Page 18 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

A weird feeling knots in my stomach. Fuck Chad. And fuck Cam.

“That woman has more talent in her pinky finger than you have in your entire body. She’s not a lucky charm. She’s overqualified; that’s what she is.”

Cam whistles. “Damn. Someone is extra moody today.”

I’m far from moody. I’m pissed, and I don’t understand why. Seeing Lola’s tanned legs shouldn’t have had that kind of effecton me. What was she doing wearing my shirt, anyway? Did she not bring her own clothes?

My gaze instantly snaps to Lola as she enters the room again, looking much more put together than she did moments ago. Her hair is combed back into a sleek pony tail, and she has jeans and a jacket on, effectively covering her whole body.

Thank fuck.

“Ladies,” I say, addressing the team. “I’d like for you to meet Lola, my girlfriend, and my new racing engineer.” I cast a pained look at Lola. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I need Lola’s expertise like yesterday, but I don’t know how I’m going to stand her being in my ear during races. Will we argue? Will she annoy me? Will I have to fire her, too? All these things are possibilities unless Lola runs me over in the parking lot as well.

“Lola, these fine folks are part of the team. Gene is our team manager, Maria is the pit crew chief, Cam focuses on aerodynamics, Marcus is a tech genius, and Randy is our race strategist.”

“It’s nice to meet you all.” Lola smiles, and it seems I forgot how beautiful her smile is when she isn’t faking it. “I look forward to working with all of you.”

The air grows thick with tension as silence consumes the room.

“Girlfriend?” Gene, ever the voice of reason—and suspicion—folds his arms across his chest. “When did this happen? Last I heard she wasChad’sgirlfriend and his racing engineer.”

Wasis the operative word here.

“Not anymore,” I clip, trying to keep my voice from rising.

Gene sighs, and it only pisses me off further. “Please tell me you weren’t the cause of their breakup.”

I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to punch something—preferably Cam’s smug face—controlling the fury that surgesthrough me at his question. “I wasn’t the cause of their breakup,” I confirm, watching their reactions carefully.

Gene’s eyes narrow further. “So, you want us to believe that she and Chad broke up organically and less than a month later, you two hit it off and became lovers?”

“Yep.”

I don’t care if he thinks I’m lying, because I obviously am. I just care that the press believes it. My reputation is what it is with my team. They aren’t the sponsors dropping me. My only goal here is to win and make money by bringing in new sponsorships. The team can think what they want.

Lola comes to stand behind my chair, facing my team as a united front. The scent of her shampoo, something citrusy and fresh, hits me like a shot of pure oxygen. It smells like the same shampoo she used in high school, and the scent, along with the memory of the classic rock song she had playing on the stereo, sends a wave of memories crashing over me.

Late nights in my dad’s garage, grease under our fingernails, the scent of motor oil and possibilities hanging thick in the air. Lola’s laughter, her quick wit, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about engines… and me.

“Lola and I,” I continue, shaking off the memories, “go way back. High school sweethearts, actually. We… lost touch after I graduated. I was chasing the racing dream, and she…” I shrug, letting the unspoken words hang in the air.

It is another lie, of course. A carefully crafted fabrication meant to add weight to our charade. But as I glance back at Lola, her expression is unreadable, and I feel a pang of something that feels a lot like… regret.

“She and Tane…” I go on, forcing my voice to remain steady, “that was just for show. A publicity stunt. And when it was over, she came to me. We talked… and, I guess you could say we both realized we made a mistake all those years ago.”

I can feel Lola’s gaze burning into my back, a silent indictment of my carefully constructed narrative. We probably should have talked through our story before testing it out on my team. But I keep going, my voice gaining confidence as I lay out my vision for the team and for our future.

“Lola knows Chad better than anyone,” I say as I turn to face the team, my voice ringing with conviction. “She knows his strategies, his weaknesses, his tricks. She’s the key to beating him.”

Right on cue, Lola steps out from behind me, the sunlight catching the golden strands of her hair, making her look like an avenging angel. Or maybe a very pissed-off mechanic with a point to prove.

“That’s a nice story, Cole.” Her voice is laced with quiet steel that sends a shiver of something other than fear down my spine. “But maybe you should let me tell it.”

Her gaze meets mine, a challenge smoldering in those big, expressive eyes. I know she isn’t happy with my romanticized version of events, with the implication that she was the one who’d come crawling back.

And for a fleeting moment, I wish she had.

But this isn’t about wishes. It’s about winning. And for the first time in years, I feel that familiar surge of adrenaline, the thrill of the race, the belief that maybe, just maybe, we can pull this off.

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