Page 29 of Beneath the Hood

It was a risk bringing her here, and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact the racetrack is closed today, or that my only friend in California is one of the directors of operations, we wouldn’t have come.

But I called in a favor, and my friend Timmy set everything up. I’m not even sure she’ll be into it, but I wanted to offer her something different—an experience that isn’t just for the sake of how good it will look on the internet. Wanted to give her something sincere, because there’s this sinking feeling in my gut that she doesn’t have much authenticity in her life.

And everybody deserves something real.

“Wait, wait, wait!What do you mean we’re driving?” she screeches, scrambling after me as I walk into the building. “I don’t even drive myself on normal days, you expect me to drive arace car?”

I bite back the laugh bubbling in my chest. “Why?” I spin toward her, walking backward. “You don’t think you can handle it?”

My voice echoes off the concrete floor, reverberating through the empty hall we’re in.

“I don’t… I mean, I can’t…” she gasps out. The smile slides off my face as I take in the sudden stiffness of her shoulders. My eyes trail her posture, my stomach dropping when I notice how her fists clench and unclench at her sides.

I move toward her, gripping her hands first and then running my palms up her arms until they’re cupping the back of her neck.

Her eyes are closed and she’s mouthing numbers.

Shit.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes snap open, and my heart wavers when I see the panic swirling in their depths.

“You’re not driving,” I tell her. “Okay?”

She nods, her chest heaving with her short, stuttered breaths, and my fingers tighten around her neck, anchoring her in place, wishing there was more I could do. She reaches her hands up, gripping the front of my shirt in her fists.

“I’m sorry.” My thumbs slide across her skin, and when goose bumps sprout under my hands, my stomach flips. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you, I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

She blinks, breathing out in slow, measured increments. “It’s okay,” she whispers.

“It’s not.” I shake my head. “Do you trust me?”

I’m not sure why the question makes my chest pull, or why it suddenly feels like I’m dangling myself at the edge of a cliff, teetering back and forth as I wait for her answer.

“Yes,” she grasps my shirt tighter.

The satisfaction of her response sends a flood of tingles through me, and for some reason her trust gives me the confidence to continue trying to bring her back. To keep her from spiraling.

“Listen to me,” I continue.

She leans in, making my words stall from the warmth of her breath on my lips. I swallow down the urge to close the gap—see if the temptation wanes once I’ve tasted her sweetness. The strength it takes to remain focused makes my jaw clench tight. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Okay,” she murmurs.

“Do you need a minute?”

She nods again, her fingers tightening around the fabric of my shirt, pulling me further into her. I move her to the wall, wrapping my arms around her waist as I slide us to the floor.

And that’s where we stay.

We sit in the empty hallway, her body trembling beneath my arms, her hands grasping at my chest, and I let her do what she needs to bring herself back.

To calm her thoughts.

After a few minutes, her fists relax, and she smooths the wrinkles in my shirt as she gazes up at me. “I’m sorry.”

My hand cups her face. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry for being real with me.I’msorry that I brought you here.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We don’t have to do this, I just thought it would be fun.”

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