Page 64 of Out of Control

“Any time . . . it also wouldn’t hurt for you to actually try and be on talking terms with your teammate. That could make this whole thing swing one way or another.”

“There’s—”

“History? Yeah. I know. But that history isn’t exactly his fault now, is it? He’s bore the brunt of it simply because of his last name much like it seems she has to in other aspects.”

I grunt in response. The last thing I want to think about is Cruz in this whole mix when I’d much rather be thinking about Sofia.

“I’ve got to get back but good luck this weekend.”

“Good luck to Lachlan but apologize to him in advance for me.”

“For?”

“For kicking his ass.”

Her laugh stays with me as I watch her take the long walk back to the pits and to Lachlan.

Sprinkle it with water.

Let it breathe.

This is definitely new territory for me if I’m thinking in terms of shit like this.

I push up from my seat. Chicanes. Grid positions. DRS. Boxing.

Those are much better terms.

Terms that make me feel like me.

Terms I repeat all the way back down to the garage.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Rossi

“Have them look at adjusting the wing,” I say when I see Cruz staring at the back of his car like he’s trying to solve the world.

It’s mid-morning. The garages are empty as most of the crew is in a team meeting.

It’s my absolute favorite time on the track. I can sit with my thoughts. Can settle the squirrely-ness that seems to hit me on race weeks.

“Yeah. Sure. Like they haven’t already thought of that,” he says, disregarding me.

“They have, but they’re doing it wrong.”

“What the fuck, man? You think you can come on this team and tell people what to do and they’ll do it?” Cruz straightens up and stares at me.

“No. I think my car outperformed yours yesterday, and if we want to secure a one-two finish or a two-three so that we’re both on the podium, our cars should be in sync. Nothing more. Nothing less. But think whatever the fuck you want to think. Not my fucking problem.”

I go to walk away the same time Sofia walks into the garage.

And just like every other time I see her, the air is stripped from my lungs.

Our eyes meet. My feet falter. And I suddenly need to do something useless in the garage rather than leave.

She gives me the slightest of smiles—like a goddamn moment of sunshine before the clouds close back up—and then her dad walks in behind her.

“Cruz. You need to have your crew get their shit together and figure out why your teammate’s car was faster in testing,” Dominic Navarro says, choosing to act like I’m not there.