Page 8 of Fast

Heather’s gaze is full of sympathy. “Maybe you can talk and fix things with him later.”

“No, we’re over.” Her tone is determined, her head held high. “If a man even hints at hitting you, you walk away and never look back.”

Fuck.

Zara is pretty. That’s obvious just by looking at her. But her words make me look at her in a different light.

I admire a woman who will stand up for herself and won’t let anyone push her around. That’s sexier than a nice ass and a pair of great tits.

I offer her my fist to bump and she does, our eyes locking for a second. “Well said,” I approve. “No one will respect you unless you respect yourself first.”

The corners of Zara’s lips quirk up in the beginning of a smile. She has perfect, soft looking lips.

“You sound like my mom.”

“Damn,” I chuckle. “Don’t repeat that at the party later. I have a reputation to protect.”

Her eyes flash with concern. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I actually should thank all of you for helping me. If you guys hadn’t stopped him, I don’t know what Cal would have done to me.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood. Wasn’t trying to give you a lecture, Zara. I just think your attitude is badass, that’s all.”

Zara smiles again, but this time it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, right? My mom would be happy you agreed with her. Those are her words, not mine. She’s right though. And maybe I should have listened to her when she warned me against dating a racer. If she knew what just happened with Cal, she would ground me until the end of time. Not just because she would say that Cal is too old for me. She hates anything that has to do with motorcycles.”

Heather intervenes. “Maybe she’s worried about you ending up with a bad boy? Not every guy who rides competitively is an asshole. Atlas is the best example of that.”

“Aww, thanks babe.” Atlas kisses her.

Chance, Ares, and I roll our eyes at them.

“Get a room, you two.” I chuckle.

“My mom would disagree. She hates pro motorcycle riders,” Zara explains, once the happy couple stops sucking face in front of everyone. “She would say that your boyfriend is being nice for now, but once he wins more races and becomes more famous, he’ll change. He’ll cheat and expect you to turn a blind eye to it. He’ll treat you just like another trophy. That’s what she’s been telling me since I was a little kid.”

Ares intervenes. He’s always been the nosy one in our group. “Is your mom’s prejudice based on personal experience? Or is she just buying into the myth of every bad boy riding a motorcycle?”

Zara sighs. “Oh no. She’s talking from personal experience. My dad used to race and their relationship ended up in a messy divorce about eight years ago. Mom is far from over it. To the point that she moved us across the country to put as much distance as she could between us and my dad.”

That piques my curiosity. “So, did your dad just own a bike or did he race?” I ask.

“He raced.” She offers.

“Anyone we might have heard of?” Is Ares’s question.

Zara’s tone is resigned. “Maybe. My name is Zara Fields.”

We all gasp. “Fields? Like in John Fields? The man who has won the most MotoGP titles in history?”

She nods. “Yeah, that John Fields.”

Holy shit.

Zara’s father holds every record in motorcycle racing. He retired about five years ago, but no one has ever come close to even a fraction of his success. Riders like John Fields are born once in a generation or even less often.

Chapter 3

Party Life

ZARA

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