The way she says it has me throwing my head back and laughing.
“It’s unfair, you know?” She walks up behind me, gesturing for me to turn around.
I do what she asks and lean my ass against the counter. “What’s unfair?”
“How you can look that good in something so horrendous.”
I tilt my head at her, fighting the smile begging to make an appearance. “Some women love the suit.”
“That? How can they? It leaves nothing to the imagination!” She mockingly gasps. “Is that an outline of your…package?” she cups her mouth, leans in, and whispers.
“I don’t know. Care to find out?” I wink.
“Oh, sure.” She steps into my space.
I lean back against the counter and tug her into my body. The limited square footage of the bathroom doesn’t give us much room. She tilts her head back, her eyes remaining locked on mine as her hand trails down the front of my race suit. My skin heats from her touch.
Her hand stops right above the area throbbing for her attention. “I’ll wait until after you race to find out.” She giggles and steps out of my grasp.
“What?” I sputter, trying to haul her back into my chest.
She shakes her head, evading my grasp. “No touching until after you test the car. Consider it collateral.”
I grin at her reference. “Do I at least get a kiss for good luck?”
She looks up at the ceiling as if she needs to contemplate it.
I grab onto her hips and pull her flush against my body. My hand grips onto the back of her neck while my lips crush hers. Our kiss is a frenzy. Quick, energetic, and everything I needed to calm me down before getting out there.
It’s as if this girl knows exactly what to do without ever having to ask me. I’m definitely falling for her, and instead of fearing it, I accept it wholeheartedly.
I only hope she feels the same way. If how she kisses me is any indication, I might be safe.
She pulls away from my hold. “That’s it. No more kissing until after.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
Chloe smiles over her shoulder as she opens the door. The buzz from the garage echoes through the small space.
Damn. Chloe didn’t just steal a piece of my heart. She carved her initials into it, branding me for life.
Entering the car, while awkward without my prosthetic, is easy. While I hate needing help, my safety is more important. My doctor recommended against driving with my prosthetic just in case another accident happens. It would become more of a liability than a help in that kind of circumstance, and more risk than it’s worth.
Even the mechanics pulling me up to the checkered line and James prepping me over the team radio goes without a hitch. But pushing my mind to its breaking point in order to move past my trauma? Now that is hard as fuck.
The engine purrs behind my back, reminding me of old race day sensations I blocked from my mind. Before, memories of the past brought me pain, and pain caused depression. But now, with me sitting in the race car, everything feels real again.
There’s a power about being behind the wheel. A mix of adrenaline and a God complex, intertwined to create athletes who test their limits each and every day.
I want to be that guy again. I want to be that guy so damn badly, I’m willing to work through the bad memories and stress to get there. Because in the end, broken champions don’t make history.
I look forward and focus on the road. The car rattles, and I’m sucked into a vortex. Images flood my brain. Tires squeal, and I rush to press my hands on my helmet. Something shudders against my back before metal scrapes. The humidity clings to my race suit, making my breathing heavy. Paved roads in front of me fade into rain-slick pavement.
Fuck. Not another flashback. I grab onto my stump and grind my teeth together. The motion grounds me, bringing me back to the present. Reminding me who and where I am.
This isn’t the same track. This isn’t that day. Breathe.
“Are you ready, Santi?” James speaks into the radio embedded in my ear.
I take a few deep breaths, regulating my heart rate. “About as ready as one can be after everything.”
“Remember what I told you. No one is expecting you to be an all-star on day one. It took Noah months before he could get a handle on the wheel, and you know how much of a perfectionist he is.”
I doubt it took Noah that long to master these controls, but I appreciate James’s comment nonetheless. “Let’s do this.” I tighten my fists around the grips of the steering wheel.
The crew steps away from the car. I mess with the toggles, familiarizing myself with the feel of them in my hands.