Page 79 of Collided (Dirty Air 2)

I head on up to my suite, ready to hop into my race gear. My phone buzzes from a new message.

Naughty Sophie: Word on the street is that you do pretty well here. I don’t want to inflate your ego any more, but good luck and hope you don’t suck too badly.

I laugh as I type out my message.

Me: Want to make a bet?

Naughty Sophie: Those never end well for all parties involved.

Me: Says who?

Naughty Sophie: Says the party of one who loses every time.

Me: This one will end better. If I end up on the podium, you hang around McCoy garage for the German Grand Prix.

Seeing as Peter needs to attend some McCoy board meeting in London that weekend, I don’t see his presence being a problem. Chris could give zero fucks about who hangs around his garage as long as I perform my best.

The three dots appear on my screen once before disappearing. Minutes pass and I call it a loss, zipping up my race suit. I can’t help wanting Sophie to spend time with me and my family during my home race, a part of me wishing to stake a claim and show her off. Another part of me invites her for the purely selfish reason of being afraid to face my brother alone. Sophie keeps me sane enough to not do something stupid, like avoiding my family while booking them VIP seats far away from the action.

I smile when my phone vibrates against the coffee table.

Naughty Sophie: Sounds like a benefit for you.

Me: No. We both win from a quickie in my suite. You hanging around is an added bonus.

Disappearing dots taunt me. It’s a stupid bet to get her to hang around me instead of the Bandini garage for once. And to be honest, I wouldn’t say no to a pre-race fuck.

Naughty Sophie: You need to up the ante if you’re going to be sending me messages like that. You get me in all of your McCoy glory if you get P1. I prefer winners.

I beam at her sassy words. She throws me off yet keeps me centered all at once.

Me:We can both be winners if you agree. Podiums and Orgasms. You’re turning me into a modern-day poet.

Naughty Sophie: Good luck. I’m leaving before my phone combusts. Bye!

Talking to Sophie puts me in a much better mood. I like hedging bets with her, especially when it breaks up the usual expectations to succeed and place on the podium.

I leave my suite and head back to the pit garage. I situate myself in the cockpit, adjusting my neck brace and steering wheel as the crew pulls me toward my third-place position on the grid. Sophie wants me to place first, which means I have to overtake both Santiago and Noah and keep the lead within seventy laps.

There’s a slim chance I can pass Noah, the leader of the race and a damn good defender. But screw it, I’ll give viewers quite the show, all for the blonde-haired, green-eyed woman invading my brain every single day.

Lights flash one at a time before they all shut off. My foot pushes against the throttle and my car speeds down the track before I rapidly approach the first turn.

Bandini cars rush in front of me, the two scarlet red vehicles competing against one another. My race car lingers behind them. The front wing of my car nearly brushes against Santiago’s as I close the distance between us.

The blur of the crowd flashes by me as our cars pass another lap. My car vibrates as I press down on the accelerator, the rushing sound of the car bringing a smile to my lips. Sweat clings to my suit as we go around the track for the next twenty laps. I keep my P3 position, defending myself against Jax as he hangs behind my car.

“Liam, Noah and Santiago are going to have to pit soon. We have a strategy that can help you win, but you have to trust us. We’re going to have you pit three times this race and use soft tires.” Chris’s voice echoes through my earpiece.

It’s a risky move that will give me greater speed than the standard medium tires, but more pit stops mean less control of my overall time. I could still win, but I’d have to race like my car’s on fire.

“How certain are you that the crew can complete the stops in under two seconds?”

“I’d give it a fifty-fifty chance.” Shit.

I clench my gloved hands. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“Box after this next lap.” Chris mutes himself.