Page 5 of Heartbreaker

Her entire demeanor changed when Phil came in, shifting from the challenging ball breaker to something else entirely—something sweet and syrupy. And I hate it.

I hate it, and I also recognize it for what it is: bullshit. A perfectly curated mask sliding into place. I don’t know what the mask is for, what it’s hiding, or why it’s locked in so tightly, but it’s there all the same, and it stokes my inconvenient interest in her.

“Anyway, I should head out. I’m sure Demi is looking for me,” she says. Before I can say anything else, she winks, then turns away. Phil claps a hand on my shoulder, pulling me away from the stands and robbing me of the ability to watch her ass as she leaves.

For the best, I tell myself. We’re here to lay low, race, and nothing more.

“Looking great, kid,” he says as I grab my helmet on the way out. “Would be great to see another flip. No pressure, of course. I know there’s a lot that comes with a crash like that.”

That’s when I realize that, for the first time in weeks, I’d almost forgotten about the crash, about the panic that lit up my body. Strange how just a few minutes of bickering with Lana made that fade, if only for a moment.

“It could have been worse,” I lie, as if it’s no big deal. It’s not like every time I attempt that trick, I hear the sound of the engine failing, the dead silence that followed, the way the wheel locked up, the way my heart raced, the way the nose went down.

Down, down, down…

“Either way, we’re happy to have you back,” he says, slapping me on the shoulder, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

“Happy you found space for me.”

“Always, you know that. Plus, tickets always sell when you do.” I give him a tight smile, and relief rushes in when he spots someone else, waves, and then says goodbye. I head toward the locker room, maintaining my carefree attitude the whole way, nodding and waving at people as I go. It’s only once I’m inside that I drop it, letting the disappointment of another failed practice settle in my chest.

Leaning my hands on the sink counter, I stare into the mirror. My face is the same as always, no different from two weeks ago. There isn’t even a fading bruise to remind me of what happened. It’s all internal, all in my head, all one big mindfuck I can’t seem to get over. But how the fuck do you defeat an enemy you can’t even see?

With a sigh, I turn away, strip down, and step into the shower, washing away the sweat, grime, and failure. But for the first time in weeks, I’m not only thinking about how I’m going to get over this block I seem to have.

This time, I also find myself thinking of a gorgeous blonde whose eyes I wouldn’t mind making roll for a whole other reason.

FOUR

“You ready for your first race?” Tyler asks as I step into the arena, taking a deep breath and trying to calm my racing heart.

It’s been five days since I arrived at the Monster Smash circuit, and even though I’ve spent countless hours practicing, I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully ready to do this. When I agreed to drive, I didn’t think much beyond the fact that it would be the best way for me to get close to the other drivers without flirting, something I’ve never been great at. But now that the time has come to step out of practice and into the real world of racing, I’m second-guessing myself.

It doesn’t help that Demi and I have watched the footage of Rome’s crash at least a dozen times, trying to determine whether we missed any clues about what really happened in any of the dozen angles we found on social media. Because of that, I know exactly what it will look like if I screw this up, and every time I close my eyes, I get a fun little replay.

“To kick your ass? Always,” I say, turning to where he stands with Jordan, another driver, and Liam as I try to play off my nerves. Of all the drivers I’ve met, Tyler has been the kindest. He’s even given me a few tips during practice that helped me a lot.

Jordan, on the other hand, seems annoyed by my mere existence. I’m not sure if it’s because he thinks his friend Liam deserved my spot or if he just thinks I don’t belong, but either way, he’s not a fan in the least.

“Good luck with that,” Tyler responds, grinning wide.

“Oh, I don’t need luck. I fully intend to bring you all down this season. Might even take the title of season champion.” While I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to make it to the finals, I genuinely plan to try my best in each race. My assignment might be to investigate the circuit, but I don’t see any reason not to work hard while I’m here, take these men down a notch, and win at least a few of the races.

“Yeah, right,” Jordan says. “I wouldn’t hold your breath, sweetheart.” My jaw tightens as the goon behind him snickers, but I anticipated it. In Monster Smash’s history, there have been only two female drivers, and none in the last six years. The last one barely lasted a season, and if she faced the same treatment I have, I can’t blame her. Since I arrived, it’s been a parade of murmured remarks and barely disguised digs, all of which I have skillfully ignored.

I have a lifetime of experience with it, after all.

“Why’s that?” I ask, crossing my arms on my chest.

“Because I’m going to win this year. No one’s going to beat me, especially not you,” Jordan says, undisguised disgust in the word.

“Why not me?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“I’m not going to be beaten by some chick driving a unicorn truck. You’re not actually here for competition, just to make us seem inclusive.”

“Hey, man, that’s—” Tyler starts, but I cut him off before he can. I don’t need anyone thinking I can’t fight my own battles.

“We’re all here to drive in circles and flip around. What’s the difference?”