Page 2

Chapter 2

Not Here to Crush

June

I ’m not supposed to be here this late.

Not officially. Not on paper. But the garage bay at Mega Max is still warm, and that soft electric hum in the ducts makes it feel like the brand-new track itself is purring. Besides, no one said I couldn’t be here.

And someone needs to check the alignment on Kart 14.

I tighten the bolt one more quarter-turn and sit back on my heels, eyeing the front tires with a practiced glance. The toe alignment looks good—nothing pulling wide or uneven, and the steering response feels tight.

Years of listening, adjusting, rechecking have taught me how to see it before I even grab the leveler. I watch the shadows shift across the glossy curve of the go-kart’s front bumper, satisfied.

Mega Max is still so new it doesn’t smell like Cedar Falls yet. No sweat, no teenage boy cologne, no spilled sports drinks or burnt rubber. Just paint, polish, and possibility.

It’s beautiful.

And yeah, it’s over the top. The world’s first one-mile indoor kart track, right here in Cedar Falls.

Thanks to Levi and Lily Johansen's generous donation, Mega Max is finally real. Brand new. Shiny as hell.

And while the whole town’s been involved over the last year—design review, volunteer crews, late-night paint sessions, kart testing shifts, safety walkthroughs, and even mock-emergency drills—seeing it actually finished, lit up, and ready for the Grand Opening in three days? That’s something else. We're all still a little awestruck.

And when they announced the youth go-kart camp as the first event after the Grand Opening, I was the first to volunteer.

I'm a middle school teacher which means I'm already used to wrangling chaos with a smile. I’m more than qualified to keep a bunch of high schoolers in line during winter break.

And with my experience as a mechanic working the weekends at my dad’s shop—Cedar Crest Customs, the best garage in town—I figured I might as well make myself useful out here too.

The town’s still interviewing for someone perfect to run this place full-time, but with school out, my schedule lines up perfectly to oversee the camp and help out—mechanically or otherwise—when the crowd shows up and the engines start roaring.

It’s the perfect mash-up of everything I love—helping kids and helping machines run their best.

And with the camp coming together fast, I'm not the only one jumping in. The townsfolk are all ready to help in any way they can to make Mega Max a success—donating supplies, organizing the snack station, helping with sign-ins, or just showing up to help with ticketing and thermoses of strong coffee.

Everyone’s pitching in however they can, and there’s something about that effort—the way Cedar Falls comes together—that makes this place feel even more like home.

My best friend, Scott Maddox—who’s shared the same lofty dream as the rest of the town from day one—will be helping too, of course. He’ll be here on his firehouse off-days, helping wrangle teens and pretending not to love it.

We’ve been best friends since kindergarten—same schools, same homerooms, same off-key love for karaoke nights at Timberline Keg, the local bar.

The whole town loves to tease that we’re the next Levi and Lily, but we’ve never been like that. Never will be. He’s family.

If Scott’s a golden retriever, I’m probably the leash—keeping him from getting too excited, too reckless, too... Scott. And knowing him, he’s probably only half here to help with the kids—he definitely swung by earlier tonight under the guise of a 'follow-up fire inspection.'

The building’s already passed every test and been cleared for opening, but being the protector he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up during camp with his personal fire extinguisher. Just in case.

But the daily track prep? Making sure the karts are lined up and ready, checking safety harnesses, walking the course, keeping the teens from racing before they’re supposed to, and staying on standby in case a throttle sensor glitches or one of the brushless motors gets fussy—not likely with brand-new karts, but I’m not one to assume perfection. That’s mostly fallen to me. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m good at this.

I fit here. Quietly. Comfortably.

Even if the place is shinier than I’m used to. Even if the polished composite floors look too clean to trust with oil drips or boot scuffs. Even if the whole world is watching Cedar Falls now.

Especially because they are.

I finish the last of my inspection, wiping my hands on the rag hanging from my pocket. There’s a smear of grease across my sleeve, and I don’t care. This hoodie’s been through worse.

Just one more double-check of the seatbelts and brakes before tomorrow’s camp schedule gets finalized. I’m stretching my back when I hear something—soft and breathy, echoing faintly from the far-left garage.

At first, I think it’s laughter.

But then it draws out. Slower. Heavier. Definitely not a laugh. And definitely not mechanical.

I peek—just enough to catch movement near the shelving racks. They're not exactly hidden.

I slap a hand over my face. This is not how I imagined tonight going.

I crouch lower instinctively, like I’ve been caught in a crime, even if it's not mine.

A couple is full-on hooking up in the corner of the world’s newest go-kart track.

Just tucked far enough back that they probably think they’re hidden—but I can see the curve of her bare thigh around his hip, the slow rock of movement, his fingers gripping the wall behind her. Every breathy moan lands like a slap of heat.

You’ve got to be kidding me .

And if I move too suddenly, they’ll definitely see me. I’ve never seen anything like it in person. And right now? I don’t know if I’m embarrassed or... burning up.

Do I sneak out and pray they don’t see me? Do I chuck a wrench in the opposite direction and hope it scares them off? Or do I crawl into the nearest tool cabinet and hope it swallows me whole?

Instead, I freeze. Behind Kart 14. Eyes open. Watching.

Curiosity overrides caution for a beat too long, and I forget to breathe. Every shift of their bodies, every sound—it’s all right there, unfolding like something from a late-night movie I shouldn’t be watching.

I'm so focused, so weirdly enthralled, I don’t notice the presence behind me until I hear a low voice close to my ear:

"You know," he murmurs, smooth and lazy, "they’re so into it, they won’t notice you or me."

I gasp and whip my head around—too fast. I lose my balance in my crouch and nearly topple backward, eyes wide as my heart flies into my throat.

A hand catches me just in time. Strong fingers wrap around my waist while another claps over my mouth, muffling the scream that threatens to explode from my lips.

His hand is warm. His grip steady.

I look up—and blink, startled. He's close. So, close I can feel his breath graze my cheek.

I stare at the sharp line of his jaw, the dip of his collarbone, and that maddening smirk like he knows exactly how flustered I am. My heart’s a wrecking ball inside my chest, and I’m not even sure if the beat I feel is mine—or his.

Dark hair, tousled and perfect. Sharp cheekbones. A mouth that looks way too good smirking. He’s ridiculously attractive in that effortless, unfair kind of way.

Who is he?

My breath is still caught under his hand, which is still warm against my lips. And for one irrational, heat-slick second, I wonder what would happen if I ran my tongue along his palm. Would he pull away? Or press closer? The thought alone makes my knees sway.

Then, his eyes meet mine—startlingly blue, dancing with amusement—and only then does he slowly, carefully let go.

I gasp, filling my lungs with air, trying to pull myself together.

It isn’t until he shifts closer—like he’s trying to melt into the same shadows I’m crouched in, all cozy proximity and shared heat—that something in my brain clicks.

That jawline. That voice. That confident lean .

Oh no.

Noah. Freaking. Verelli.

I stand so fast I nearly trip over my own feet.

“Easy there, stranger,” he murmurs, grin crooked, as he gently tugs me back down beside him, both of us crouching low behind Kart 14.

His hand stays steady at my waist, keeping us close, keeping us hidden. “Not looking to get either of us spotted—or give you a concussion.”

Those eyes. Blue. Sharp. Amused.

“So,” he says, lips quirking as he glances toward the couple still going at it. “Didn’t realize your night shift came with a live demo.”

“It doesn't—” I start. “I didn’t know—”

He raises both hands, palms up like he’s surrendering. “Hey. I’m not judging. I was just appreciating the acoustics.”

My face is on fire . “It’s not what it looks like.”

He chuckles. “Looks like we caught an episode of Animal Kingdom special—with front-row seats in the temple of speed. Hope I didn’t wreck the vibe.”

“I was working,” I say, crossing my arms.

He inches closer. His eyes are on me. Focused. Intent. Like he’s trying to figure out exactly what I am and why I’m here. Not in a rude way, just... curious. Curious and intense enough that it makes my skin prickle. “Mechanic?”

“Teacher,” I correct. “Mechanic’s… a bonus skill.”

He tilts his head, eyes scanning my hoodie, the streak of grease on my sleeve. “So… is this place always this exciting at night?”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re always this smug with strangers?”

His grin deepens. “Only the cute ones hiding behind karts.”

And there it is . That tiny spark down my spine. Annoying.

I hate that I notice how he moves. How his voice dips. How he’s clearly used to attention.

"Noah Verelli." I say his name flatly, with deliberate disinterest.

He raises an eyebrow. “Guilty.”

Of everything, probably.

Race car driver. International playboy. The guy Levi said might swing by to help out at the camp. I didn’t expect him until the press conference. Didn’t expect him to show up tonight —while a couple’s very audibly hooking up in the far-left garage.

And I definitely didn’t expect him to look like this in person.

“You’re taller in person,” I mutter, not meaning to say it out loud.

He smirks. “I get that a lot.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“Didn’t take it as one.”

He’s still too close. Still too amused.

And I know this type.

Flashy. Fast. The kind of guy who collects hearts like pit crew flags and tosses them into the stands.

No thanks.

Not for me.

A sudden scream pierces the air—the woman in the corner, clearly getting closer to her climax. It shatters my thoughts like glass.

He shifts closer, his shoulder brushes mine as he leans in. His body heat, his closeness, the scent of his cologne curling into my lungs. And it’s making me feel all kinds of things I shouldn’t, not with him this close. Not while the couple are going at it just feet away.

“You're interesting,” his voice stays low—dangerously low. His gaze dipping just enough to make my skin buzz. “Confidence. Grease. That mouth.” He gives a slow, knowing smile. “Wasn’t expecting all that under a hoodie.”

I lift a brow in retaliation. “And you’ve got a reputation.”

He tilts his head. “Do I?”

“Fast cars. Faster women. Full-throttle flirt.”

“I’m off-season,” he says. “And very bored.”

“Try Sudoku.”

His laugh is low and warm. “I think I like you.”

“I think that’s your problem.”

We’re almost nose to nose now, crouched down. The air between us is thick—too warm, too close. My pulse trips, and I swear I can feel the tension rising off my skin.

He’s looking at me like I’m something to be studied. Unwrapped. Maybe devoured.

I should get up. I should .

Instead, I breathe.

And so does he.

And before I can blink—he leans in.

His hand slides back to my waist to pull me closer.

His mouth finds mine.

It’s not tentative. It’s not polite.

It’s heat and pressure and demand all wrapped into a kiss that shouldn’t be happening.

I freeze. Just for a second. But my body seems to know what to do before my mind can argue.

My mouth parts instinctively. I kiss him back—immediately, hungrily. The pressure of his lips, the scrape of his stubble, the warm slide of his thumb at my waist—it all crashes over me.

My whole body ignites like a live wire. None of my inexperience showing—not that he’d know. But I do. I’ve never done this. Never kissed like this. Never wanted like this.

It’s instant arousal. Sharp, consuming. I can’t think. I don’t want to.

For a long five seconds or maybe thirty, I let myself feel it.

The firm line of his lips, the way his thumb presses just enough. The slow intrusion of his tongue—searching, insistent, unhurried like he wants to take pieces of me with him, drawing me out and pulling me under all at once. The taste of something dark and addictive—like dark chocolate caramel. Then I hear it—my own soft moan, quiet and raw, slipping out before I can stop it.

What am I doing? What is this? I want to keep going—but not like this. Not in the shadows. Not while I can’t think straight.

So, I shove him.

Hard.

He stumbles back on his heels, one hand bracing behind him on the floor for balance, chest rising.

We stare at each other.

He looks wild. Hungry.

“You don’t even know me,” I breathe, fingers brushing my lips like I’m trying to chase the heat he left behind. They still buzz, swollen and stunned, as if his mouth rewired something in me.

“That’s the problem we should fix,” he growls, voice thick with something that makes my stomach clench—frustration, desire, maybe both.

My feet move before my brain catches up.

Fast. Reeling. Every nerve still on fire. My lips still tingling. My thoughts scrambled. I don’t look back—I can’t. Not when I’m this breathless.

Out the back door, into the freezing night air, where the snow still floats lazy and soft around the edges of the parking lot.

I’m in my car before I register, the keys in my hand.

My heart is sprinting as I start driving. And my brain?

It’s somewhere between a meltdown and a malfunction. Trying to rationalize what just happened. Maybe it was the couple going at it. That kiss was not supposed to happen.

Not with him.

Not with someone who doesn’t stay.

Not with someone who leaves with only streaks of rubber and smoke to show.

But my body?

My body’s still standing in that garage.

And she wants another lap.