Page 50 of Start Your Engines

Senna pulls away,and I miss the contact immediately. For the past hour, I’ve been sitting here, talking and joking with everyone, but my eyes lingered on the door the entire time.

Her dress sparkles under the bar’s spotlights. I want to hold her curves while staring at her and taking in everything she is tonight. She shivers, yet I sweat under my long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Are you cold?”

She shakes her head, and her short waves swish around her face. I can’t stop staring at her bright red lips, blond waves, tight dress, and black fuck-me heels. But I also want her thoughts on the race. I must have a praise kink with her because I’ve never cared what my bosses thought before. I know when I’m good, and I drove excellently today. But I want it from her lips. I want her to say my name like it’s the best thing she’s wrapped her tongue around.

“Did you like the race?” I say, my pulse thrumming in my throat.

A group of girls rush me, and I lose Senna in the crowd.

I search for her over the heads of the women. My heart beats faster.Please don’t let her leave.I want to chat with her away from work, dance with her, and pull her body against mine.

By the time I’ve signed various women’s arms and chests, I return to our tables. She’s sitting in a corner with Antoine. I scratch my forearms under my top. I can’t get to her with the wall on one side and Antoine on the other.

I sit close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. Drivers from other teams join us, wanting my perspective on the race. They’re young and impressionable, acting first and thinking later. The passion and need to be the best burns through their eyes, especially the dark stare of the fluffy-haired Australian Billy Nister, who’s gaining a reputation for taking risks that could get him killed. I don’t miss being like that. Taking friends out without understanding the consequences leaves you lonely. Luckily, I had Niki to set me right. This guy doesn’t have a responsible team boss holding him to account.

“I swore you were going off at one point,” Luca, another driver, comments, leaving me space to tell them about the near miss at one of the corners while gesticulating wildly.

My gaze flicks to Senna, trying to read her shiny lips. She’s not smiling, but there’s no anger, either. She crosses her legs and reveals more of her thighs. My hand twitches. Her skin is creamy white, and her legs are toned from running. She sucks on a straw from her cocktail. The combination of her thigh and mouth gives me fantasies that have me shifting in my seat to hide my reaction.

Jacs and Tawny backchat the drivers at our table. I crack a joke, and Senna meets my stare as she listens to Antoine, who slides closer.

The music throbs through the club. Although my seat is padded and covered with velvet, my skin itches. Women stare at me from different booths, but it’s Senna I want to spend time with.

I could ask her to dance.

We used to dance in her kitchen when we were teenagers. She’d always tease me when I was in a lousy mood, usually because of my dad, grab my hand, and make me spin her around the kitchen while I sang. It usually stopped my grunting, except when Niki caught us and laughed. But that didn’t matter, because my singing made Senna smile, which was all I wanted.

We’d giggle when we chased a cheeky Layla, too. I want to hear that giggle.

My head is a mess of past and present. Before, I loved her like an eighteen-year-old loves his best friend, who he believes will be in his life forever. But now my feelings are more like a clock with dying batteries, sometimes moving forward and freezing. I want to take her to bed and show her how insignificant her exes are while brushing my lips against hers and making mine red with her lipstick. I want to tell her she can conquer the world and that anyone who underestimates her doesn’t deserve a second of her light while also getting on my knees and lifting that dress higher.

“What do you think?” Jacs says, staring at me.

“About?”

“We could tweak that part of the engine. It might help the speed. It’s a risk, but Tawny said other teams have tried it.”

Tawny explains in more detail, and we debate different options to improve my car’s performance. My gaze flicks to Senna, who’s now with Jimmy. He says something, and her smile lights her entire face. My chest opens up. I want to kiss that smile. I want to taste the joy on her lips.

She catches me looking and winks. My stomach bottoms out.

“I’ll speak to you in a bit,” she mouths.

My palms sweat with anticipation. I nod and lift my glass in a cheer, and she does the same.

My feet are so jittery. I need space.

Lights hit the faces of drivers celebrating the end of another race as I walk past booths. We’ve got one more race before a desperately needed summer break. I head into the quiet corridor, towards the bathrooms.

“Oi,” Antoine shouts from behind me. I instinctively hunch my shoulders. “That podium should have been mine.”

“You didn’t have the edge today. You started badly and got in my way. You were ahead of me on the grid and messed it up. I didn’t do anything to stop you from getting the podium,” I say, hands wide.

“I will fuck you up the next time we race.” Antoine steps closer, and I’m hit by the alcohol fumes wafting from him. If Senna catches us, this will ruin her night, and she deserves a great night.

I sigh loudly, checking no one is nearby. “Don’t be so ridiculous. We’re on the same team. We want to make Coulter successful.”

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