Page 19 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

The gentle chime of my phone alarm stirred me from a restless sleep. I blinked at the soft light filtering through the heavy hotel curtains, the previous day hitting me all at once.

Aching muscles and a foggy head reminded me of the physical toll the weekend had taken on me, and the quiet of the room seemed too loud, too empty. Too lonely. No one to share the excitement with. Not like I used to.

I stretched carefully, wincing as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My physio had worked miracles last night, but even Jules couldn't erase the bruises from the cockpit or the stiffness in my neck from hours of intense concentration.

My phone was still lying on the nightstand where I'd tossed it after my last message toCallum. A sense of giddiness rushed through me as I replayed our exchange in my mind. He had a way of making me feel seen in a way I hadn't expected, let alone wanted. Or so I once thought .

I padded into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to wake up and hopefully shake off the grogginess.

The mirror reflected a pale, tired version of myself.

My lips were still swollen—bitten raw last night while thinking about him.

I exhaled sharply and pulled my hair up into a ponytail. This was fine. I was fine.

By the time I made it to the lobby with my suitcase in tow, the familiar buzz ofF1life was already in full swing.

Staff bustled about, checking out, coordinating transfers, and preparing for the journey toSuzuka, Japan.

I approached the reception desk, offering a polite smile to the clerk as I handed over my room key.

“Aurélie.”

His voice hit me like a bruise I hadn’t realized was there—deep, aching, and warm in all the wrong places.

I turned, pulse pounding in my throat, to seeCallumstanding a few feet away, hisduffelbag slung casually over one shoulder.

He was dressed in a simple black hoodie with his number stitched into the shoulder and jeans, casual but stupidly hot.

His dark hair was tousled enough to look like he'd just rolled out of bed.

That slight shadow on his jaw made me blink.

I knew exactly what that stubble would feel like if he pressed his mouth against my stomach, my inner thighs—yep, they clenched without permission at the idea.

Fuck.

For a brief moment, with the way he looked at me, I felt like he could see my thoughts, feel the shift in the air between us.

“Callum,” I replied, voice a little too even, too controlled.

His piercing blue eyes flickered over my face, my throat my chest, and I thought I saw something dangerous there. Something we didn't quite want to name yet. Oh, but the fucking butterflies in my stomach knew exactly what it was.

Want.

Need.

Arousal.

“Headed to the airport?” he asked, falling into step beside me like it was nothing. I kept my eyes forward, legs moving faster than they needed to. I was trying—desperately—to outrun whatever the hell this was between us, this thing I hadn’t asked for, but he just kept sucking me back in.

“Not yet. I was thinking of grabbing a coffee first,” I said, glancing at him. Noticing how close he was now, the heat of his body against the slight morning chill. “You?”

“Same,” he said, his lips twitching like he was hiding a secret. “Looks like we're on the same schedule.”

A laugh bubbled out of me. “Awfully presumptuous of you, don't you think?”

He fought a grin, but I saw it in his eyes. That playful glint. The kind of glint that made my stomach clench.

“What, it's a crime to accompany a lady to get coffee before a full day of travel?”

God, his voice was lethal. Rough, deep, effortlessly cocky.

I rolled my eyes. “ MonDieu , that Scottish accent of yours isn't fair. No wonder you have womenworshippingyour existence,” I muttered.

The teasing was meant to be light, but I caught the way his pupils dilated—just for a second. Like he was registering something new in my voice. Like he caught the way I'd been checking him out.

“What do you mean?”

“You say shit like that. It sounds chivalrous in this day and age of players, fuck boys, and assholes. Pair that with your accent and it sounds fucking majestic.”

This time he did grin, and I saw a hint of a dimple in his right cheek. What the hell? It shouldn't be legal to look this good.

“Honestly, fuck off,” I teased, shoving his shoulder as we slowed in front of a coffee shop. Anything to break whatever moment that had just been. Except my fucking fingers lingered half a second too long.

“Can't change how I was born,Dubois.”

My eyes rolled even harder as he opened the door to thecaféfor me. His hand brushed against the small of my back, barely there but enough to send a jolt of white-hot heat rushing through me.

Despite the teasing, his presence was grounding. Welcome.

When I glanced at him over my shoulder and saw him watching me like he was debating something, I held his stare. Long enough to show him I wasn't afraid. Just… hungry .

His mouth curved. “Still not going soft, by the way,” he said under his breath.

Oh my God. I would not survive this man. I bit back a grin. “Good to know,” I murmured. “Would've been such a shame if I was losing my touch.”