Page 69 of Start Your Engines

She pulls her headphones out of her bag and walks back. As she reaches me, she cups my face. My breath catches. I’m like some giddy teenager desperate for his crush to kiss him rather than a man who’s usually in control.

She flips her headphones from the box and slides them into my ears. Her fingers brush my neck, and I hold in a gasp that threatens to reveal I’m not just a cocky guy giving charm to his friend. Her sweet scent of orange blossom lingers on my skin as she grabs her phone from her back pocket. Her eyelashes flutter, and she bites her lip as she scrolls through her music account. I swallow loudly, the sound like a blast of noise with the headphones stuck in my ears. “Here we go.”

Her big hazel eyes focus on mine as I listen to the first beats of the song. I can’t figure out what she’s mouthing, so I try to remove the earbuds, but she holds her hands against mine to keep them in.

“Just listen,” she mouths. It’s nearly impossible to focus on the music. She hasn’t dropped her hands, and her heat penetrates my skin, filling my veins with her. She strokes her thumbs behind my ears.

“Close your eyes,” she mouths. Half of me wants to keep my eyes open so I can drown in the intensity of her stare, the amber swirling in her eyes, and her tongue edging across her bottom lip. But if I’m going to listen to it, I need to have a view that is much less sensory than her beauty.

I close my eyes as the rhythm builds. There are violins and an Irish melody I don’t recognise. The power continues to take hold, and it’s frantic and consuming.

It’s like a revelation and everything I’ve needed. Like she’s everything I’ve needed. I can imagine listening to this song before a race. The punch of the rhythm gives me power and presence and makes me want to act, destroy, and control, too.

I wish her hands were against me in the build-up to a race. That would give me power. With her, I’d take on the world, every driver, bastard, and anyone else who gets in my way. I shake my head, and goosebumps smatter across my skin.

The song ebbs and fades, and Senna’s hands disappear. I miss her touch instantly. I remove the earbuds.

“Not it? I can try others.”

“It was perfect,” I say, my voice gruff.

Her smile and puffed-up chest warm my heart. She flips the phone to the speaker and puts it on the counter beside us. The song plays again.

“I knew it. It played in a bar I hung out in years ago, and I immediately thought of you. It has your energy and a melody that refuses to leave the body.”

“You thought of me in the past?” We haven’t talked about those years where we didn’t speak. She wasn’t in my life until she worked in the comms department, and then she avoided me. I didn’t think I existed to her.

Her eyes widen as if she’s revealed more than she intended. “Oh, well, sometimes. Usually, it was thoughts of hate,” she says with a stunted laugh.

“Usually? So there were other thoughts, too?”

I’m not letting this conversation go away. I’ve let too much get away from me. This thing between us is coming to a head.

The song moves through the chorus and is as unrelenting as she is. She’s always been this way, pressing and pushing in my heart. The intensity makes me straighten my back, and my shoulders rise.

“Yes.” She dips her head, and I tuck my finger under her chin and lift it. Our eyes meet.

“And what were those thoughts, Coults?” The danger of the moment has me fisting my other hand so she’s oblivious to my tremble. This feels more significant and adrenaline-filled than any race and podium win.

“I missed you. I missed my friend who made me laugh and filled my days with hope and joy I didn’t believe I’d experience again.”

She didn’t always hate me.

She holds my stare. “Did you ever think of me?”

I take a breath and laugh awkwardly.

“Never mind.” She pulls away, but I reach for her hand to draw her back.

I cup her face like she cupped mine. “You wonder if I ever thought of you. Every. Fucking. Day. Some days, you were all I thought about. There was a space in my heart that was all you, and nothing else filled it.”

As I talk, new colours join the amber in her hazel eyes. I’m mesmerised by the blue flecks. She’s so fucking beautiful.

“There would be days when I got through Senna-free hours, but there were also days when each breath I took was infused with you. I woke most mornings curious about what you were doing or wishing I could see you and explain. I caught a joke and wanted to tell you it or I’d read something about racing and question if you’d heard the same story. When I visited yourbrother, I wanted to ask him about you and ensure you were okay, but I didn’t cross that line. I kept it inside, although it ate at me. I tried to hate you, but even when I did, I was lying to myself.”

She studies my eyes, leaning into my hands as if she can’t let herself believe me. “I wanted to ask him about you, too. I should’ve been able to cut you out of my heart as I cut you out of my life, but you’ve always been there, filling my dreams and reminding me of the happy times. We were close, weren’t we?”

The song nears its crescendo, giving me the energy and presence I need to drive. Only now, it allows me to share my truth.

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