Page 47 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

His touch is electric, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through me that makes me arch off the hood of the car, my hips seeking more of his touch, more of that exquisite friction that’s driving me wild. I cry out, a mix of surprise and satisfaction, the sound muffled against his lips as he reclaims my mouth, his kiss desperate and possessive.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick with desire. “Let go. Let me take care of you.”

His words are both a command and a caress, and I obey without hesitation. I’m powerless to resist, lost in the whirlwind of sensations he’s unleashing within me. His touch is magic, his fingers tracing patterns against my sensitive skin, finding a rhythm that makes my body sing.

I writhe beneath him, every touch, every stroke sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. The world outside our little bubble ceases to exist. There’s only Cole, his scent, his touch, the way he makes me forget who I am, where I am, and why I should be fighting this.

“Cole,” I gasp, my voice a broken whisper against his lips. My back arches, my hips pressing against his hand, seeking release.

He’s watching me, his gaze intent, his thumb stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves, driving me closer and closer to the edge.

“Look at me, Lola,” he commands, his voice husky. “Look at me when you come.”

His words are all it takes.

My eyes fly open, meeting his gaze in the dim light of the garage. And then I’m gone, shattering into a million pieces, my cries swallowed by his kiss as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washes over me, leaving me weak, breathless, and utterly consumed by the man who holds my heart in his hands.

I hold his stare as he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks his fingers clean. Holy shit, that’s hot. It renders me speechless. It’s a good thing, too, because it’s on tip of my tongue to tell him exactly how I feel about him.

I’m pretty sure we could use pigeon carriers to share our feelings for each other and they’d still arrive before we can get the words out.

CHAPTER TWENTY

COLE

Fuck me sideways.I knew the high wouldn’t last. I can still taste Lola on my tongue, and I don’t have the chance to savor the delicacy like I should.

The TV blares in the team lounge, the usual pre-race buzz replaced by a stunned silence that presses down on me like a physical weight. My gaze is fixed on the screen, but the talking heads and flashing headlines all blur together, a meaningless jumble of noise. All I can see is the image of my father, younger, vibrant, accepting a trophy, his smile wide, confident.

LAWSON'S LEGACY UNRAVELED: Did Cole Lawson’s Deceased Father Cheat His Way to Victory?

The words, stark and unforgiving, sear themselves into my brain. My father, the cheat.

The news anchor's voice, a sharp, clipped tone that grates on my already frayed nerves, cut through the fog in my head.“And we're talking decades ago. Some of Richard Lawson's biggest victories are now under a cloud of suspicion. This isn't just gossip; there are whispers of payoffs, tampered engines, even threats made against other drivers.”

My stomach churns, a sick feeling of betrayal mixing with the anger and confusion. It’s like the ground has shifted beneath me,the foundation of my life, my career, crumbling before my eyes. I know my father wasn’t a good man, but that is our family’s secret to keep.

Jake Harper, a seasoned sports journalist I've always respected, adds fuel to the fire. "Cole Lawson has remained silent so far. But the pressure is mounting. He's a rising star, but can he outrun this shadow cast by his father? Many are wondering if Cole himself benefited from his father's alleged actions."

The words hit me like a gut punch. Benefitted? Never! I earned every fucking trophy I carried off that podium.

I feel Lola's gaze on me, but I can't meet her eyes, can't face the pity I imagine I'll see there.

Gene has clearly heard enough because he turns off the TV, and everyone looks at me with confusion.

“I can’t believe it’s on every channel.” Lola’s soft voice cuts through the quiet of the garage.

It sets my teeth on edge and makes me want to put my fist through something, ideally Captain Douche’s face.

No one should know this shit. No one. It’s my cross to bear, my family’s fucked-up legacy. A secret I've guarded for years, a burden I've carried alone. Except… Chad knows. He's always known.

We were just kids back then, both hungry for something more: him for the racing dynasty he was born into, me for the girl who saw me and not just the Lawson name. He’d had the proof—the dirt on my father—and I'd had Lola. We'd struck a deal, a twisted pact forged in the crucible of teenage ambition and heartbreak: his silence for my love. I walked away from Lola, breaking both our hearts, believing I was protecting my family's honor and securing my future.

I’m up, pacing the garage like a caged animal, the familiar scent of oil and gasoline doing nothing to soothe the rage andconfusion swirling inside me. I need to move. I need to do something, anything, before I explode. “How the fuck could he do this?”

My crew sits silently, their faces pale, their gazes fixed on the floor as the question hangs there unanswered—a lead weight in my gut. He broke our deal.

Chad got what he wanted: my absence from Lola's life, a clear path to try and win her heart. I'd held up my end of the bargain, lived with the guilt and the what-ifs, and buried the pain of losing Lola deep inside. He had no right to expose my father’s sins, to drag my family’s name through the mud.

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