Page 18 of Heartbreaker

“In high school, I was too busy trying to learn everything I could about racing to care much about actual dates. Then I was out on the road with Monster Smash, a new city every week. Same with Indy. I guess I never really had the opportunity or the need to date.” It sounds as arrogant and douchey as it feels, but she doesn’t call me out on it.

“Huh,” she says. “So you never did mall and the movies?” I shake my head. “Have you ever had an Auntie Anne’s pretzel?”

“Baby, I’m from Philly. I don’t do Auntie Anne’s.” It’s one of the pet names that she seems to dislike, but she doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, she just smiles brighter.

“They’re not real pretzels. It’s a whole other kind of treat. If you go into it expecting a soft pretzel, yeah, you’ll be disappointed. But if you go into it expecting some kind of pretzel-adjacent, melted-butter-drenched bread situation, you’re in for a treat.” I smile to myself at the way she talks. There are two sides to her, it seems: one side is all buttoned up, a badass who is prepared for people to underestimate her. But I’m finding there’s another side, a softer, sweeter one—the one who giggles and talks about pretzels and chats with little girls at a meet and greet.

If I’m being honest, I don’t know which version I like better.

“That sounds disgusting,” I say with a grin, and she shrugs.

“Like you’d know taste. I’ve seen what you eat from catering. Sad boring salads with grilled chicken.”

“Greens and protein.”

“Have you ever had a Nerds Gummy Cluster?” I blink at her a few times, and she bends her neck back, groaning at the sky before giving me a pitying look. “My god, for a man who has traveled the world and accomplished some great things, you’ve lived a pretty sheltered life, you know?” I grin at her.

“Can you leak that to a tabloid? I could use some good press.” With my words, she lets out a loud laugh that rings through the night air, her head tipped back, her light hair multicolored in the setting sun. I’ve never been skilled at anything but driving, and I’ve never mourned that fact, but right now, I do.

Deeply.

I wish I were a photographer to capture the shot, wish I were a painter to put it on canvas for eternity, anything where I could immortalize this moment and visit it over and over again.

Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you see it—the moment is broken a moment later.

“Is that you, Lana?” an all-too-familiar voice calls. We both look down to see Tyler standing with a group that includes Oliver and Jordan.

“Hey, Tyler,” she says, jovial and kind as she waves down at him.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Drinking a beer,” she says, lifting the bottle as if he couldn’t figure it out, as if we hadn’t done this a dozen times as kids. But that was years ago, and now he can barely even look at me without scowling.

Years ago, Tyler, Oliver, and I would come up on someone’s trailer with a pack of beers that one of the older drivers had bought for us and daydream, planning our future. The races, the awards, the women we’d have. The accomplishments, the glitz, and the glam of it all. Things were so much easier back then, without the expectations, the pressure, the suffocating press. Before all of it got between us, turning my closest friends into people who can’t stand the sight of me.

“We’re all going out. Want to come?” he calls up.

“Yes! Lana, come along!” Melanie, who works for my dad’s company and is overseeing the transportation for Monster Smash, says, her voice pleading. “I’m outnumbered!”

“You can go,” I murmur, lifting the bottle to my lips and taking a deep drink. Her focus shifts from me to the group on the ground before setting the bottle down. My heart sinks, and I fucking hate what a loser I’ve become. I tell myself it’s just because I want to beat Tyler, not because I’m actually disappointed she won’t be here, but I don’t know if I believe it.

But then she reaches out for my hand. Her fingers are warm as they twine with mine, softer than my own. I take it in, and something flares in my chest at the sight of it, at how perfectly it fits in mine.

“Nah, I’m good here. You guys have fun, though, yeah?“ she says, smiling down at the group. My heart jumps, and I feel like a kid with his first crush. I’ve done what I can to put distance between Lana and me, making an effort not to speak to her unless I have to. And when I do, I make sure to say something douchey enough to piss her off.

But it’s not working the way it normally does.

Instead, arguing with Lana gives me the same thrill as racing—turning the last corner on the final lap, knowing someone’s on your ass, waiting for you to screw up and give them an opening to pass, but knowing all the same that if you hold out, you’ll win the whole damn thing.

Part of me wonders what winning Lana over would look like.

Something tells me she hasn’t let many people do it.

“You didn’t have to stay here,” I say, looking to her after the group walks off.

“I know.” It’s a simple statement, two words that tell a dozen more. “I wanted to.”

Her words hang between us, heavy and filled with meaning I’m too scared to look into, not needing another disappointment. For a moment, I can’t breathe as her eyes roam my face. Between one breath and another, it’s like she’s cracked through the exterior I hide behind and found… something else.