Page 22 of Rear View

Ryah

“You look so good!” Zoya said, waggling her brows as she pulled us to the curb of the Edgewater Winter Market outside City Hall.

Seeing as I wasn’t ready to dole out my address, it had been the best, public alternative to meet Xavier. I was twenty minutes early for our date, but with him, I loathed the idea of being late. Wanted every second I could get.

The place was alive with people, and somewhere I could blend in with the crowd if my shadow stalker watched.

The outdoor rink was filled with screaming kids and families enjoying a skate, while vendors sold mulled wine, hot cider, maple snacks and winter wear.

Small fires surrounded by carved benches stood in the distance, while tufts of everyone’s frosty breaths filled the cool air.

It was a beautiful day. Cold, but clear. Perfect, really.

“As opposed to how I usually look?” Flipping down the passenger-side visor, I checked myself in the mirror for the twentieth time since she’d picked me up.

My eyes were done in a blended series of browns that brought out their bronze color.

My lashes, long and black, cheeks, a soft coral.

It was subtle, but noticeable. The beat of my heart picked up as the panic set in, and I angled toward her, pointing at my face. “Oh, God. Is this too much?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Never. You’re stunning.” Her squeal cut through the vehicle before she practically tackled me from the side when she wrapped me in a hug.

“Should I be doing this?” I wanted to. So badly, but what I wanted didn’t always matter.

Leaning back, she held me at arm’s length and pursed her lips.

“Yes. Stand tall, girl. Do not let him ruin this for you. You deserve more than hiding in your room. You deserve a life, and happiness. Get out of your own head for a bit.” She tugged a strand of my hair.

“Although, I think Xavier will help with that.”

I nudged her with my elbow.

“So, where’s he taking you, anyway?”

“The Hawthorne Circuit.”

“Good plan. No innocent bystanders.”

I pushed her for real that time, then popped my lipstick open and reapplied.

Her snicker was all gloating and pride as she hugged me again. “I’m a text away if you need anything.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Anytime. Safety first.”

“Love you.” Inhaling long and slow, I drew back my shoulders and slipped out.

“Love you too!” Then, as I closed the door, she said louder, for the people in the back, “Show him whatcha got, girl!” With that, she drove off.

Shaking my head, I drew a hand through my hair and swept the waves from my face, then unbuttoned my coat.

I smoothed a hand over my navy shape-hugging sweater, and adjusted the waist of my jeans.

It was from the more modest collection of my “someday” clothes, but it showed off curves even I hadn’t seen in forever.

Turning to the right, I stopped dead. A four-door, gunmetal-gray Jeep sat parked thirty feet away in the lot where I’d suggested we meet, Xavier behind the wheel.

His arm was stretched across the back of the passenger seat, and his head was leaned against his rest.

He wore a black leather coat with a black shirt underneath. They shaped his broad shoulders and accented the thick muscles of his chest. His body was honed from work—the hard, physical kind. The sort of man who knew how to use his hands.

His icy-blue eyes collided with mine before they took me in, head to toe. My body heated as he sat straighter and a smile pulled across that sexy, sharp-edged face. Turning the vehicle over, he put it in gear and met me as I walked toward him. Leaning over, he popped my door open.

“So punctual,” I teased when I set my foot on the sideboard and hoisted myself up.

“I race the clock for a livin’, darlin’. Not about to be late for you.” He winked.

I bit my lip and fastened myself in.

“You warm enough?” he asked.

“Perfect.” I traced a line on my jeans and peered at him through my lashes. “Your Shakedown looked wild this morning.”

His brow arched. “You watch it?”

I bounced a nod. “Sure did, rally boy.”

He smirked. “Gonna be a fun course this weekend.” Shifting, he settled deeper into his seat, looking relaxed. He pulled us onto the road, and we headed off. “You feel-in’ like a fan yet?”

Shrugging, I said, “I’m getting there.”

He laughed as he rested his right forearm along the length of the center console. His knuckles were lined with scars, while black stains creased their folds and followed the curve of his nails.

He followed my line of sight and flexed his hand. “Clean dirt.”

I eyed him.

“That’s what it’s called.” His mouth arced up in a smirk. “You wash it, but it never fully comes off, so the dirt’s clean.”

I laughed softly. “I like it.”

That smirk deepened. “Good to know.”

We headed east of the city. Beyond the apartment buildings and skyscrapers stood the snow-covered peaks of the foothills, sheer ice-cliffs dotting their sides. At the road’s edge, dried leaves clung for dear life to the frosted trees, while small cracks and potholes littered the pavement.

Before long, he pulled us up to a back entrance of the raceway.

The Hawthorne Mountains loomed ahead, switchback roads zigzagging their way to the top.

A motorized chain-link gate blocked the way.

Putting his window down, he brandished a key card and set it to a sensor there. It beeped, and the fence opened wide.

“Is this where you practice?” I asked.

He gave a sharp nod. “Unless we’re doin’ the simulator, then most of the time, yeah.” Pulling us onto the track, he parked and thumped the wheel. “Your turn.”

Twisting my hands together, I took it all in. Oh, God. His Jeep was so pretty and pristine, and I was about to drive it and what if I wrecked it and he hated me and—

“I won’t make you do anything you ain’t comfortable with, alright?”

I let loose a calming breath. “Alright.”

He hopped out and I followed, curving my way around to the driver’s side. He waited by the door, his piercing stare on me as I closed in. He locked his grip onto my waist, and I squeaked, my body warming when he effortlessly lifted me in.

“Now,” he said. “Push your ass into the crease where the seat meets the back. You’ll get a better feel for the turns, bumps, shifts or slips of the machine.”

I wiggled my way there.

He flicked a panel to my side. “Use these buttons to adjust your position.”

Pressing the first one, I edged it closer to the pedals. And closer. And closer.

When I was done, he gestured in the general vicinity of the steering wheel. “You know where the signal lights are, yeah?”

I pointed. “There.”

“Down for left, up for right.”

My head bobbed.

His questions weren’t loaded. There was no subtext or mocking. He was simply setting a baseline of what I did or didn’t know and where he needed to start. He was thorough, methodical. And I wondered if that translated to other facets of his life.

He gestured to the pedals. “You remember which is which?”

I tapped each with my boot as I answered, “Clutch, brake, gas.”

Leaning in, his chest pressed against my shoulder as his hand landed on the shifter. “Let’s do like last time. Left foot on the clutch, the other on the brake.”

I fought to focus past his hot and overwhelming presence. “Done.”

He dropped the shifter down, then maneuvered it from side to side. “This is neutral.” He moved it up to the left. “First gear.” Then straight down. “Second.” Up and slightly to the right. “Third.” Straight down. “Fourth.” Up and farther right. “Fifth.” He glided it back to neutral. “Got it?”

I repeated what he’d said in my mind a few times. “I think so.”

“Good girl.” He closed the door, and my heart stutter-stepped, my gaze following him as his tall, broad frame closed in on the passenger seat.

The vehicle dipped under his weight when he took his place. “Turn it on and put her in gear.”

“First?”

“Yep.”

The engine growled and there was a soft thunk as I did. My hands shook when they wrapped around the leather of the wheel. I’d thought about hanging out with him. About how utterly good he made me feel, but never about humiliating myself.

“Now, ease down on the gas while you ease back on the clutch.”

I did and the Jeep lurched forward, then clunked as it stalled. I sucked in a breath, my hair and body jolting. Biting my lip, I rang that steering wheel. “Sorry.”

“You’re good. You just came off the clutch a little quick.”

I winced. “I’m gonna destroy this thing.”

He set his forearm along the ledge of his window, then gripped the oh-shit handle. “I knew what I signed up for today. And I promise”—he slapped the dash— “this baby’s seen worse.” He tipped his head toward the ignition. “Start her up and try again.”

The motor rumbled to life, and this time, when I fell back on the clutch, the Jeep accelerated, rolling us forward. I squeaked in victory.

Xavier laughed. “Increase your speed a bit.”

Gently, I hit the gas some more.

“Now, hear how the motor’s revving? That it’s workin’ harder?”

It whirred higher, louder, vibrating beneath me. “I do.”

A sharp nod. “Look at your RPM gauge. Between three and four thousand’s a good place to change gears.” He tapped the shifter. “Keep doing what you’re doing, but press the clutch and move it into second.”

Another soft clunk and we went faster. I shimmied proudly in my seat.

“There ya go.”

My arms were tight, my movements jerky when I focused on the road…and not veering off of it.

“Keep your eyes on the horizon. It makes staying in the lines easier.”

I did, and fancy that, he was right. “You’re just a fountain of knowledge over there.”

“Nah. I’m good at one thing.”

“Nah,” I said, mimicking him. “I think you’re good at everything.” My face burned with the admission, from how easily it’d slipped from my tongue, but really, it was true.

His brows arched up. “ Everything , she says.” In true Xavier fashion, he smirked. “That so?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, rally boy.”