Page 19

The others were already out on the track, engines buzzing like angry bees as they tore into their first lap. I waited in the pit, leaning back in the kart, watching the chaos unfold. Blake was trying too hard, his kart fishtailing as he oversteered into the first corner. On the other hand, Noah had settled into a smooth rhythm, his lines tight, his focus unmistakable.

Five laps. That was the deal. They were having fun, whooping, hollering, and laughing so loud it hurt my heart. I missed this.

When they’d completed their fifth lap, I pulled my helmet down and hit the gas. The kart shot forward; the engine roaring as I joined the race.

It didn’t take long to find my rhythm. The kart was light and responsive, every bump and curve translating directly into my body. This was pure driving—no high-tech controls, no engineers fine-tuning settings, me, the machine, and the track.

By the time the others hit the middle of lap eight, I was already closing in. The first guy didn’t stand a chance. He was wide out of the corner, leaving a gap big enough for me to slip through without trying. One down.

Two more drivers were bunched together, their karts bumping as they jockeyed for position. I waited, letting them make their mistakes. One braked too late, sliding out, and the other got distracted trying to avoid him. I breezed past both of them as if they weren’t there.

Noah and Blake were out in front, still holding their lead. I caught up to Blake first. He was fast but couldn’t keep it clean, his rear wheels skidding as he fought to stay ahead. I took the inside line on the next corner, cutting him off. He cursed—probably loud enough for me to hear if I hadn’t been focused on the next target.

Noah was different. He wasn’t just fast; he was smooth. He knew how to hold his line and make himself hard to pass. I stayed close, watching for an opening, and when I pulled alongside him, I glanced over.

He was locked in, his gaze sharp, his hands steady on the wheel. For a second, I almost didn’t want to pass him. He looked… incredible. Focused, determined, and entirely in the moment. But then, he glanced at me, and I saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

I grinned under my helmet, put my foot down, and left him in my rearview.

The rest of the race was mine. By the time I crossed the finish line, I was half a lap ahead when I slowed to let them catch me. I pulled into the pit, yanking off my helmet as the others rolled behind me.

Noah climbed out of his kart, pulling off his helmet and shaking his curls loose, his face flushed with exertion. He caught my eye, and for a second, it was just the two of us, the noise of the track fading into the background.

I felt fantastic. It wasn’t only the win—the speed, simplicity, and pure joy of being behind the wheel again.

“You’re insane,” Blake laughed, throwing his hands up. “Who even does all that shit out there?”

I shrugged, a cocky grin spreading across my face. “What can I say? I’ve got skills.”

Noah laughed, shaking his head as he walked toward me. “Next time, it’s a ten-lap head start.”

“Next time?” I asked, my grin widening. “You sure you’re ready for more of me?”

God. What was I saying? I didn’t mean karting. I meant more of me. More kissing, more of him pressed against me, his hands in my hair, his lips on mine. More getting off against doors, taking it to a bed where we wouldn’t have to rush or hold back. Fuck. He was beautiful—his curls damp and wild, his eyes bright with excitement.

Noah stared at me, and it felt as though the rest of the world disappeared for a moment. His lips parted slightly, and I could almost hear the echoes of the sounds he’d made that night. His gaze held mine, steady and searching, and it was as if he could see everything I wasn’t saying.

I wanted to kiss him. Right there, in front of everyone. Pull him close, let him feel the pounding of my heart, tell him with my body what my words couldn’t quite form.

“Noah—”

A hard slap on my shoulder broke the moment, and I jerked back, my pulse racing.

“Hey, Racer Boy,” Blake said with a grin, oblivious to our tension. “Looks like someone shared your location.”

I glanced over my shoulder and cursed under my breath. A group of people had gathered outside the glass doors, their phones out, snapping pictures.

“Great,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

“Better get your celebrity act together,” Blake teased.

I sighed, pulling off the overalls and tossing them onto a nearby bench. My neck cracked as I rolled it, the tension easing. Then, I slapped on the smile I’d perfected over the years—the one that left people happy, no matter how fake it felt.

The doors opened, and I stepped into the crowd. It was the usual chaos—shouts of my name, hands thrusting notebooks, photos, and phones at me. I signed everything, even an arm, grinning like I wasn’t trying to keep my thoughts from straying back to Noah.

Selfies followed; the fans’ excitement contagious as it grated on the part of me that wanted to be me for a few minutes longer. Their voices buzzed around me, questions firing off like rapid-fire bullets, one after another.

“Why did you retire?”