Page 12 of Formula Freedom (Race Fever #3)

Reid

T here’s a kind of euphoria that follows a great qualifying run. It hits just after the adrenaline fades but before the weight of the race settles on your shoulders. Some could get addicted to this feeling and I am at risk for that, no doubt.

It’s not pole, but it’s damn close. Lex Hamilton edged me out by two-tenths, and even though I would’ve killed for that top spot, I can’t shake the idea that tomorrow is mine to take.

Just because qualifying is over doesn’t mean there isn’t work still to be done.

The rest of the day is the usual pre-race madness—press interviews, media scrums, team meetings that stretch longer than they should.

Felix wanted to review tire data one more time.

Tariq kept tweaking race simulations like he was trying to code the perfect Sunday outcome into existence.

There was talk of potential safety car deployment probabilities, first-stint tire wear and undercut windows.

All of it mattered. But all of it blurred.

Because the whole time, my brain kept circling back to one thing.

Lara.

She’s more on my mind now than ever as I reach the hotel suite door and swipe my keycard.

The lock clicks open with a soft beep. I push inside and find her curled up on the couch, a paperback in hand.

My breath catches as I note she’s wearing one of my Matterhorn hoodies, which swallows her and makes her look way too sexy.

She looks up and smiles like she was expecting me, but not quite yet. “Hey. I thought you were at dinner with your parents.”

Yeah… that’s where I’m supposed to be. It’s where Lara’s supposed to be too, but things changed once my brother fucking put his hands on her.

I close the door behind me and shrug off my jacket. “They’re having dinner with Lance.”

Her eyebrows lift. “And you’re not?”

I shake my head as I cross the room. “Didn’t feel right. I told them I wanted a quiet night.”

She tilts her head, studying me with quiet curiosity. “Because of Lance?”

“Because of you,” I say simply.

Her cheeks flush, and I see the way she tries to hide it behind a half smile. I grab the room service menu off the coffee table and hold it up. “You hungry?”

“Starving.” She scoots forward, pulling the second menu out from under a notepad. “Let’s order something. I’ll call it in if you pick.”

We settle beside each other on the couch, menus in hand. It’s easy. Comfortable. Domestic in a way I hadn’t expected but don’t hate. We debate over grilled chicken versus pasta, finally compromising on getting both to share, and she calls it in.

After she hangs up, she glances toward the small hotel bar. “Want some wine?”

I shake my head. “Race tomorrow. I’ll pass.”

Lara moves to the wet bar, expertly uncorks a bottle of white. “How do you think dinner will go tonight?”

“I know Lance hasn’t returned my parents’ calls.

They texted him that dinner was still on, but who knows if he’ll show up.

They didn’t tell him you or I wouldn’t be there though.

I have no fucking clue what’s going to happen, but I suspect my parents will lay into him all the while reassuring him that they love him unconditionally. ”

“I’m sorry this is happening,” she says as she pours herself a glass.

“Please stop apologizing. Just accept it’s not your fault. It’s all going to be fine,” I assure her, and she nods in understanding.

She turns my way, holds up her glass. “To celebrate P2,” she says with a smile.

I grin as she takes her seat on the couch, both of us sinking into the cushions as we wait for our dinner.

“How do you really feel about qualifying?” she asks. “Are you upset you didn’t get P1?”

It’s a fair question and the answer is yes. We all want that first position on the grid. I lift a shoulder. “I gave it all I had out there so I’m good with the result. They’re making a few tweaks to the strategy that I think will make the difference tomorrow.”

“Well, I thought you were incredible today. You looked very… driverly out there.”

I snort. “Driverly? What type of word is that?”

She waves her free hand. “You know… doing driver stuff. Racey-type stuff.”

I grin back at her. “That’s quite the compliment, but yeah… I’m happy with how I did.”

She nods, watching me closely. “You should be. Watching from the balcony, I was so proud of you. Everyone up there was, actually.”

My chest tightens with something that’s not just pride. “Means more coming from you.”

There’s a moment—quiet but full—where the air shifts. Her gaze drops, then rises again, and it makes me wary.

“I need to tell you something,” she says, and I go on hyper alert from the tentative note in her voice.

I sit up straighter. “Okay.”

She takes a sip of wine, then sets the glass down, as if she needs both hands free to steady herself. “Lance showed up today. At the Matterhorn suite.”

Everything in me goes still while my insides boil so hotly, it’s as if steam is rising off my skin. “Did he touch you?”

“No,” she exclaims, putting a hand on my arm. “Not at all. He was just standing in the doorway, and I decided to confront him.”

“What the fuck, Lara?” I growl, pulling back from her. “Why didn’t you call security?”

Those beautiful eyes do a full roll. “Because there were over thirty people in that suite. He wasn’t going to touch me.”

I know she has a point, but I’m still pissed. “What happened?”

“Nothing, really. He said he wanted to talk, and I told him to leave me alone. That we were over and that we’d work out details later to get my stuff from the apartment.”

I should be mollified that she’s thinking toward the logistics of moving out of their shared home, a move I’ll gladly help her with, but I’m still angry about all of it. “And he just left?”

Her eyes cut away for a moment. “No, not right away. He told me I was making a mistake.”

“In a threatening way?” I grit out.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I was too angry at him to try to ferret out his intentions. But I told him the only mistake was the one I made by staying with him as long as I did. And that’s when the security guy walked up and told him to leave.”

She handled it but… I’m still pissed. I warned him to stay away from her and he came anyway. Next thing I know, I’m off the couch and pacing, my thoughts jumbled between anger, concern for Lara, and a helplessness that I can’t make this all go away.

“He had no right to be there,” I growl. “That’s supposed to be your safe space. Our space. What the fuck is wrong with him?”

“He didn’t touch me,” she says, and I turn to find her rising from the couch. The look on her face says her only goal is to soothe the rising storm. “It wasn’t physical. He only tried to talk.”

“That’s not the point, Lara,” I snap. “He’s pushing boundaries. Testing how far he can go. And I hate that you had to deal with that. Again. ”

She crosses the room slowly, reaching out to touch my arm. “Reid… I handled it. I wasn’t scared.”

I look down at her hand, then back up into those steady eyes. My jaw tightens.

“I am , Lara. I’m scared of what he’ll do next. I’m scared he’ll find another way in. And I’m pissed—because the only thing I want right now is for you to be safe and free and done with that part of your life.”

Jesus… that sounded almost proprietary. Did I mean it that way?

She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think that’s already true. Because I’m here with you. And when I’m with you… I do feel safe.”

Those words alone do the trick and my entire body relaxes. I reach up slowly, brushing a thumb along her cheekbone.

She leans into my touch and then she presses against me, causing everything inside me to still. Outside of brotherly hugs over the last few years, I haven’t been close to her like this in a long time.

I should back away but fuck it. My arms circle her waist on instinct, anchoring her there, as if letting go might undo all the fragile progress we’ve made. She fits against me like she’s always been there—like my body remembers hers even when my head has tried to forget.

Her cheek rests just below my collarbone, and her quiet trust rattles me more than it should. I close my eyes, breathing her in, trying not to be overwhelmed.

But it’s useless.

I feel everything.

When she finally shifts and lifts her head, her face is close—closer than it’s been in a long time. Her eyes search mine, like she’s waiting for a sign or maybe offering one.

And then she goes to her tiptoes and kisses me.

Soft. Barely there. Just the whisper of her lips on mine, but it’s like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer. My head spins and while it’s not our first kiss, it sure as fuck feels like it.

She pulls back only an inch, and I think that’s it—but it isn’t. Before I can jerk her back to me, she’s kissing me again, this time with more intent.

I stay still for a second, stunned by how much I want this—have always wanted this—but then I move. My hands slide up her back, and I kiss her like I’ve been waiting years to do it right. Our mouths meet fully, and her lips part for me, her tongue brushing mine with quiet certainty.

It’s slow, deliberate, aching.

She presses closer, and I respond without thinking—deepening the kiss, tasting her again like a memory I thought I’d lost. She makes a soft sound that vibrates through me, lighting up every nerve, definitely thickening my cock with the need for more.

I walk her gently toward the nearest wall, one step at a time. Her hands curl into the front of my shirt, holding tight, and when her back touches the wall, she doesn’t flinch. She opens to me. Wants this.

And fuck, so do I.

I draw back just enough to see her face—her flushed cheeks, her heavy-lidded eyes, the way her chest rises and falls in shallow, searching breaths.

I’ve seen her in every mood, every stage of life—but never like this. Never so sure despite the uncertainty of it all. Never so close, despite the fact I have no right to be in her proximity in this way.

My brain tells me to stop, but my heart tells my brain to fuck off.

I lean in again, one hand braced on the wall beside her, the other still at her waist. This could be all kinds of wrong. Just days ago, she was engaged to my brother, but today she’s here with me.

“Lara,” I murmur hesitantly.

She shakes her head, those beautiful waves of red bouncing in her ferocious denial. “Please don’t stop this, Reid. And please don’t say this is wrong.”

There’s pain in her voice. Pleading. A desperate plea for me to understand she’s paid for mistakes, as have I.

Fuck, this is going to complicate the hell out of all our relationships. Lance, my parents, her parents. Could anyone ever understand this?

All so confusing, but if there’s one thing I know, in all the years I’ve known Lara, of all the secrets we’ve shared and the past moments of intimacy… nothing about this is wrong.

In fact, I’ve known deep in my heart, everything about this is right. She’s been one of the truest things in my life.