Dyson and I exchanged a glance. The tabloids had run stories about the ‘little place on the beach’ he’d bought—it had fetched a record price for Sydney real estate.
“We might just take you up on that, Cal,” I told him as the group folded in around us again.
We bunched together, laughing, chatting, and taking way too many selfies. One epic track followed another while the bass pounded through the room, creating an electric energy as we danced into the early hours of the morning.
When sunrise cast the first shards of light through the enormous windows, the upbeat tempo shifted into something softer. On the edge of a brand-new day, I stood transfixed, gazing wide-eyed out the window.
Ivy’s beautiful smile, messy hair, and crazy laugh flashed into my mind, my heart overflowed with longing…
Dyson wandered over beside me. “This has to be the most stunning sunrise ever.” His eyes fixed on the fiery ball of the sun growing larger by the second.
“You know what?” Archie joined us at the window to watch the blazing exhibit. “I think you’re right.” He draped a lazy arm over our shoulders as we gazed out at the fierce orange sky.
It was a spectacular end to an unforgettable night…
Damn. Near.Perfect.
***
Pumped for our upcoming race, Dyson sat behind the wheel of the McLaren, tearing up the highway toward Dubai. “It’s going to be epic racing on that track.” He shot me a sidelong glance. “Try to keep up.”
“Bro.” I arched a brow at him. “You’re going to need a head start.”
We laughed as an emotional hip-hop anthem boomed from the speakers, belting out the lyrics as we barreled along. Ahead of us, the skyline erupted into a forest of skyscrapers, glowing brighter as we sped toward it.
“Fuck yeah!” Dyson rolled the window down, wind tearing through the car. “I love this place.” He gunned the engine, scrunched up his face as he howled like a wolf.
Laughing, I joined in, and we both cracked up. As we caught our breath, the racetrack came into view up ahead.
A few minutes later, we pulled into the car park and headed inside, where the manager chatted with us about the Yas Island race before running us through the safety protocols.
I changed into my race suit, pulled on my boots, then put on my helmet—complete with radio headset—and gloves.
When I walked toward the Lambo, Dyson was leaning up against the Ferrari. I jumped in, kicked the engine into gear, then drifted over to the start line.
Dyson cruised up alongside me. We launched straight into a practice lap, then pulled up beside each other at the start line. He returned the swift nod I gave him as we revved the engines in unison.
“Lights out and away we go.” His car launched forward.
“Go! Go! Go!” I yelled into the headset, slamming down the throttle, and oversteering before the car slid off the track.
Laughing at my rookie mistake, I veered back onto the circuit and tucked into Dyson’s slipstream. The reduced drag gave my car a boost of acceleration as I tried to overtake him.
“Try to stay on the track this time, bro, or else beating you won’t be any fun.” His wild laugh crackled over the speaker.
“Sorry, what was that?” I made a muffled sound into the mouthpiece. “You’re dropping out… thanking me for the head start, hey?”
Bursting into laughter, he blasted ahead.
To get the feel of the track and the car’s performance, I cornered conservatively on the first lap before deciding to ramp it up a notch. “Let’s see what this baby’s made of,” I muttered under my breath.
“Let’s go then!” Dyson laughed.
With each lap I added more speed, closing in on Dyson.
He maintained his lead by a sliver, right up until the last straight. I slipped around him on the inside line and thundered past him, taking the lead as the final corners rushed toward us.
“Whoa!” he said, startled, accelerating to reclaim the lead. “Welcome to the party.”
