Page 20 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

Thecaféwas quiet, just the hum of the espresso machine, the earthy scent of roasted beans, and the soft murmur of early risers.Auréliemoved with a natural grace, her hair catching the light as she settled into a corner booth. I followed, my tea in hand, wondering why this felt so… odd.

Last night's conversation had lingered with me longer than it should have. The way she teased, the way she thanked me—it all felt too familiar. Dangerously easy. And now, here we were, sharing a morning together like we did this all the time and I wasn't already halfway obsessed with her.

“Did you sleep?” I asked, breaking the silence as she took a sip of her pistachio latte.

“Not really,” she admitted, her voice soft. “Too much adrenaline, I think. And you?”

“Same.” I paused as she traced the rim of her cup with a finger.

I thought of all the ways I typically worked that adrenaline off—like fucking someone against the nearest flat surface—and had to stop myself from only picturing her in those scenarios.

I was not walking out of here with a hard-on.

Not today. “Guess we kept each other company in a way.”

Her hazel eyes flicked up to meet mine, lashes heavy. “Maybe,” she said, her tone light but thoughtful.

The awkwardness from earlier began to dissolve as we talked—about the race, about Shanghai, even about the ridiculous fan edits that seemed to multiply by the hour.

“Have you seen the one where we're rivals in a soap opera?” she asked, laughing softly.

I shook my head, grinning. “No, but now I have to look it up.”

“They cast you as the brooding hero,” she teased. “Guess you're living up to the reputation.”

“And you?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Oh, you know. The schemingfemmefatale.”

“Sounds about right,” I said, and she rolled her eyes. I was learning her tells. She either did that, or scoffed, when she was trying not to smile.

There was a pause, and then she added, a little too casually, “They wrote a fanfiction about us, too. Different story.”

“Oh?” I leaned in. “What kind?”

She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. “Enemies to lovers. Lots of unresolved tension. A slow burn with… ridiculous amounts of longing.”

I raised a brow, my interest piqued. “And you read it?”

“I skimmed." Her cheeks turned pink.

“You absolutely did not skim.” I laughed.

"I was curious!" she defended. "It had a ridiculous title."

“Oh, now you have to tell me because I need to read it.”

“No,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “You really don't.”

“Oh, I definitely do.”

"It's much more dramatic than the soap opera."

"What kind of dramatic are we talking here?"

She swallowed, and my eyes dipped to her mouth. "Nothing too crazy. Illicit paddock hookups. That kind of thing."

" That kind of thing? Dubois, it's definitely sounding like you did more than skim it. "

Aurélie shook her head. "Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same."

"You're right."" I pulled out my phone. "I'll just search for 'Callum Fraser and Aurélie Dubois fanfiction' and see what comes up. Maybe it's under—oh, is this it? Red Flag and Red Lace ? It's got—holy shit—ten thousand comments?"

Her jaw dropped. "No—hey, wait, how did you find it that easily?"

"Pretty sure my phone's algorithm is tailored to all things us. Can't escape it." Us. As if there was an us to even discuss. I meant it as a joke, but we both froze and stared at each other. God, she was pretty. Way too fucking pretty. All gold hair and tan skin and glittering eyes and?—

"Don't you dare read it." She launched across the table in a blur of movement, trying to snatch the phone from my hand. But in the scramble, she ended up half-sprawled over the table, and my brain short-circuited, because my eyes went straight to the view down her shirt. Lace. Dark pink. Delicate.

I wasn't thinking about fanfiction anymore.

Except… the screen had already loaded. Right at the top of the page, bold and damning, was the opening line of the fic.

I cleared my throat and read aloud, half-teasing, " Callum pressed Aurélie up against the garage wall, fire still in his veins from the race ? — "

She cringed. "No?—"

"— and dragged his teeth along the inside of her thigh like she was the only victory that mattered. " I stopped. Blinked. Heat crept up the back of neck. Raced to my cock so fucking fast I felt lightheaded.

Aurélie fell back in her seat, groaning. I glanced up. She looked mortified . "You read that out loud," she whispered.

"I—" I blinked again. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." My brain was buffering. My name was in it. So was hers. And her thighs. Oh, Jesus Christ, I was so fucking fucked.

She buried her face in her hands. "You weren't supposed to do that, you idiot."

I looked at the screen again, afraid to read more but also painfully curious. "Is that really how it starts?"

"It's a creative interpretation," she muttered.

My mouth went dry. "That's… one way to put it. "

She finally peeked at me through her fingers. "You're blushing, Fraser."

"I'm not."

"You are ." She dropped her hands and flashed me a wicked grin that had me shifting in my seat. "It's the thigh line, isn't it?"

I opened my mouth to defend myself. Nothing came out.

She noticed. "I'll never recover from this, will I?"

I dragged a hand down my face, suddenly very aware of the tension vibrating in the air. "No, but neither will I. They really went there."

"They live there, Callum. That's, like, the least explicit part."

"That was the least explicit?"

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Yes, and that is not the best part. Forget it. Give me that.” She yanked the phone out of my grip, flustered, and locked the screen. My brain fought to focus on anything but the very, very-not-safe-for-work thoughts currently consuming me.

My gaze slid down to where her sleeve had ridden up slightly.

I noticed a faint, jagged scar on her forearm as she reached for her cup again.

It was almost hidden beneath the fabric, but the morning light caught it just right.

Before I could stop myself, I reached across the table and gently took her wrist, turning it slightly to get a better look.

I was crossing some invisible line, but I needed to touch her now. It wouldn't be in all the ways I wanted, but it was something, at least.

“What's this from?” I asked, my voice soft.

Her brows rose in surprise, and for a moment, I thought she might pull away. But instead, she let out a small sigh, her fingers curling into mine. My heart flipped.

Oh no.

That was new. Why was it doing that?

“Kartingcrash. My arm got caught when I flipped. It's nothing.”

“It doesn't look like nothing,” I said, my thumb brushing lightly over the scar. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt through me. I wanted to kiss her scar and— Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with me?

She pulled her hand back, inhaling like it had affected her, too. “Part of the job, I guess. I've got worse ones. ”

I briefly wondered if she'd let me take her hand in mine again. “Worse?”

“Emotionally, yeah.” She chuckled, but the comment felt a little too apt, making me believe there was some truth to it. “Physically, no. I've been more fortunate than my brother. Besides, we all take risks every time we get in the car.”

Her confession caught me off guard. This was someone who had seen the darker side of the sport, someone who carried those scars, both visible and invisible, with her every day.

“Auri,” I said softly, testing the nickname. It felt dangerous in my mouth. Too personal. Too intimate. I said it anyway.

Her eyes snapped to mine. “Auri?”

“Feels right,” I said with a small shrug, leaning back in my seat. “Unless you hate it?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, I don't hate it. But no one's called me that.”

“Never?”

“Never.” I liked that it was a name no one else had touched. And now it was mine.

Whoa.

Nope. That was a dangerous thought. Absolutely fucking not.

“But don't let it go to your head, Fraser.”

“Too late,” I said, grinning.

The connection between us softened into something warmer, but there was still an undercurrent of something more.

As we left thecafé, I couldn't help but glance at her again, the sunlight catching the faint blush still lingering on her cheeks. Yeah, so that goal to not walk out of here with a hard-on? Out the fucking window.

“Let me guess,” she said, catching my stare. “You're going to say something cheeky.”

“Not this time,” I said, holding the door open for her. “I was just thinking about how much trouble you're going to cause this season.”

Her laugh was low, curling down my spine.

One hand gripped the handle of her suitcase. The other reached out, fingers hooking into the hem of my hoodie at my hip .

She tugged me toward her, slow and confident, then rose on her toes to press a kiss to my cheek. It wasn't sweet. It was deliberate, lingering just long enough to leave a burn and her perfume behind, as if she wanted me to feel it.

Her lips hovered near my ear. “Still not going soft, I see,” she whispered. Then, quieter, "Good."

She let go, flashed me a parting smile, and then walked away.

Just like that.

I was fucking ruined, standing there hard as fuck and questioning every life choice that didn't lead directly to her.