Page 2 of Ride Me Reckless
"Damn, woman,"I muttered, tipping my hat low as I pulled out.
"Always did know how to make me chase her."
The place was packed with locals, shoulder to shoulder with out-of-towners, all crammed against the fence line like they were waiting for the rapture. Dust kicked up from boots and tires alike. The air smelled like exhaust, fry grease, and adrenaline.
I parked my truck out past the last row of pickups and walked in slowly, keeping to the back of the crowd. Didn't need to be seen. Didn't want to explain myself.
I found a spot near the end of the bleachers and leaned against the top rail. One hand curled over the fence post, the other curled around the thought I should've stayed home.
Engines screamed down the straightaway, one after the next, all noise and muscle and smoke. A few decent drivers. Some just loud for the hell of it.
But none of that mattered.
Because then she stepped onto the track.
Tessa.
Helmet under one arm, swagger in her hips, like she hadn't missed a day. Hercar—Reckless—waited at the line, low and mean, built for speed and trouble. Its sleek curves caught the light like polished steel, sharp and unapologetic. Just like its driver.
She slid into the seat and pulled the harness tight. Ponytail flicked once behind her, like it knew it was being watched.
God help me; she looked better than she had any right to.
I clenched my jaw and looked away for half a second—just enough to pretend I wasn't affected. Didn't work.
Crowd went quiet. Lights dropped. Engine rumbled like a storm on a leash.
I didn't breathe until she launched.
I'd just started breathing again when I heard the sound that always meant trouble—boots with a purpose and a grin behind them.
"Must be fate," Rhett drawled from behind me, voice already full of mischief. "Lady Luck’s still got her claws in you, huh? But I didn't take you for a stalker, brother."
I didn’t answer. Because maybe she did. Maybe she never let go.
I didn't even look at Rhett. Just let my eyes trackRecklessas Tessa slowed at the far end of the track. Tessa had won again—no surprise. The other car hadn't even come close. The crowd cheered like they hadn't known the outcome before it started.
"Ain't stalking if I'm standing still," I muttered.
Rhett Callahan came to lean on the fence beside me, arms folded like he had all the time in the world. He smelled like soap, cologne, and the kind of trouble that smiled too wide. His pearl-snap shirt was crisp, his jeans tighter than mine had ever dared to be, and he wore a pair of sunglasses like he'd just walked off a goddamn billboard.
We'd been friends long before we'd bought that lottery ticket. Before the Powerball hit and changed everything. Now we were millionaires with too much land and not enough sense—and Rhett? He was enjoying every second of it.
I didn't turn to him. Didn't need to.
"I mean," he went on, drawl thick and lazy, "you drove all the way into town, parked where no one could see your truck, and posted up at the edge of the stands like a man who didn't want to be seen—but here you are."
"Spit it out, Rhett."
He laughed, low and knowing, and clapped me on the back. Hard. "You came all this way just to watch her eat asphalt?"
"She didn’t lose the race,” I said, eyes still fixed on the track.
"Maybe not on the track." His voice dropped just enough to sting.
I turned my head then. Slowly. Let my gaze cut sideways until it landed on his smug-ass expression.
His smirk faltered just a tick.
