Page 64 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

Lola walks beside me, her sunglasses shielding her eyes, but they can’t hide the fiery determination in her gaze. We’ve fallen into a comfortable camaraderie in the days since Chad put a bullseye on my back, punctuated by moments of intense connection that leave me both exhilarated and terrified.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

The smooth voice, laced with false congeniality, sends a chill down my spine. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Chadwick “Dickwad” Tane. His shadow falls over us, a dark cloud on an otherwise perfect day.

“What do you want, Chad?” Lola’s voice is cool and professional, but I sense the underlying tension in the way her hand subtly grips my arm. Her touch is a silent affirmation of the unspoken alliance we’ve forged, a bond that goes far beyond the track.

“Just wanted to wish you both luck this weekend,” he drawls, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Though I doubt you’ll need it. Not with the way you two have been… distracting each other.”

His gaze lingers on us, a veiled threat in his tone, before he turns to leave, his words hanging in the air between us, heavy with unspoken menace.

“Just remember, Lawson,” he throws over his shoulder, his voice barely a murmur but laced with steel. “This is my race to win. And I don’t like sharing.”

He saunters away then, melting back into the throng of reporters and crew members, leaving a residue of unease in his wake.

I feel Lola stiffen beside me, her grip on my arm tightening. “Don’t let him get to you,” I say, my voice low. “He’s just trying to psych you out.”

“He’s not wrong, though,” she says, her voice barely audible above the roar of the engines tuning up on the track. “We have been… distracted.”

I clench my jaw, fury and something darker churning in my gut. Fucking Chad. Always pushing, always threatening. Always trying to get under my skin.

“Listen to me,” I growl, turning Lola to face me. Her eyes meet mine, a storm of emotions I can’t quite read swirling in their depths. “What happens between us? That’s our business. No one else’s.”

She bites her lip, conflict clear on her face. “Cole, we can’t?—”

“Can’t what?” I challenge, stepping closer, needing to erase the space between us, to feel the heat of her anger, the flicker of something else that hides beneath it. “Can’t be the best damn team out there? Can’t show that asshole what real racing looks like?”

A ghost of a smile touches her lips, a flicker of the fire I crave. “Is that what we’re doing?”

I grin, the pre-race adrenaline starting to hum in my veins, mixing with a different kind of hunger. “Damn straight. You and me.”

She shakes her head at me, but I see the spark in her eyes. The same fire that drew me to her from day one, the fire that makes her the best damn race engineer in the business… and the most frustratingly desirable woman I’ve ever met.

“Fine,” she says, all business again, her voice clipped and efficient. But I catch the slight tremor in her hands as shetaps her tablet, a tell that betrays her carefully constructed composure. “Let’s go over the strategy one more time.”

As we head for the garage, Chad’s threat still echoes in my mind. He might think this race is his, but I’m not afraid of a fight. Especially not when I’ve got Lola by my side.

The garage is a hive of activity, my crew swarming over the car like worker bees, clanging wrenches and shouting instructions. I breathe in the familiar scent of oil and rubber, letting it center me and ground me in the present.

“All right, Cole,” Lola says, her voice crisp efficiency, all business. “We’ve made some adjustments to the rear wing. It should give you better downforce through turn eleven without sacrificing too much speed on the straights.”

I nod, only half-listening. My mind is already on the track, visualizing each turn, each apex, the rush of adrenaline as I push the Viper to its limits.

“You hear me, hotshot?” she snaps, bringing me back to the present, a hint of impatience in her voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Rear wing, turn eleven. Got it.”

Her eyes narrow behind her shades, and for a moment, I see a flash of the woman who rocked my world in the simulator, the woman who makes me forget everything but the heat of the moment. “This isn’t a game, Cole. One wrong move and?—”

“And I’m in the wall. I know.” I soften my tone, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder, needing to touch her, to reassure myself that she’s real, that what we shared wasn’t just a fever dream. “I’ve got this, Lola. Trust me.”

For a fleeting moment, her mask slips. I see the worry, the fear… and something else. Something that makes my heart race faster than any checkered flag.

“Just… be careful out there,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible above the din of the garage.

I grin, cocky as ever, the mask I wear as easily as my fire suit. “Careful is my middle name.”

She snorts, her professional mask firmly back in place. “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

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