Page 33 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

Holy shit. We did it!

I barely manage to park in victory lane, my pulse thundering in my ears like a techno beat on steroids. I’m peeling off my helmet when BAM! I’m hit by a Lola-shaped torpedo.

Her lips crash into mine with the force of a head-on collision. It’s all heat and hunger, and holy hell, I’m here for it. Her mouth is soft yet demanding, tasting of mint gum and adrenaline. Her tongue darts out, teasing, exploring, igniting every nerve ending I’ve got.

She’s pressed against me so tight I can feel her heartbeat hammering in sync with mine. Her hands are everywhere: in my sweat-damp hair, gripping my shoulders, sliding down my back. Each touch sends electric shocks straight to my core.

The scent of her fills my nostrils, a dizzying cocktail of citrus shampoo, a hint of coconut sunscreen, and that uniquely Lola smell that’s part motor oil, part woman, and all intoxication. It’s like huffing pure desire.

I pull her closer, if that’s even possible, one hand tangled in her silky hair, the other at the small of her back. She makes thislittle sound in the back of her throat—half moan, half purr—and I swear I see stars.

The world around us is going nuclear—flashbulbs popping like fireworks, the crowd roaring louder than the engines ever did—but it all fades to white noise. All I can focus on is the softness of Lola’s lips, the heat of her body, and the taste of her mouth.

This isn’t some PG-rated showmance for the cameras. This is raw, real, us-against-the-world stuff.

And damned if I’m ever gonna let it go.

“So, Cole, another win for Hahn Racing. How’s it feel to be back on top?”

The reporter’s grinning wide as she shoves a mic in my face. Around us, it’s chaos—cameras flashing, crew celebrating, sponsors clamoring for attention.

“It feels great,” I say, my voice rough from exhaustion and leftover adrenaline. “The team worked hard, and it’s good to see it pay off.”

“Now, we can’t ignore what just happened,” she says, lowering her voice, like she’s sharing a secret. Her eyes are gleaming. “That kiss with Lola was something else. Fans are going wild. Sponsors are thrilled. Any comment on the relationship?”

I can feel my face getting hot. The memory of Lola’s kiss hits me—soft lips, demanding pressure. It’s making my heart race.

Get it together, Lawson. It’s just for show. Part of the plan. Right?

But even as I tell myself that, I’m scanning the crowd for her. There she is, talking to Cam and Gene, looking at some data sheet. Her blonde hair stands out in the sea of people.

I’m in deeper than I thought.

When our eyes meet, Lola’s smile hits me like a tire iron to the chest. I force myself to look back at the reporter before I make a fool of myself.

“Lola’s crucial to the team,” I say, my voice rough. “Her expertise and passion are unmatched.”

Yeah, passion. That’s putting it mildly. The memory of her kiss is burning through my veins, melting away any pretense of professionalism.

The reporter’s not letting up. “So, the rumors are true? You and Lola are back together?”

“Lola and I are focused on winning,” I say, picking my words carefully. “We’re a team. That’s what matters.”

It’s a politician’s answer, but when Lola catches my eye again, I know it’s useless. The truth is probably written all over my face.

The interview goes on about tires, engines, and Tane—who’s probably sulking in his trailer. But my mind’s not on any of it.

It’s all focused on Lola.

Her laugh is like a perfectly tuned engine as she jokes with the staff. The way she gnaws her lip when she’s deep in thought, the fire in her eyes when she’s arguing with Gene about some technical mumbo-jumbo... It’s all burned into my brain like a bad tattoo. A constant reminder of the woman who’s flipped my world ass over teakettle—again.

“Last question, Cole.” The reporter’s voice yanks me back from La La Lola Land. “What’s the crystal ball say for Hahn Racing? More checkered flags? More steamy victory kisses?”

She winks like we’re sharing some inside joke, and the press vultures cackle in response. I plaster on a grin that feels about asnatural as tofurkey, my eyes darting to Lola. She’s watching me with a poker face that’d make Vegas pros weep.

“You’ll have to tune in to find out,” I rumble, my voice low enough to make my own spine tingle.

Truth is, I have no freaking clue what’s coming next. This whole dog and pony show is spinning out of control faster than a rookie on his first lap.

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