Page 109 of Start Your Engines

“Dad,” I say gently, “I love this life. Yes, it’s hard, and the strain sometimes gets to me. But I have Connor now. I have what I want.” My dad, the guy who used to hold me on his shoulders as I waved my trophies in the air, the man I worshipped and wanted to achieve for seems less powerful—I don’t need his pride anymore. I need his acceptance.

“But you should have more. You should know that I’m still talking to that buyer. If you can’t walk away, I must make you.”

“You promised me that if we came sixth, you wouldn’t.”

“It’s in your best interests.”

Tears collect in my eyes, but I refuse to back down. “We’re still going to be sixth, and we’ll do it as a team because we can. And I will continue to work in racing because I can.”

“Senna, I love you.”

“I love you, too. But right now, I’m not sure if I like you. Goodbye, Dad. Look after yourself.”

“Vegas, baby!” Connor shouts as he swaggers around the garage.

I watch the screens with Jacs and Macca, although my attention occasionally drifts to Connor making finger guns at the team. In one day, he’s obliterated all the anxiety left over from my conversation with my dad. I will find a way to change Dad’s mind. I must. “Stop putting us off. We’re determining if we’re changing pit strategy for the race.”

“Who cares? It’s Vegas, baby.”

He dances across the garage, persuading the crew to join him. I shake my head and squeeze my lips tight to hide my grin.

“I know. You’ve shouted that for the last four days we’ve been here.” And I loved it every time except when he shouted it in my ear while I attempted to sleep on the plane.

He wears his racing suit on his bottom half with the top half hanging down. He’s delectable in his white long-sleeved T-shirt under the suit. I want to run over and kiss him, but we’re attempting professionalism when we’re at work, except the two times we’ve had sex in my office and the other time in the garage. But aside from that, complete professionalism.

He winks at me as if he knows what I’m thinking as he spins. Tawny runs to his side and performs some kind of body popping. He high-fives her as if they’re wrestling teammates, and he’s tapping her in. He strides to me. My toes curl and my stomach flops.

I couldn’t want him more.

So far, it’s not damaged my ability to run the team. We removed the upgrades for the last race, and it paid off, because Connor and Tawny were P4 and P5. We’re on the cusp of sixth in the championship, but it would take another podium and a win.

“Dane, I need to ask you about positions.” His eyebrows jump, and I turn away and cover my mouth to keep the laughter at bay. “Positions for the race,” I add gruffly.

My whole body will explode at his proximity if I look at him.

“Yes, boss,” he says. I’d place bets he’s wearing the smuggest smile. “What have I got to do to get us top six by the end of the season? With this race and the last one in Abu Dhabi next week, we can do it.”

He’s repeating what I said in bed the other morning before we left for the States. He’s such a cocky bellend.

“My thoughts exactly,” I say with a side-eye. His grin is disarming. “But it will take another two podiums. As much as I believe in you, we can’t do it.”

“There’s no ‘I’ in can’t.”

Jacs giggles as Connor showboats. This is the Connor of years earlier, who didn’t get scared about driving and slept before races. I know he sleeps now because of our overnight video calls. We take it in turn to have cuddly toy Coults, too, so it always smells of both of us.

“Connor with sleep is terrifying. I preferred you when you were an insomniac,” Macca jokes.

“Me too,” Jacs replies. “Although I reckon Connor with sleep can get on the podium.”

“At least one of you believes in me,” Connor adds.

I swivel in my chair and stare at him. He raises an eyebrow as I prepare my contrition. My fingers tap my best lap time tattoo. “Ignore me. I’m being negative. You can do this, and you’ve got the team’s full support behind you.”

“Do you believe in me, boss?”

A smile tickles my lips, but I remain stoic. “Yes, Dane. You can do it.”

He tips his shoulders and rejoins the dancing. Tawny executes a perfect worm move on the dirty garage floor.

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