Page 19 of Start Your Engines

The last days have shown they can behave and stay out of each other’s way, but as soon as they’re together, they are a pair of fireworks I have to throw water on.

“Dane, just fucking stop,” I shout.

Connor’s head whips around, and he stares at me. “Did you hear him? I didn’t?—”

I hold my hand up, and his eyes widen. My lips quirk briefly. I shouldn’t enjoy getting a reaction out of him this much. I should be calming him down.

“Antoine, I don’t want you winking at me, attempting your charm on me, rewriting history, or generally willy wanging around this place. You don’t own this team. I own you. Get that?”

He cocks his head, and his eyebrows furrow. “What is this willy wanging?”

It’s typical that all he hears is the phrase involving a man’s appendage. “It’s…” I throw my hands in the air. “It means walking around this place like you have an eight-inch dick.”

“But I do have an eight-inch dick, ma belle.” He winks at me. “I can prove?—”

Connor grabs him by the collar of his racing suit and picks him off the floor.

“Dane, stop!” I shout. “Antoine, get out and go to press.”

Connor drops Antoine, and Antoine walks out. I stare at the biceps rippling beneath Connor’s driving suit rather than the alleged big dick in the Frenchman’s pants.

“You need to stop fighting, Dane. I can’t have this garage erupting because you two have too much testosterone, or you’re fighting over some model, or because you’re in some competition on who has got the biggest dick.”

He raises his eyebrow at me. His lips are tight.

I need to calm his after-race adrenaline because it’s doing neither of us a favour. In every interaction between us since he returned into my life, my anger has slid right off him. Maybe I can make him laugh like I did in the race.

“We can establish Antoine has a huge dick,” I say.

“Hold off on that opinion until you see mine,” he snaps. Okay, I guess it’s not the time for jokes. His eyes narrow. “Andstop having a go at me when it’s his behaviour that’s out of line. The guy is a problem, and he treats you like you’re here to service him. You’re his boss.”

My skin flushes with anger. “I’m well aware of what he’s like, but I’m handling it.”

Dane walks closer to me, and I swallow. He pushes a hand through his soft black hair. My hands tremble, and I sweep my tongue over my lower lip. My stomach flutters, and a silent thrill crackles around my body. I can’t work out what’s a remnant of my past crush and what’s my current anger.

“I’m protecting you, Senna,” he says between gritted teeth.

I step back, and my voice pitches. “Protecting me? Are you for real?”

“Stop rubbing your scar,” he growls, his stare on my thumb rubbing the line from the operation on my hand.

His words slap me like the wind when I’m racing down the motorway with my windows open. I didn’t know I was doing it.

“You can’t pretend you’re my knight in shining armour now when you’re the one who did this just so you could win.”

He closes on me. “You don’t know the truth,” he snarls. “Others are to blame. I tried to protect you that day.”

“What, by hitting me so I’d crash? I know the truth about that day because others told me while I was lying in the hospital. The people who cared about me, people like Antoine, came to see me as soon as they could. They said you’d try to blame others.”

He steps back, colliding with my desk.

Memories of him storming out of my bedroom weeks after I’d been brought home, when he wouldn’t say sorry but was adamant I had to listen to him about the race, are like boots on my chest. He steps close enough for me to smell the mixture of his sweat and woody lavender scent. I smelt that in the corridor after my call with Niki. He must be acting like this because he heard me crying.

Great. Another man in my life who’s decided I’m incapable and must protect me rather than support me. I squeeze my eyes to stop the tears threatening to burst free. I will not cry in front of him again.

“If you really want to protect me, then leave me alone and stop fighting with Antoine. Drive the way you’re capable of, and then maybe, you can stop being the man I can’t bear to be around because he ruined my life. Can you do that?”

Instead of answering, he walks away, and I swear I hear the word “crasher.” It’s the nickname other drivers have called me—a name to humiliate me.

---