Behind me, I could practically feel Rack’s stare on my back, but I had to admit, he was right. I needed to clear this place out. Fast.
A faint scent hit me. My soap, my shampoo, clinging to her skin and hair.
My pulse spiked instantly. The grip on the humvee tightened. My thoughts took a sharp left turn I had no business following right now.
Her voice cut through my thoughts.
“You know…” she said slowly, leaning in, pointing underneath the small vehicle, “if you adjusted the suspension here and swapped out the shocks and struts, you could run it on uneven terrain. Wouldn’t need roads.”
I turned the device, following her line of thought, and… she was right.
A few tweaks, and this could be better suited for stealth than direct assault. My mind was already running through several different modifications.
My gaze flicked back up to her, and something shifted as I saw her in a different light. This time, she wasn’t just the girl fromlast night, not just the chaos in my bed, but someone who saw the same things I did… just from a different angle.
Thinking back to Manshu’s car and how he’d won a race he had no business winning, it all clicked.
It was her. She was the reason he won.
She’d tuned his car to match his shitty way of driving it for maximum leverage. She didn't just think about the machine; she thought about the driver too.
My pulse kicked up for an entirely different reason.
I bolted to my room, dropped the mini car back in place, then grabbed her hand and dragged her with me as fast as her human legs could handle.
Once we hit the bottom, I pointed to another gadget, explained what it did, and asked how she’d improve it. Then another. And another.
Each time, I tossed something new at her, gadgets, scraps, half-finished concepts, and every time she met it head-on, twisting it, reshaping it, seeing angles I hadn’t considered.
We moved around the space without thinking, back and forth between tables, shelves, counters. Her voice picked up speed, hands starting to move as she explained, pointing, adjusting, building ideas out loud.
A loudclackbroke through our conversation and we both turned.
Rack stood by the counter, a plate now sitting in front of him, jaw tight, shoulders squared.
She straightened instantly, her hand dropping from the device she’d been holding. Her fingers brushed her damp hair back behind her ear as she stepped forward, putting her hand out tentatively for a hand shake.
“Hi, I’m?—”
“Olivia Savin.”
Rack didn’t move as he said it. His voice landed flat, precise.
“You work at Alto’s Body Shop. Recently joined Manshu Covin’s pit team.”
Her steps stopped, hand slowly lowering. The softness in her expression tightened, her mouth pulling into something sharper as she looked at him.
Behind him, I dragged a hand over my face.
Really, bro?
Rack stood there, posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back like he was delivering a report instead of talking to a guest.
The air between them stretched. Neither moved a muscle.
After a few seconds, his gaze shifted, briefly, to the plate on the counter, then back to her. A silent instruction.
Sit. Eat. Dismissed.
