Page 17 of Heartbreaker

“On our way,” Rome says, and the man nods before jogging off.

“I should get going before Demi comes looking for me,” I say. “Good luck out there today.” He smiles at me, something soft and genuine, reminiscent of the look I saw on his face at the meet and greet. It settles in my belly, making a home where it absolutely should not be welcome, but I don’t have the heart to push it away. Unfortunately, that look is nothing compared to his next words.

“You too, heartbreaker. Show ‘em not to underestimate a girl, okay?” he says. I know he’s not talking about the crowd but my brothers, and that settles in my gut too, before he gives me a wink and heads off.

Later, when I snag first place in the big air section of the race for the first time, I feel like I did just that, proving I deserve to be here and that I shouldn’t be overlooked because of my gender. But what fills my stomach with those pesky butterflies is looking across the arena and locking eyes with Rome. He’s standing by his truck directly across from mine, his arms raised as he cheers for me. Even though I can’t see it, not even when one of the cameras zooms in to grab his reaction and put it on the big screen, I somehow know he’s grinning wide at me.

TEN

The weekend ends with me winning all three races.

A sweep like this used to end with me partying or celebrating with the team. Instead, I’m watching the setting sun alone from the top of my trailer, a six-pack beside me.

How the mighty have fallen, I suppose.

I don’t mind the solitude, though—not when I spent the entire weekend still unable to flip, not when every attempt brings that same nervous energy to my gut, and not when the thought of going back to Indy sometimes feels so far away, like a pipe dream I might never reach. Each day, things feel a bit more hopeless, and I’m fine drowning in those emotions alone.

I’m sipping my beer and dwelling on my melancholy thoughts when golden tresses catch in the low light of the setting sun beneath me.

“Heartbreaker?” She looks around before I let out a short, loud whistle. Finally, she looks up, and she grins at me.

Not the teasing one, not the entertained-but-mildly-annoyed one.

A real, true, honest-to-god grin. It lights something in me, casting away the shadows of my bad mood. Even when her look turns into confusion, it leaves that lightness in my chest, a lingering reprieve from my dark thoughts.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Just hanging out,” I say with a shrug. She lifts an eyebrow at me.

“Should I call a trusted adult for you?” I let out a loud laugh, sincere and filled with unexpected joy, before I tip my head toward her.

“Come up here and find out.”

“Are you going to push me off?” she asks, but makes her way to the ladder on the side of the trailer.

“No, but I will offer you a beer.” Her blonde head pops over the edge.

“A beer I’ll accept,” she says, clambering up before sitting beside me, about a foot between us. I hand her a beer, and she looks down at it, trying to see if it’s a twist-off.

“I can help you,” I say, and she glares at me.

“I can do it. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t open a beer.”

“I know that.” I lift an eyebrow but lean back on my hands, entertained as I watch her try to open it. Her nails are perfectly manicured, painted a light pink, though short to fit into the regulation gloves we wear.

After a few moments of struggling, she sighs and tips the bottle to me. “Can you open this for me?”

“Feminism falling short?” I joke, but take the bottle and pop the top easily before handing it back. She bats her eyelashes before taking a long pull.

“I’m so glad your feminism is stronger than mine.” We fall into an easy silence, watching the sun sink as we drink. At some point, some of the spotlights turn on, lighting up the walkway beneath us.

“So, is this what champions do?” she asks, breaking the silence. When I lift my eyebrows in question, she expands. “You won every match this weekend. Shouldn’t you be out celebrating and living your playboy life? Getting some? Going out on a date?” I let out a laugh and shake my head.

“No, no. Not tonight. I don’t really do that anymore.” Her head tilts, that assessing gaze that catches everything, reading my face. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever actually been on a date.”

“You’ve never been on a date?”

I shrug, but shake my head.