Page 29 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

I roar out of the turn, the finish line a beacon in the distance. But even as I surge toward victory, I can't help but glance inmy rearview mirror. Cole’s Porsche is right there, closer than I’d expected, his determination clear even from this distance.

This isn't over yet.

The finish line is a blur of my own exhilaration and the roar of engines as I cross it a fraction of a second ahead of the snarling beast on my tail. My heart pounds in my chest, a mixture of triumph and relief surging through me. I've done it. I've beaten Cole Lawson on his own turf, and in the process, I’ve reignited a fire within myself that I thought had long since burned out.

I slow the Mustang to a stop, my breath catching in my throat as I take a minute to bask in the moment. The adrenaline subsides, leaving behind a delicious tremor of exhilaration. Beside me, Cole pulls up in the Porsche, the engine ticking as it cools. He pushes open the door and climbs out, his movements radiating a mixture of frustration and begrudging respect.

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze meeting mine with a mix of emotions I can't quite decipher.

"Not bad," he says finally, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Not bad at all."

My lips curve into a triumphant smirk. "Told you I could still drive."

He chuckles, taking a step closer, his presence a tangible force that sends delicious shivers down my spine. "You're full of surprises, you know that?"

The air between us crackles with unspoken tension, a mixture of past regrets and the intoxicating possibility of a future neither of us has dared to imagine. He reaches out, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"So," he murmurs, his voice husky as his gaze holds mine captive. "About those bragging rights…"

"What about them?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper and my gaze glued to his as his hand still hovers near my cheek. I feel the warmth of his fingers radiating through me, making my skin tingle with anticipation.

His hand finally settles against the side my face, his touch feather light. My breath hitches, my entire body leaning into his touch, craving something more. His gaze locks on mine, the intensity of it making my head spin. It's like being caught in the pull of a current, a force I'm powerless to resist, and honestly, I don't want to.

The air continues to crackle between us, thick with unspoken desires, with the ghosts of shared memories and the intoxicating possibility of something new, something real. His hand lingers on my cheek, his thumb gently stroking my skin, and I swear my heart stops beating.

He leans closer, his gaze dropping to my lips, and I find myself holding my breath, my body thrumming with anticipation. His scent envelops me, a potent mix of gasoline, aftershave, and something distinctly him, sending a jolt of desire straight through me.

Our lips are almost touching, his breath warm on my skin, and I know in that moment that if he kisses me, I won't—can't—stop him. Years of carefully constructed walls, of guarded emotions and calculated risks, crumble away, leaving me raw and exposed, aching for a touch I know I shouldn't crave.

But just as the tension reaches a fever pitch, and I feel myself leaning into him, ready to surrender, the shrill ring of his phone shatters the moment.

The spell is broken.

Cole pulls back with a sharp intake of breath, the heat of his gaze replaced by a mask of annoyance. He glances at his phone, the screen illuminating his face with its unwelcome glow, and for a moment, I hate whoever is on the other end of that call.

"Yeah?" Cole snaps into the phone, his voice gruff, the easygoing façade he usually wears for the public noticeably absent.

I use the interruption to gather my scattered wits, my pulse still racing, but this time, it isn't from the thrill of the race. I take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us, my skin tingling where his touch had lingered moments before.

"Yeah, I'm on my way," Cole mutters, his gaze darting to mine, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He shoves the phone back into his pocket, his jaw clenched tight, his frustration palpable.

"Duty calls?" I ask, my voice carefully neutral, even though my insides feel like a tangled mess of disappointment and what feels alarmingly close to longing.

He runs a hand through his hair, his usual composure returning in a carefully constructed mask that does little to hide the simmering tension in his eyes. "Sponsors," he explains, his tone clipped. "They want to do a photo op with the 'happy couple' before the race.” He air-quotes the phrase 'happy couple' with a wry grimace.

Right. The charade. I'd almost forgotten.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LOLA

“Lola, what the hell was that?”Distorted by the headset, Cole’s voice crackles with barely contained fury. “That line was all wrong! I almost kissed the wall!”

The air crackles with tension that has nothing to do with the headset. There’s a palpable hum of frustration that mixes with the exhaust fumes and the scorching Florida sun. It’s our first official practice session since I’ve become Cole’s race engineer, and so far, it’s a complete disaster.

“You wouldn’t have almost kissed the wall if you hadn’t overcorrected,” I shoot back, my fingers flying across the laptop keyboard, analyzing the telemetry data that scrolls across the screen. “I told you to ease off the throttle, not slam on the brakes!”

“Ease off?Ease off?We’re not baking a cake here! This is racing!”

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