Page 37 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

First thing I saw when I opened Instagram? Us. Again.

Us. Like we were a thing.

Jesus. When would I learn to stop torturing myself? At this point, my socials were basically porn. Specifically, hers. I was beginning to think my algorithm was just fucked, because I used to have way more variety on my feed.

The irony. I was trying to not think about her. Hopefully erase the image of her in that ridiculously tight, strapless pink dress from my mind.

I didn't want to think anymore.

A new compilation had surfaced from our joint media day in Miami, paired with some sultry pop song I couldn't name.

Slow-motion clips. Her laughing. Me smiling like an idiot.

Us locked in eye contact that now felt like foreplay.

And then there was the matter of my hand on her lower back. I hadn't even realized I'd done that.

But now I couldn't unsee it.

And the comments. Not helping me at all.

@F1Thirsty: The tension here is INSANE. Just date already.

@RivalryEdits: Fraser couldn’t help himself—his hand went there all on its own.

@GridDrama: “Rivalry” is looking a lot like foreplay, don’t you think?

@GirlsOnTheGrid: They’re both so fucking fine.

@ForTheF1Fans: Raw, next question.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, scrolling through the endless reactions.

The fans were eating it up, dissecting practically every fucking breath we took in each other's vicinity.

It shouldn't have bothered me—it was all just the noise that came with being inF1—but this time it felt different. This time, it felt personal.

Was it really that obvious? Were they seeing something I wasn't ready to admit?

Hell, we weren't even dating. She could barely stand me half the time.

I set my phone down, but the images of us lingered. Her sharp laugh, her easy confidence, the way she'd looked at me like I was a puzzle she'd already solved. And my hand. The way it had found its place on her back, like it belonged there.

I'd been around her enough now to know she wasn't the kind of person who tolerated anything she didn't want. She would've shoved me off or called me out if it had bothered her. But she didn't even flinch.

The realization settled in my chest like a bad strategy call mid-race—too late to fix and guaranteed to haunt you.

Maybe the fans weren't entirely wrong. Maybe there was something between us—something I'd been trying to ignore, to bury beneath the layers of competition and professionalism.

Something that had started as a spark and was quickly becoming an inferno.

My phone buzzed with aSnapchatnotification, jolting me from my thoughts.

Aurélie

How does this look for the club?

Before I even opened it, I was fucked, already wound so tight from that first picture she’d sent, from the way that dress hugged her curves in all the ways I shouldn’t be thinking about. But then I tapped on the snap, and—nope, I wasn’t recovering.

Aurélie, standing in her hotel room, phone propped up on the vanity. The dress clung to her like sin, soft pink and dangerous. Short enough that my fingers twitched at the thought of gripping the hem and dragging it higher. She turned, slow and deliberate, giving me the full fucking show.

Every curve. Every devastating line of her body.

Then she faced forward again, hands settling on her hips in a way that had my mind spiraling into dark, filthy places.

She glanced up at her reflection, her lips parted just slightly, her expression caught somewhere between playful and knowing—like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

Then she made kissy lips. And that’s when I lost the fucking plot.

The breath I dragged in didn’t reach my lungs.

My mind—it was already gone.

The little toss of her hair over her shoulder, the way her mischievous little grin lingered just before she stopped the recording?—

I was on fire.

My pulse thundered through my veins, hot and relentless. My jaw locked so tight it ached, fingers gripping my phone like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

My dick twitched in my pants, and I dragged a slow, deep inhale through my nose, pissed at how easily she was undoing me.

I was either going to die of blue balls or chafe myself to death from using my hand constantly. The only other option was to find a mindless fuck, but yeah, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Probably never again at this rate.

Fucking hell.

She was out of control. She was making me out of control. I groaned, tugging at my hair. Forced my brain to function long enough to type out a response.

Depends. Are you trying to kill someone tonight ?

But that wasn’t enough. Not nearly fucking enough.

I needed to find her. Now.

And I was abso-fucking-lutely going to cross lines when I did. There was no stopping it at this point.

Aurélie

Don’t be dramatic, Fraser. I’m just going out to celebrate.

In that? You’ll start a riot.

Aurélie

Good. Keeps it interesting.

I should’ve left it there, let her have her night out without inserting myself into the narrative.

But the thought of her in that dress, out in Miami, surrounded by people who didn’t know her like I did—who didn’t deserve to know her—pissed me the fuck off.

And now, I didn’t want to analyze that reaction right now.

The drink in my hand tasted like nothing. Didn’t matter what it was—whiskey, vodka, straight fucking gasoline—it might as well have been water for all it did. The only thing I could taste was frustration.

I was seconds away from self-destruction.

Where are you?

She sent a photo next.

Aurélie

Wouldn’t you like to know?

This picture was just her feet. Those delicate ankles strapped into heels I suddenly wanted around my neck. Long, toned legs that had my brain conjuring up a million different scenarios. None of them fucking appropriate.

But the real gut punch? The background. Blurry figures. A table with drinks. People. Men.

I cursed under my breath. This was dangerous territory, and I knew it. But as much as I told myself to let it go, to let her have her fun, the thought of her out there—without me—was unbearable.

I didn’t know who those men were. Couldn’t see their faces. But my stomach turned at the idea of them being close to her. Seeing her in that dress, in those shoes, with the look in her eyes I’d seen in the video she’d sent earlier.

A look I should’ve been the only one seeing.

My glass nearly shattered in my hand. Pulse roaring. Ears ringing. My whole body screaming mine in a voice I didn’t even recognize.

And then, as if the universe was trying to end me, another notification.

Aurélie is typing…

My heart stopped. My cock didn't.

Seconds stretched. Nothing came through.

She was toying with me. She'd sent that video and then disappeared. Now that picture, with no explanation of where she was at.

I leaned back against the balcony of my hotel room, forcing a slow breath through my nose.

Breathe.

My eyes closed, a long breath filling my lungs. But after a few moments reprieve, all I saw was a pink dress and tan legs. Felt her body writhing against me when I kissed her inSuzuka.

And suddenly, her anywhere but right in front of me?Un-fucking-acceptable.

Oh, she was playing, alright. I was done playing back. I wasn't thinking straight as I headed for the door. I was going to find her. And when I did? She was going to fucking know it. I didn't care who saw, but I wasn't walking away from her tonight without a taste.

The line at the club snaked around the block, a pulsating mass of bodies and neon lights. Miami never slept, and tonight was no different. I parked around the corner, the low rumble of myMcLarendrawing a few lingering stares as I climbed out.

Coming here was a gamble, but it wasn't a hard bet to make. If she was anywhere tonight, it was here. I yanked out my phone and called Marco. He answered on the second ring.

“Mate,” he greeted, music thumping in the background. “Tell me you're not calling to bail.”

Not yet.

“Not exactly,” I muttered, weaving through the throng of people outside. I could feel eyes on me. A few women giggled. A group of guys whispered. None of it mattered.

“Are you still at Elysium?”

“Of course. Where else would I be?” he said, amusement lacing his words. “What's up?”

“I need to know ifDuboisis there.” My voice was clipped. I didn't have time for games.

Marco's laughter was sharp, cutting through the static. He knew exactly what I was doing. Knew exactly why I was here. “You're chasing her down now? Damn, Fraser. This is a new low, even for you.”

My grip tightened around my keys. “Just answer the question.”

“She's here.” Then, a beat too long before he added, “And she looks… well, let's just say you're not the only one who's noticed her.”

Heat flashed through me, agitating and territorial. I didn't have a fucking claim on her. Not officially. Not yet. But the thought of anyone else looking at her in that dress the way I had? I felt homicidal.

The little vixen was going to get a version of me she'd never met before.

“Don't let her leave,” I said, pushing through the club's entrance with a nod to the bouncer.

Marco let out a low whistle. “This is going to be a disaster. You know that, right?”

“Just keep her there.” I hung up before he could say anything else.

The club was a fucking fever dream. Bass pounding. Lightsstrobing. Bodies pressed so tight it felt as though the heat was a living thing in the air.

I could barely pay attention to any of it. Just pushed through the crowd, my focus locked on the elevated VIP section above.

And there she was.

My feet stopped working.

Standing at the rail. Cocktail in hand. Laughing. At something some fuck said with his mouth way too close to her ear.

The dress was even worse in person. So short it should have been illegal. She looked fucking unreal, and everyone here knew it.

Including me.

Especially me.

And then—that guy leaned in closer. Too fucking close. I didn't know if he was talking to her or just trying to get her attention. Didn't care. My body was already moving.

She walked away, disappearing into the VIP section, and the desperation to reach her peaked, clawing at my throat and roiling in my stomach. I pushed through the throngs of people, cutting through the mass of bodies.

I needed to get to her before someone else did, before she had the chance to slip through my fingers. Before I completely lost my fucking mind.