Page 35 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

It reminded me of my Porsche back home: sleeker, smoother, rebuilt from the ground up with my own hands. This one bit back. I loved it.

As we climbed out of the cars, our faces were flushed, our breathing heavy. The cameras were immediate, capturing every angle. It was supposed to be lighthearted—a vintage exhibition race for the cameras—but my frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

My mind was still spiraling. Still reeling, playing a cruel joke on me.

He had called me love.

Love.

Love.

Love.

Not Dubois. Not Auri. Love.

And he'd said it in that accent, in a tone that burned hotter than the Miami sun.

Like it had just slipped out. And the way he'd looked at me when he said it?

The way his gaze had lingered, scorching, something unreadable flickering in his expression as his veiny hands tightened the straps on his helmet?

Fucking porn.

I was already so far down this path, and he made sure I kept going. I could still hear it. Could still feel it in the way my heart pitter-pattered against my sternum. Still wondering how much filthier it would sound in a different setting.

I needed to snap out of it.

“You had the inside line,” I accused, my voice low and sharp as I yanked off my helmet and tightened my ponytail.

Callum tossed his helmet onto the roof of his car with a smirk that was too fucking cocky for my mood right now.

He ran a hand through his sweaty waves—an action that should immediately be banned for the sake of the female species.

“And you nearly clipped me in Turn 4. You're lucky I didn't spin out.”

“Lucky?” I shot back, stepping closer, catching a whiff of his sweat and expensive cologne. Fuck, I hated that I liked it so much that my thighs rubbed together involuntarily.

“You were so slow through Turn 8, I could’ve slipped inside with my eyes closed.”

I blinked. Slipped inside. Into what? Where? Why did I suddenly forget how to breathe? The tips of my ears grew hot and beads of sweat gathered on the nape of my neck. I reached behind me to lift my heavy ponytail. It had to have been from the Miami heat, not from dirty talk.

His eyes dragged over me, clearly catching the shift. He smiled casually, maybe a little taunting, and added, “Relax. I meant the corner.” A pause. “Unless your mind’s somewhere else?”

“Fuck. Off,” I snapped. “You blocked me like it was bumper cars, Fraser.”

He laughed, the sound tinged with frustration. “It's called defending, Dubois. Maybe take notes.”

I stepped even closer, the space between us disappearing as my anger flared. “Maybe learn to fight fair. ”

His grin faltered, his blue eyes narrowing. “You think this is unfair? Welcome to F1, princess. This isn't F2 anymore.”

Princess hit me like a slap, and my breath caught in my chest. My fists clenched at my sides, and for a moment, I considered saying something that would cross every line.

Except he got there first.

“Careful with how you respond, love,” he murmured, voice dipping into that lethal, velvet register that made me swallow nervously and forget we were surrounded by cameras. “You keep talking back to me like this and I might bend you over the car and show you how I really take the inside line.”

My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again… and absolutely nothing came out. I was speechless, and for me, that was a fucking miracle.

He was playing dirty, and you know what? I’d be damned if I didn’t throw it right back.

I shoved a finger into his chest, but he didn’t budge. Fuck him. “Say whatever you want, asshole. You’re a sore loser because you’re not used to losing to a woman. You played dirty.”

Callum’s eyes narrowed. “I have never had a problem with the fact that you’re a woman. In fact, I think it’s hot as fuck that you challenge me the way you do.” He let that land for a moment, pursing his lips. “But you’re in the big leagues now, so act like it.”

Scoffing, I tilted my head to the side, vividly aware of the encroaching camera crew. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

He smiled and fucking purred , “I’m better than you, and I’ll still hold the door open after I destroy you.”

My brain short-circuited. I made a noise that couldn’t possibly be English—maybe not even French.

I should have said something, but he just winked and turned to the sea of cameras before I could respond.

Lenses clicked, microphones were shoved in our faces, and the tension between us snapped back into something performative.

“Great race,” Callum said smoothly, his public mask sliding into place as he turned toward the reporters.

“Yes,” I said, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Great race.”

Liar .

We both turned away, appearing so goddamn casual.

And then he opened his fucking mouth. “You know, when you call me an asshole and then moan after… it really fucks with my self-control.” A beat. Then, deadlier, “Kinda makes me wonder what you’d sound like with your legs over my shoulders.”

My soul left my body, my brain was static, and my knees were weak. I stopped walking, and he glanced over his shoulder at me. With a parting wink, he walked off to our respective changing areas while I stood there, still stunned, turned on, and burning.

I was going to murder him. Then maybe fuck him. Possibly in that order… later. After I got out of this goddamn fire suit and remembered how to function like a human being.

Once the stills were done, the content team set up for aTikToksegment. A phone mounted on a tripod was aimed at us, and the crew explained the concept.

“Alright, we're going to ask you some rapid-fire questions,” the coordinator said. “Answer quickly, and keep it fun. Let's show the fans your personalities.”

We both nodded, and the first question came.

Coordinator : “Favorite track on the calendar?”

Callum : “Spa. The elevation, the history—it's iconic.”

Aurélie : “Suzuka. It's brutal, but there's nothing like it.”

I caught the faintest flicker of approval inCallum'sexpression. It was rare for us to agree on anything. But there was something else in his eyes, a gleam like he carried a secret only he knew.

Coordinator : “Pre-race ritual?”

Aurélie : “Stretching, then sitting alone with my playlist. No distractions.”

Callum : “Caffeine. Lots of it. And a pep talk with my engineer.”

I arched a brow. “Pep talks, Fraser? How cute.”

He chuckled, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “You should try it sometime,Dubois. Might help with those nerves.”

I rolled my eyes, though the playful jab made my cheeks warm. “I have other ways to settle my nerves. You should try them sometime, Fraser,” I whispered with a wink, just to get under his skin.

His hand flexed against the table. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He didn't answer. Didn't have to—I knew what he was thinking.

And for once, I hoped he stayed there. I calmly turned back to the camera for the next question.

Coordinator : “Dream destination?”

Callum : “Scotland. Home is where the heart is. Or Greece. Never been, but would like to.”

Aurélie : “French Polynesia. I'd love to spend days on the water, away from everything.”

The crew murmured approvingly, clearly eating up the contrast in our answers.Callumshot me a look, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Coordinator : “What's the most annoying thing about each other?”

Callum : “She's too competitive. Won't let anyone have a moment of peace.”

Aurélie : “He's too smug. Can't let anyone forget how many championships he's won.”

The crew burst into laughter, but the undercurrent of tension remained, both of ushyperawareof the way our answers danced around the truth of our sexual chemisty.

“Okay, last one,” the coordinator said. “Describe each other in one word.”

I hesitated, the question catching me off guard.Callumanswered first.

“Relentless,” he said, his voice softer than I expected. He looked at me, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room.

I swallowed, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “Unpredictable.”

The word hung between us, and the crew exchanged knowing looks, clearly thrilled with the footage .

“Alright, that's a wrap!” someone called, and the crew dispersed, leavingCallumand me briefly alone in the charged silence.

“That was… something,” he said, his voice low as he turned to me.

I nodded, my pulse still racing. “Yeah. Something.”

Our eyes met, the unspoken tension crackling like a live wire. But before either of us could say anything more, we were pulled in opposite directions by our respective PR teams, the moment slipping away like sand through our fingers.