Page 29 of Heartbreaker

“Come on, heartbreaker. Let’s go meet the fans.” I groan, making Demi and Rome both laugh. As we step out, I note Rome’s truck is parked beside mine again. Together, they look like the angel and devil on your shoulder, a bright, bubbly, sunshine-filled unicorn truck, and a dark, dangerous ram.

Somehow, it works.

Cheers erupt as we approach, women’s voices hooting and hollering at Roman. “Looks like all of your adoring fans have been waiting,” I say with a laugh as our steps slow in front of our meet-and-greet locations. Courtney stands nearby, looking thoroughly annoyed by our tardiness, but Rome looks at me, slightly confused and fully entertained.

“Mine?”

“I’m not jealous, before you say it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I’m just saying, I can hear the girls ready to drop their panties for you from a mile away.” His face transforms, the confusion melting, something new and interesting I don’t think I’ve seen before moving across his handsome face. Then, it shifts into understanding and something close to entertainment as he looks down at me once more, a wide grin cutting across his features.

“They’re not here for me, Lana.” Now it’s my turn to be confused, my brows furrowed, but when he tips his chin, I follow his line of sight, and the breath stops in my lungs.

Because he’s right: the line isn’t for him. It’s not for Tyler, Oliver, or Jordan, either.

It’s for me.

There’s a line of women and girls smiling and looking at me excitedly, pink and purple and glittering shirts with Heartbreaker plastered across them.

“What…?” I ask, confused, my heart pounding. I barely feel Roman’s hand on my lower back, though I’m grateful for the grounding touch. He tries to move me forward gently, but my feet remain planted. “That’s for me?”

“Sure is. That article blew up. People are excited to meet you, Lana. You’re an inspiration,” Courtney says, coming over with her clipboard in hand. “I’m going to manage your line to make sure we can get through everyone in a reasonable amount of time.

As she speaks, my eye catches on a group of three little girls of various ages, one with blonde hair and two brunettes with braids, all wearing matching shirts and jumping excitedly. One is holding a doll in one hand and a toy car in the other, and for a moment I see myself, a version I hid away—because it wasn’t cool to like dolls if you were hanging with your brothers, and it wasn’t cool to want to play trucks when your friends were into Barbies.

I knew the article the reporter wrote last week was making the rounds. Demi told me it was doing numbers on social media, though I didn’t think it meant anything in real life. But seeing it in person—a line of young women and girls eager to meet me—causes emotions to crash into me, and the dozens of smiling faces suddenly feel far too overwhelming.

“I actually—” My words fade as my chest tightens. “I’ll be right back. I, uh, I forgot something,” I say, before nearly running toward the exit of the arena. Once through the door, closed away from the chaos I just left, I finally let the feelings wash over me. My eyes fill with tears as I rest my back on the solid tile of the hallway, covering my face with my hands and trying to inhale deeply and get it together.

Before the first tear falls, though, warm hands are on my wrists, pulling them away.

“Lana, baby, what’s wrong?” It takes a moment for my watery eyes to focus, and when they do, I see him. Rome, his curls flopping into his face, his eyes warm and soft, looking at me with such gentleness and concern that it makes the emotion in my throat swell further.

“They’re… they’re….” A choked breath comes out. “They’re all here to meet me. They’re all wearing shirts with my name on them.” His lips tip up.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Finally, a sob escapes me, and Rome’s face changes once again as he stands straight and pulls me into his chest. Without my permission, the dam breaks, and I start crying in earnest into Rome’s shirt.

When I was dirt biking, I changed myself to fit in. It was a necessity if I wanted to succeed, and I accepted that. When I was in college, I hid away all my rough-and-tumble tendencies to fit in with the sorority girls who loved boy bands and pink, because if I talked about bikes or cars, they’d look at me like I had lost my mind.

And yet, somehow, here I am, being myself in what is, strangely, the most authentic way I’ve ever revealed who I am—and I’m being… accepted.

“What’s wrong?” Rome asks, his hand running up and down my back.

“I just… They all…”

“They’re there because of you,” he answers. I look up at him and nod before explaining.

“I’m just a girl. I don’t deserve this. I’m not as good as you or Tyler, or⁠—”

Before I can finish my sentence, rough hands are on my cheeks, tipping my chin, pulling me close until his lips are pressing hard and fierce on mine, sending any doubt from my mind. I freeze for a moment before my arms slide up, looping around his shoulders and holding on tight, desperate to have something solid beneath my hands as my world is turned upside down. His lips glide on mine, soft and assured, and slowly my body loosens as the feeling in my throat eases. I lean into the kiss, ignoring everything else.

After minutes, hours, or possibly just moments, he pulls back before pressing his forehead to mine, a small smile on his lips.

“That actually does work out pretty well,” he murmurs. “Kissing to shut you up. Might have to try it again.” Despite the emotions still brewing in my chest that are now mixed with the strange headiness of that kiss, I push on his shoulder, but he doesn’t budge. “Now, the next time I hear you saying something like that, telling me you’re just a girl or not as good as any of the other drivers, I’m not just kissing you. I’m dragging you to the locker room and spanking you until you believe just how fucking spectacular you are.” My jaw drops as I stare at him with wide eyes, but he just smiles.

“You’re out of your mind,” I say, and he shrugs like it’s not the insult I intended.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that, and it won’t be the last. Are you okay now?” he asks, sliding a thumb over my cheek, brushing away the remnants of a tear. I take a deep, albeit shaky breath, then nod.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. It was stupid,” I say, dabbing at my eyes. “I’m such a girl, crying over the silliest things.”