Page 70 of Overdrive (Speed Demons #1)

Soft light spilled through the curtains, painting the room in morning haze. Callum’s arm slung across my waist, warm and heavy—comforting and suffocating all at once. His breath skimmed the back of my neck, each rise and fall syncing with mine like we were still locked together.

Every muscle in my body ached in a way no training session ever had—deep, wrecked, thoroughly used, and I couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped me.

“What’s so funny?” His voice was a low rumble against my ear, still rough from sleep. Desire unfurled low in my stomach.

Fuck. How was I still horny?

Or maybe it was horny again.

Either way. HOW?

I turned my head slightly, just enough to see his lopsided grin. “I can’t believe how sore I am. My physio is gonna think I fought a damn tiger.”

His grin widened, the smugness unmistakable. “You’re welcome.”

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow to hide my smile. “Don’t let it go to your head, Fraser.”

“Too late for that,” he teased, nuzzling into my hair.

For a moment, it was easy to pretend that this was normal, that waking up in Callum’s arms didn’t mean anything more than comfort and warmth. But the illusion shattered when he sighed heavily, the sound pulling me back to reality.

“What?” I asked, my voice hesitant.

“I’ve got an early flight to Monaco,” he admitted.

The words hit like a bucket of cold water, dousing the hazy warmth that had cocooned us. Of course, he had to leave. This wasn’t some fairytale where we could stay wrapped up in bed indefinitely. The world was waiting, and reality was worming its way back in.

“Right,” I said, sitting up and reaching for my phone. The glow of the screen illuminated the room as I unlocked it, my heart sinking when the notifications flooded in. Tweets, news alerts, articles—all speculating on Luminis interviewing other drivers.

My stomach twisted as I scrolled, catching snippets of commentary:

Luminis GP considering driver changes for next season?

Dubois’ DNF raises questions about her future in F1

Can Luminis afford to keep a rookie liability?

One DNF. One. After placing in the points every other race this season. And yet, here they were, doubting me. Doubting my worth. Silly season or not, for them to not even have a conversation with me about this first soured my mood.

You’ll never be enough.

The voice cut through my thoughts like a knife, the ghost of my ex sneering in my mind. A distraction. No one can know.

Panic surged, and I climbed out of bed, ignoring the stiffness in my legs as I stumbled toward the bathroom. I grabbed the toothbrush in the holder without asking, brushing furiously as if the minty taste could wash away the acidic taste of bile.

I’d done so well at keeping my emotions at bay, building a wall to protect myself. And yet one night with Callum had it all unraveling, as though all my hard work meant nothing.

“Auri?” Callum’s voice was closer now, soft but laced with concern. “What just happened? Talk to me.”

I spat into the sink, rinsing quickly before turning to face him.

He stood in the doorway, shirtless but wearing a pair of joggers now, his hair mussed from sleep, and I hated how effortlessly perfect he looked.

I looked like a drowned sewer rat with how my hair dried unbrushed after the shower mere hours ago.

“It’s nothing,” I lied, grabbing my clothes from the counter. My torn shirt was a useless pile of fabric in the trash. Frustrated, I shoved past him to grab his discarded shirt from the night before off the ground.

“That doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, stepping closer. “Auri, come on.”

I waved my phone at him, the articles and posts glaring back at me.

Dubois couldn’t handle the pressure. What’s next for her?

Whore-mula 1: What happens when you sleep your way to the top?

That last one was particularly cutting as my eyes snagged on the comment someone left on a posted article.

“You’re flying off to Monaco, and I’m waking up to headlines about Luminis shopping the fucking grid for my seat.”

He frowned, taking the phone from my hand to scan the headlines. “This is ridiculous. There’s no way they’re cutting you next season.”

“I’m a rookie, Callum. A liability. A woman in a man’s world.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my voice cracking under the weight of my insecurities. Everything he had said to me was rising to the surface. “It makes sense. Why would they keep me?”

The extra kid no one wanted.

His expression hardened, his jaw tightening. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. ”

“Do I?” I snapped, the panic spilling over. “Because it doesn’t feel like bullshit when I’ve been clawing tooth and nail to prove I even belong. One race that I DNF’d for reasons that were not my fault, and they’re already looking at other drivers? It’s their fucking car that’s the problem!”

He reached for me, but I stepped back, the space between us suddenly feeling like a chasm. “What are you doing?” he asked, his tone almost pleading.

I was spiraling, unraveling, and the worst part was how kind he still was. Like I was worth comforting, worth fixing, but I wasn’t good enough. I’d never been good enough. Not for my parents, not for racing, and certainly not for him.

“We agreed,” I said, voice barely holding. “Just one night. That was the deal.”

“Aurélie—”

“No,” I cut him off, slipping his white button-up shirt and over my shoulders. “You told me last night to not ruin the evening thinking about tomorrow. Well, it’s tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I meant?—”

“But it’s what you said,” I snapped, twisting my hair up into a bun to get it out of my face.

“Would you just let me talk for one goddamn minute?”

My mouth shut just as I was about to continue.

“I don’t give a fuck about ‘tomorrow’ or ‘today’ right now.

All I care about is you, standing here feeling like you’re not enough.

You are more than enough. You’re fierce, determined, and one of the best damn drivers out there, man or woman.

You’ve already lapped half the grid and they’re too fucking sexist to see it.

That’s not on you. That’s on them.” His words were like a lifeline in the storm of my doubts.

I blinked back tears. “But the rumors, the articles…”

“Fuck what they say,” Callum interjected, stepping closer until there was barely any space separating us.

“That’s all they are. Fucking rumors. You think I’ve gotten to where I am by caring about what others think?

We race because we love it, because it’s who we are. Not for anyone else’s approval. ”

His hands gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped.

Callum’s usually confident facade wavered, replaced by a raw vulnerability that I had never seen before.

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, love,” he began, his voice low and urgent, “but you need to listen to me. You are more than just a rookie or a woman in this sport. You’re so fucking good, and they’re mad if they can’t see that. ”

His words sunk into my fractured self-esteem like rays of light piercing through stormy clouds. The echo of doubt and insecurity still lingered, but for the first time in a long while, a flicker of hope ignited within me.

“I know it’s scary,” Callum continued, stepping closer with a gentleness that contradicted his usual brash demeanor. “But you’ve got to stop letting fear dictate your worth. You belong here. You’re stronger than this. Stronger than what anyone says about you or thinks of you.”

I hiccuped on a sob, trying to hold back the flood of emotions.

He sighed, clearly coming to a realization. “Can we see where this goes? Keep it low-key, just between us.”

I flinched, the memories of being a secret, a convenience, flashing through my mind.

You’re just a distraction. No one can know.

You’re too much—always wanting more.

Did you really think I’d take you seriously? That anyone would? That we could ever be public?

“I can’t be someone’s secret again,” I whispered. Not when it still felt like a bruise I hadn’t stopped pressing.

He froze. “What do you mean, ‘again’?”

“Drop it,” I said, my fight against tears finally failing as they spilled over. Crying in front of him was humiliating. Mon Dieu . “Please, Callum. Just drop it.”

He didn’t push, but the tension between us was palpable as I fastened the last button of his shirt and he released my face.

He snorted softly. “Keep that. You look better in it anyway,” he said quietly, attempting to lighten the mood.

But I was too far gone, lost in the whirlwind of my own thoughts.

“This doesn’t mean I want this to be the end,” I admitted quietly, not daring to meet his eyes. “I just… I can’t risk anything getting out right now. Not when everything feels so uncertain.” I sniffed.

“I understand,” he said, though his voice was tight, the frustration barely concealed. “So, what, until the end of the season?”

My lips rolled together. “Maybe. I don’t know. I-I’m sorry. I can’t think straight right now.”

“Okay,” he conceded with a grin that felt like a ray of home. “I watched you from afar for years. What’s a couple more months?”

His confession made me want to cry again, but instead I shook my head, my voice soft but firm. “You don’t owe me anything.” I hated how my voice broke. “You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“What makes you think I’d want to be with anyone else?” he asked, his tone tinged with hurt.

I shrugged, my insecurities bubbling to the surface. “Because you’re Callum Fraser,” I said bitterly. “Everyone knows you don’t stay.”

He grabbed my shoulders. “I don’t know how else to show you how different you are.”

Before I could respond, his lips crashed against mine. The kiss was desperate, passionate, a lingering connection that neither of us wanted to sever. My fingers tangled in his hair, his hands gripping my waist as if letting go wasn’t an option.