutters. We probably should’ve talked about how to handle today. Are we telling Allie and Luke? Was the photo of me he posted last night too obvious? Why else would he post a photo of just me? It’s probably time to tell them anyway—

Keeping my back flush to his chest, his arm loosely draped around me, he says, “She’s the one I’ve been telling you about.”

A tall, athletic, dark-haired woman I hadn’t even noticed standing beside us reaches her hand out. “Shane Hart. Thrilled to finally meet you.”Finally?We only just starteddatingtwoweeks ago. “If Hack sucks it up out there, you can always cheer for me instead.”

Cam’s chest shakes against my back with laughter. “We want me in first and her second,” he says against my head. “Kid’s a wonder. Spent about ten minutes in the 600s before she moved up to superbikes.”

“Kid? I’m not that young,” Shane says, smiling warmly at me. “Twenty-two.”

Twenty-two. Feels like a lifetime ago. At her age, I was graduating college and moving in with Jared.Ugh, Jared.Will there ever be a day when he isn’t a part of every memory I recall?

Shane heads back to her tent, which turns out to be the red and white one next to ours with the number forty-seven proudly displayed at the front.

Cam stays close to me, always having a hand on my waist, arm, or shoulder as he shows me around his pit—a proud smile on his face—and introduces me to his team. Rick—a friend who races 600s—is acting as a coach, and Beau—a quiet guy who looks about Shane’s age—is here as a second mechanic.

Two identical bikes sit on stands in the middle of the space. Three helmets are lined up on the side next to a spare suit. Everything has a backup.How many times is he planning to crash?

His brow furrows as he comes over to the massive stack of tires and picks up the container of cookies. “What’s this?” he asks, opening the top.

“I’m sorry. I just thought it would be nice—”

He cuts me off. “Are you trying toapologizefor baking me cookies?”

“I don’t know the etiquette,” I shrug.

He pulls out a rectangular sugar cookie with flood-decorated frosting on top. The design is black and whitecheckers—like a finishing flag—with the number207in yellow across the top. The cookie looks better than I thought it would, although the black is a lot grayer than I intended.

“The etiquette can fuck right off if it says you’re not allowed to bring these to the track,” he says, eating half the cookie in one bite. “Have youhadthese?”

I sputter a laugh. “Honestly, no.”

Knowing a good night’s sleep before watching Cam’s race wasn’t an option, I decided to try flood-decorating cookies to pass the time. I knew it wouldn’t beeasy, but I figured I’d pick it up quickly.I did not. There are three dozen poorly decorated rejects in the fridge at home.

He holds one out to me, the designRace Nakedin black and yellow frosting.There are only four of those. Lettering is hard.

“Let’s save this one,” I say, switching it out for a checkered flag cookie.

“Shane!” he yells to the tent next door as he leads me over to his friend with an arm slung around my waist. “You’ve got to see this.” He tilts the container toward her. “My girl made these cookies for me.”

My girl.My heart flutters again, but I have to keep myself in check.He doesn’t mean it. It’s not real. And I don’twantit to be real.

“Damn, look at these,” Shane says, grabbing a cookie with a black track around the edge and207in the middle. “For next time, my number’s forty-seven, and those are my colors.” She points at the red and white tent above her as she takes a bite. “I didn’t believe him when he said he just moved in with his gorgeous girlfriend,” Shane says, shaking her head.

Girlfriend?Evidently, Cam’s done playing it close to the chest.

“Why not?” I ask.

“Cause Hack doesn’t really commit.” She looks back and forth between my fakeboyfriendand me. “Or, he didn’t.”

“Exactly,” Cam says, squeezing my hand. “I didn’t until I found her.”

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