Page 7 of Heartbreaker

I expect him to brush me off, but instead, something else crosses his face, a mix of understanding and realization. It’s gone before I can fully categorize it—the cocky asshole settling back in place. It’s a familiar move because I do it myself, covering my true feelings with whatever personality I’ve assigned myself.

But what could Roman DeLuca be hiding?

“Okay,” he says, cutting into my thoughts. “I won’t fight your battles for you, princess.”

“No princess, either,” I say through gritted teeth.

“What about heartbreaker?” His voice is low and smooth, sending a shiver through my body. Irritated by my reaction, I reach up to his visor and flip it down.

“It’s time to race, pretty boy. Stop flirting and show me what you can do out there.”

Then I turn on my heel toward my truck and force myself not to look back to see if he’s watching me leave.

But from the burn of his gaze on my back, I already have my answer.

FIVE

The arena is electric as I kill the truck’s engine and sit back, a wide grin on my face beneath my helmet. My breathing is heavy, the residual adrenaline sharp as I close my eyes, allowing the glimmer of success to slide into my veins at surviving my first official race. I even managed to land a cross-thread, a trick where you jump and land intentionally off, appearing like a crash that you then save. Typically, the roof of your truck hits the dirt before flipping back over to land on all four tires.

I fucking did it.

And I somehow even managed to come in sixth among the nine drivers. Rome, Tyler, and Jordan all beat me, but despite my bravado before the race, I did better than anticipated on my first go.

Demi is nearly as giddy as I am when we meet up and make our way out of the arena. We chat while I shower in the empty women’s locker room, quickly washing off the sweat and grime. I fill her in on the conversation I had before the race, and go over the list of suspects once more. While we haven’t been able to narrow things down much, we’ve begun creating a list of major suspects, like Tyler, whom we found used to be good friends with Rome until he left for the Cup Series, Liam, who is jealous he took one of the coveted full-time driver seats, and Phil, whose tickets have been selling out much quicker with the ongoing chaos.

As I dry off and quickly dress to head into the room for the small post-race press conference, we discuss ways to monitor the trucks for future sabotage attempts. Demi’s been working to access the security systems, but since we move from location to location so often, she would have to relearn each system from the start, which isn’t feasible.

“Where the hell is he?” Courtney, the circuit’s publicist, asks as I sit at the table behind the placard with my name on it. She’s pacing the room, tapping on her phone, her jaw tight. All of the main drivers are at the table, except for the one who is supposed to sit next to me.

Roman DeLuca.

“He probably has better things to do,” Tyler says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. His face is set with irritation, the way it always is when Roman’s name comes up.

“He’s contracted to come to this,” she says through gritted teeth, practically seething. I know this, of course: it was one of the conditions for becoming a driver for Monster Smash. Each tour stop includes media obligations, with interviews during at least one meet-and-greet session and a press conference at the end of the city’s stop. Phil is trying to turn this into a real circuit that fans watch and track, rather than just a traveling entertainment show.

“I don’t think he really cares about his contracts, Courtney. We all know Phil isn’t going to hold him to it,” Tyler says bitterly, and I file it away to add to our suspect-motivation list.

“I don’t—” she starts, but stops when the door opens. “Rome, thank goodness. I was getting…” Her words fade out, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What the hell are you wearing?” She sounds deeply agitated, which confuses me for a moment, but when Roman comes into my line of vision, I understand.

Because the man is naked.

Okay, so naked is a bit of an exaggeration, but not a huge one, not when his wide chest is on display, dark hair speckling across it, his tousled hair slicked back and still damp. He’s wrapped a towel around his waist, though when he steps, a pair of black boxer briefs are visible.

“I’m working with what I’ve got, Court,” he says, winking at her before sitting between Tyler and me. Tyler glares at him. I continue watching, baffled by what I’m seeing. After the show, we all had about thirty minutes to wind down, clean up, and head here. I’m wearing a Heartbreaker-branded T-shirt and comfortable shorts, and the rest of the drivers are in similar attire. It seems Rome decided to make a splash.

“See something you like?” Rome asks, settling back into his seat and giving me his signature panty-dropping smile.

Too bad for him, I hate wearing panties.

Instead, I give him a very drawn-out once-over, taking him in from head to toe. I linger a bit longer on the spot where the towel still covers his boxers before looking back up to meet his eyes.

“Not particularly,” I say, fluttering my lashes. Our microphones must be on because the room erupts into laughter. I smile wider, liking that I knocked this cocky man off his footing when his jaw tightens for just a moment before he grins again, leaning back with his arms crossed on his chest. Muscles bulge as he does, and the way my eyes track the movement with a mind of their own confirms I am, in fact, a huge fucking liar.

His eyes light up, and my stomach drops, knowing he saw it. But before he can open his mouth, Courtney speaks, telling the reporters waiting that they are free to ask questions.

“Roman! Roman!” reporters call, and Courtney points to a pretty blonde who stands, a coy smile on her lips.

“Roman, I can’t help but notice you came a bit underdressed,” she says with a giggle. Rome gives her a beaming grin, and I force myself not to roll my eyes. There are cameras everywhere, after all. Tyler seems a lot less worried about that, a small groan leaving his lips as his head shakes.