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one of the big screens through the window of my changing room, while my trainer, Brian, prattled on about a party he was going

a damn good driver, Jacob. Great instincts, aggressive pace. The camera showed him getting out of his car after the race,

and for about three seconds I was transfixed by his crooked, cocky smile.

I started to lose power. “Anti-stall” flashed on the steering wheel as I maneuvered the car off the track.

I started the race the next day from the pit lane, after the engineers spent the night repairing the car.

I checked my phone once more right before the race started.

My stomach leapt when I saw I’d missed a text message.

I swiped it open eagerly, but it was only a text from Brian. Feeling sick, be there next weekend.

God, he was an asshole. There was no way he was sick. He’d been bragging all day Saturday about the “lit party” he’d been

invited to. No doubt he was hungover somewhere. I turned my phone off and headed for my car, swallowing down disappointment.

It had been two days since Jacob took my phone number, and there had been nothing but radio silence. I couldn’t even text

him, not that I’d have ever had the nerve. He hadn’t given me his number.

I pulled on my helmet and climbed into the car. Outside, the rain was starting to fall again, heavier than it had been all

day. It would be a wet race after all.

Try to impress me, Jacob had said.

A feeling like cold water washed over me, and my senses seemed to sharpen. Impress him... I could do that.

For two hours, it was like I could do nothing wrong. My mind was as focused as it had ever been. I wasn’t even thinking, really,

just reacting. Car after car disappeared behind me, until there was one lap to go and only two cars left in front of me. Mahoney

and Clayton were first and second in the championship, two of the best drivers in F1’s best cars. But they didn’t have as

much experience in the rain as I did—or at least, Clayton didn’t. I overtook him on the last corner of the race and crossed

the line in second place. From a pit lane start to second place, in a wet race. It was a record—or at least, that was what

my race engineer was saying in my ear.

I climbed out of the car, grinning beneath my helmet, and threw a cursory wave to the crowd.

I shook Mahoney and Clayton’s hands, waited for Clayton to finish his interview, and then stepped up, obediently, for my own.

I answered the reporter’s questions with a few one-word answers and wondered if, somewhere, Jacob was watching.

For the next four hours, I went from press conference to team debrief to press conference again. By the time I got to check

my phone again, it was past six. I had one missed text from a number I didn’t recognize. My stomach tightened in anticipation.

Second place? I thought I said to impress me.

I grinned stupidly at the screen, then looked at the timestamp. He’d only sent it a minute ago. Biting my lip, I started typing

an answer, then promptly deleted it. I made five or six false starts, cursing my own inability to come up with anything clever

when it mattered.

I was about to give up when three dots appeared on the screen. He was typing something.

You could ask what would impress me , he prompted me.

Heart pounding, I snatched a breath.

What would impress you? I typed.

Three dots appeared instantly. I grinned at my phone, glad that no one could see me behind the walls of my room. When his

answer appeared, all the air rushed out of my lungs.

Hotel Hofwirt, room 723. Nine o’clock.

I didn’t make it back to my own hotel room until eight p.m., and by that time, I’d worked myself into something of a frenzy.

I jumped into the shower as soon as I got home and scrubbed the day’s dirt and sweat from my skin.

Afterward, I spent a humiliating five minutes staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, wondering what people saw when they looked at me.

Wondering what Jacob might see. It had never occurred to me to wonder if I was good-looking before.

It had never mattered, so I’d never cared.

But right then, it seemed like there were a hundred things I should’ve paid attention to before.

Over the next twenty minutes, I filled my Google search history with the most embarrassing things I’d ever typed, starting

with “Travis Keeping Formula 1 driver handsome”—which turned out to be quite reassuring—all the way down to “first time gay

sex”—which was far less reassuring. Twice, I picked up my phone to text Jacob and cancel, but both times I thought of the

smell of his skin and the strong lines of his forearms, and I put the phone down again.

I got stuck in traffic and arrived at the hotel twenty minutes late. I pulled my baseball cap down over my head as I crossed

the lobby and found the elevators. I scrubbed my palms over my jeans as I rode up to the seventh floor. Fuck, but I was nervous.

Really, really nervous. I tried to reassure myself that, as a fellow driver, Jacob would have just as much to lose as I would

if this got out. Still, as I raised my hand to knock on door 723, my stomach was in knots.

Someone laughed loudly behind the door. In fact, there were several voices echoing from inside. I was double-checking the

room number in my texts, certain I was at the wrong room, when the door swung open. Jacob looked surprised to see me, his

eyes widening for a moment before he gave me the most devastating smile.

“Well, well,” he said. “You came. I am impressed.”

I glanced behind him. There were at least ten people in the room, all of them smiling or laughing or pouring drinks. In a chair near the door, a girl was sitting on some guy’s lap. I vaguely recognized him as one of the other Formula 2 drivers.

Jacob followed my gaze. “C’mon in,” he said. “We’re playing a drinking game.”

I stared at him for five whole seconds, feeling like I’d missed a step coming downstairs.

I felt so stupid for thinking—for imagining—

I remembered my Google searches and my cheeks burned red-hot.

But I could hardly just turn around and leave. Swallowing hard, I followed Jacob inside.

“Guys, we’ve got a straggler,” Jacob announced. “Poor F1 drivers have no fancy parties of their own to go to, so they’re stuck

crashing ours.”

He raised a glass to someone in the corner as he said it, and I recognized another face—another F1 driver, Josh Fry. He drove

for Torrent Racing, and at the time, he was something like sixteenth in the championship. My stomach dropped even further

to the ground. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid.

The hotel room was pretty small, and filled with more people than I’d initially thought. There were probably twenty people,

and most of them looked half wasted already, including Josh Fry.

“Travis Keeping, as I live and breathe!” he said. He held his glass up to me, sloshing liquor onto a pretty girl’s dress.

She laughed and smacked him across the head. “Grab a drink, mate.”

“The bar’s out on the balcony,” Jacob told me. Then he picked a drink up off the television stand and turned away to talk

to a beautiful red-headed girl in a sparkly gold dress. He must’ve said something funny, because she laughed and hit him on

the arm. Her fingers lingered on his skin a half second longer than the action required.

Fuck .

I went out onto the balcony alone and found the bar, which was just a table covered in half-empty liquor bottles and plastic

cups. I filled a cup with soda. I didn’t really drink much back then, though that night seemed like it would be a good time

to start. Sighing, I threw a few ice cubes into my glass. Just because I’d been an absolute idiot didn’t mean I should make

it even worse by getting drunk. I figured I’d just stay for twenty minutes, make up an excuse to leave, and then never think

of this humiliating night again.

I was about to turn back inside when the sliding door opened and Jacob stepped out onto the balcony.

“You found the bar,” he said with a grin.

I nodded, utterly unable to look him in the eye.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, stepping closer to add more scotch to his drink.

“Just soda,” I muttered.

“Good call,” Jacob said cryptically. He waited till I finally looked at him and then shot me a small, secretive smile that

sent shivers running down my skin. “This could be a long night.”

He leaned forward again, to get some ice, and for a moment his strong, warm arm was pressed up against mine. As he pulled

away, he gave me another sharp grin, and a warm rush of blood flooded through me.

“See you in there,” he murmured.

When he was gone, I let out a careful breath.

I might not have been wrong after all.

For four hours, I played card games with Jacob’s friends and watched as everyone but me and him got progressively drunker.

I didn’t contribute much to the party, but once or twice I found my self smiling at everyone’s antics, and about once an hour I got up to refill my drink.

Every time, Jacob followed me. The first time, his fingers brushed against mine as he passed me a soda.

The second time, as he leaned past me to get a bottle of whiskey, his whole body pressed up against mine.

“How long do these parties usually last?” I asked hoarsely, as he added a shot of whiskey to my soda. “I don’t usually drink,”

I added.

“Make an exception for me,” he said. “Everyone should be leaving soon.”

Sure enough, everyone stumbled home over the next half hour. Josh and the pretty girl he’d spilled alcohol on—his girlfriend,

Becca, it turned out—were the last two to leave. Jacob had to practically push them out. Between the two of them, they’d downed

nearly a full bottle of vodka, and before they left, Becca had climbed onto Josh’s lap and kissed him deeply, giggling as

his hands slid down her back.

I watched them covertly, as though I could pick up tips or something. God, I was in well over my head.

Finally, Jacob closed the door behind them. It shut with a very firm click, followed by a heart-stopping rattle as Jacob slid

the chain over the lock.

He turned to face me with a grin. As he walked toward me, my heart started thundering in my chest.

“Help me clean up?” he asked.

Biting my lip, I nodded and started collecting discarded plastic cups and beer bottles while he tracked down loose playing

cards that had fallen on the floor. Then I followed him out onto the balcony and helped him put caps on all the half-empty

bottles. Afterward, he leaned onto the balcony railing, staring out at the twinkling lights of town.

Swallowing hard, I walked over and leaned next to him. I was far too cowardly to brush my arm against his, however much I wanted to. We stared at the lights for a few minutes, then he spoke without looking at me. “Good race today.”

In a rare moment of genius, I found a good answer. “I thought you said it wasn’t that impressive.”

His smile was veiled in the moonlight. “It wasn’t bad.”

“Your race was good, too,” I said.

“You watched it, did you?”

I flushed, caught out. The silence stretched out. I wished I had a drink again. I needed something to do with my hands.

Finally, Jacob chuckled and turned toward me. “You’ve never done this with a guy before, have you?”

Grateful for the darkness, I shook my head. “Not really.”

“Not really,” Jacob repeated. He moved closer and suddenly his fingers were trailing up my arm.

“Never,” I corrected, forcing the word out over a dry throat.

“Never.” Jacob repeated my words again. His fingers traveled farther up my arm, leaving prickles of electricity everywhere

they touched. They slid up to my neck as he stepped closer. Two more inches and his body would be pressed against mine. I

couldn’t breathe. Every bit of my body felt like it was on fire.

“Let me get this straight,” Jacob murmured, his lips twitching at his choice of words. “You’ve never had a guy do—this.” He

leaned forward and brought his lips to my neck, a brush of warmth against sensitive skin.

I shook my head unsteadily. He shifted closer. “Or this,” he said, and pressed another kiss to my jaw. I shook my head again.

My brain had completely shut off by that point, and my mouth was paper dry. It was taking every scrap of willpower not to

pull him closer, or push him away.

He leaned back again and tilted his head, looking at me.

“Well?” he said.

“Well, what?” I asked, hating the way my voice cracked.

He grinned and leaned forward, and then suddenly his whole body was pressed up against mine. I could feel the hard planes

of his chest, and the hardness farther down, pressing against me. Honestly, the feel of it made me seriously consider fleeing.

This was madness—absolute fucking madness.

“Impress me,” he murmured, sliding both hands around my neck.

His mouth was inches from mine. It should’ve been nothing to close the gap, but instead it took every ounce of courage I had.

It was the first time I’d ever kissed anyone, and I didn’t have the guts to do anything but brush my lips once over his. Still,

it was devastating. Life-altering. I kissed him again—I couldn’t help myself—and this time his hands slid into my hair and

pulled me closer. The first sweep of his tongue against mine was like a hot brand pressed to my spine. He pressed himself

against me, his hips moving against mine, and within ten minutes of his hands and lips and tongue, my breathing had gone ragged.

I was—close. Embarrassingly close. And by the little chuckle Jacob gave as he pulled away, I think he knew it.

“It’s alright,” he drawled. “I’ll give you a free pass this time. Next time, though... next time, I’ll set the bar a little

higher.”

Then he slid his arm around my waist, pulled me tight against him, and kissed me so hard I saw stars.