Page 47 of Heartbreaker

“Are you bribing me to spend time with you?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Whatever it takes, Lana,” I say, then dip my head to finally kiss her. It’s the same as when she patched my eye, in the closet, and all of the kisses we shared last night—filled with heat and desire and something unexpectedly familiar. It’s like my body has always known her, always known the way to move my lips against hers, known the way to run my tongue along her skin to make her breath hitch. Her arms slide around my neck, and my hands move to her hips, then down to her ass to pull her closer.

As also seems to happen when I kiss Lana, we both forget about the outside world; only the moment we’re sharing matters. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long before we’re interrupted.

“Ahem,” a voice says, and when I look over my shoulder, a brunette stands there, an exasperated look on her face.

“Love that you two are boning, but everyone’s looking for you,” Demi says, wearing a shit-eating grin. The woman is just as much of a ballbuster as Lana is, but in a different way.

“Come on, pretty boy. We’ve got a crowd to please,” Lana says with a sigh. My hand is on her lower back as I guide her out toward the arena, the crowd already cheering loudly.

Everything feels a bit different, a bit lighter as I slide into my truck and perform my admittedly a bit neurotic pre-race checks. I could tell myself it’s different just because I finally landed the front flip, that I finally tackled that hurdle, but deep down I know that’s not it.

It’s Lana.

It’s Lana’s sunshine, joy, and ease that have me feeling more confident than I can remember.

And when I land a front flip again, everything is loud. The crowd’s cheers are near deafening. An announcer shouts over the loudspeaker, “He’s back!” My crew chief is shouting excitedly through my in-helmet comms. But the only thing I care about is Lana cheering in her truck. I point to her as I park my truck, Jordan lining up to perform his own freestyle routine. She returns the gesture, and even though I can’t see through her helmet and visor, I know she’s grinning.

When we move from the press room to the greenroom, I brush against her, my hand just barely grazing over her lower back, and she gives me a subtle smile.

I desperately want to pull her into me, to kiss her hard and deep in front of everyone, to stake my claim, but I won’t until I know that’s what she wants. As a woman in a sport dominated by men, with a large chunk of the industry already looking down on her just because of her gender, I don’t want to make things any harder for her.

She’s seated beside me, and while I don’t tease her this time, I thoroughly enjoy setting my hand on her thigh beneath the table. Even more, I love the way hers settles on top of mine, thumb grazing over my knuckles in a way that feels just as unexpectedly natural. She holds my hand tighter when a reporter asks about the drug testing, and I refute the claim the same way Courtney instructed me to.

“Rome, you landed a trick you haven’t in some time—my notes show you haven’t flipped since before the accident. What was special today?” I look around the room, catching my moment and grinning wide at the reporter, then at Lana, who looks even more confused.

“Had the right team behind me, and the right competition motivating me.” Without even looking, I know she rolls her eyes in a way I like a whole hell of a lot.

TWENTY-FIVE

Rome wins all three races the first weekend after we get together, and each time he lands his signature move, wowing both the crowd and, admittedly, me. It’s one thing to see it on video, but in person, it’s truly awe-inspiring. That being said, I’m excited to have a few days off, with the circuit not packing up and heading to our next stop until the day after tomorrow. Demi’s getting closer to accessing the Indy circuit’s internal server, and per her advice, I’m spending more time with Rome, continuing to build trust and hopefully finding something that’s been missing from the case.

I shower quickly after the final race of the weekend, and when Demi and I step out of the women’s locker room, Rome is lingering in the hallway outside. We greet him, then the three of us walk casually toward the hotel as if he hasn’t fucked me senseless the past three nights, as if I’m not desperately craving his touch.

I, of course, have had men in my life. Boyfriends and flings and even a one-night stand once, but never have I felt this blooming excitement in my chest, a giddy feeling I can’t seem to eradicate.

It takes everything in me to not reach over and grab his hand as we pass techs, drivers, and other Monster Smash employees. It isn’t until we’re in the empty hall leading from the arena to the hotel that Rome’s hand slips to my waist, tugging me into his side. I sigh, melting into him, and I don’t miss the small, knowing smile Demi gives me when I do.

I’m so, so screwed.

“You killed it out there,” I grin.

“Feels good to be back,” he says, then bends and presses a small kiss to the top of my head.

“How do you want to celebrate?” I ask. His hand tightens on my side.

“I’ve got an idea,” he murmurs low, and I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

“Your hotel room? Demi’s still in mine.”

“Yeah, no fucking while I’m in the room,” Demi says, appearing out of nowhere. I glare at my partner and roommate, but Roman surprises me by shaking his head.

“No, we’re not going to either of our rooms. I’ve got another idea.”

“Sounds kinky,” Demi laughs as we enter the hotel lobby, Rome regrettably stepping away from me. He stands a bit too close to be just friends, but not close enough to feel his warmth, or the way his breaths are strangely perfectly timed with mine.

“You okay if I steal her for a bit?” he asks Demi. She shakes her head before patting him on the shoulder.