Page 39 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

“I don’t know!” I shout back, tears pricking at my eyes. “Maybe because you hated me all along!”

The words hang in the air, ugly and desperate. Even as I say them, I know they sound ridiculous. Cole Lawson hating me? It makes no sense. And yet...

“I never hated you, Lo. I loved you!”

His declaration, raw and ragged, steals the air from my lungs. He lunges forward, and before I can even process his words, his lips crash back down on mine. Then, they’re gone, and he’s retreating like his ass is on fire, and I’m left reeling. He loved me?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

COLE

I gripthe wheel of the Viper, trying to focus on the race ahead. But all I can think about is Lola, her body, and her scent. Fuck. I wanted to take her right there on the hood of Eleanor and make her forget everything but my name.

But I didn’t. Couldn’t. The way she looked at me, like I was the enemy… it twists something inside me. She thinks I ratted her out and ruined her life. The thought makes me want to put my fist through something.

How the hell did we get here? My Lola, believing I’m the villain in her story. And I have no fucking clue how to prove her wrong. It feels like there’s a cavern between us now. We’re acting like strangers, not like a fake couple, and definitely not a real one.

The track stretches out before me, a shimmering mirage of heat and humidity. It’s race day. The roar of the crowd, a cacophony of cheers and jeers, drowns out everything else, even the noise in my head. This is my world. Where I belong. Where I can outrun all the shit weighing me down.

My crew chief’s yelling something that I can barely hear over the chaos of the track. Doesn’t matter. I know what I need todo. Channel all this restless energy, this fucking frustration and want, into pure speed.

The Viper gleams, sleek and deadly under the merciless sun. She’s my escape, my release. For the next few hours, nothing else exists.

I pull on my helmet, but I can still feel Lola’s eyes on me. It’s a weight I carry as I slide into the driver’s seat. Heavier than any trophy I’ve ever won.

Engines growl to life around me. The vibration rattles through my bones, familiar and comforting, but today, there’s a different kind of hunger clawing at my insides.

I rev the Viper’s engine. The checkered flag’s waiting, but so is Lola. And I’m not sure which one I’m really chasing anymore.

I tear my eyes from the green flag, searching for her. Fuck. I can’t help it.

There she is. Lola. A damn firecracker in the pit lane chaos. Headset on, clipboard clinging to her like a shield. Her forehead’s got that little crease, the one that shows up when she’s in the zone, and she’s barking orders at some poor bastard on the crew.

Those eyes, though. Fuck. Even from here, they cut right through me and set my blood on fire faster than any engine ever could.

My chest tightens, and I swallow hard against it.

“Get your head in the game, asshole,” I growl at myself. “You’ve got a race to win.”

I force my eyes back to the track. But she’s there. Under my skin. In my head. Her taste, her fury, the fucking pain in her eyes when she threw those accusations at me. It’s got me all mixed up inside, a cocktail so potent that might just blow me apart.

I can’t shake her. Not that I really want to. And that scares the shit out of me more than taking any hairpin turn at 200 miles per hour.

The flag’s about to drop. But I’m already racing. Chasing something I fear I might never catch.

Yellow. Yellow. Green!

The world explodes. Engines scream like demons unleashed. I slam the gas and the Viper surges forward, hungry for blood. We tear through the pack, the desert wind trying to rip my face off.

“Stay tight, Cole.” Lola’s voice, cool as a cucumber, rings in my ear. My rock. Even now. “Don’t let Tane get inside on turn one. He’ll try to box you out.”

I can practically see Tane’s smug grin through his helmet in my mirror, that gaudy-ass car of his creeping up. Good driver. Cocky bastard, though. The kind who cracks when shit gets real.

And today? It’s a fucking inferno out here.

The crowd’s losing it. We’re fighting for every inch, cars so close you couldn’t fit a razor blade between ‘em. Tires screaming bloody murder.

But I can’t focus on any of it. Not Tane. Not the cameras. Not the roar of the crowd that used to set my blood on fire.

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