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I don’t even mind the blisters.
Once we get back to the hotel, we drop Theo off at his room. I wave goodnight to Megan and Eden and the others, trading questions about what we’re wearing and last-minute race predictions.
I’m still smiling when Jameson pushes the door to the next room wide to let me in, the moonlight from the balcony streaming in. “Welcome to the penthouse.”
“You’re drunk,” I accuse. Before tonight I’ve never noticed him have more than one drink.
“Only a little,” he corrects.
Before us, the city is sprawled out in the dark, all glittering lights dancing in the warm breeze. Now, I’m thinking of the first time we hooked up, the fireworks over the city and Jameson filling my senses.
This is the first moment we’ve had alone in a while. There’s always somewhere to be, something that needs doing, something to worry about.
“You seem distracted,” I notice.
He frowns. “Race weekend’s always chaos,” he says. “Even when you’re not driving.”
I’m not sure that’s all of it. I get the sense he’s not telling me something but can’t put my finger on what.
I open my mouth to ask, but before I can come up with the words, he fills the silence.
“How’d you like being on the grid?” Jameson leans on the railing next to me.
“It was beautiful.”
“You fit in.”
A laugh bubbles up. “Hanging out at Jameson Ashford’s side? Next year, you’ll be winning on the biggest stage. You might care less about your cheering section then.”
“Impossible. When I told you I wouldn’t let you lose, there was one thing I didn’t expect.”
“A running commentary on your driving choices?”
“No.” He turns toward me, reaching for a piece of hair that’s fallen in my face and tucking it behind my ear. “Now that I know how it feels to win with you, I don’t want to do it any other way.”
My chest expands.
A few months ago, I couldn’t see myself fitting in at Ashford Academy. Now I have friends who want me to succeed and the heir to ARI—who happens to be incredibly talented, sexy, and caring—is telling me he wants us to achieve our dreams together.
A yawn chooses the most fucking awful moment to hit me, and I try to hide it with the back of my hand.
Jameson’s lips curve. “You should sleep. I’ll tuck you in.”
“I’m fine,” I protest.
He’s already heading past me toward the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” I call over my shoulder. I turn and lift my hair, waiting for him to return.
After a moment, his hands brush my neck as he reaches for the zipper on my dress. “This how you want to be tucked in?”
“The only way,” I agree.
He slides the zipper down. The fabric of my dress pools at my feet. He turns me, then grabs my knee and hitches it up around his hip.
“You’re still thinking about racing, aren’t you?” he murmurs as his lips skim my throat.
“Mmm. Telemetry and tire deg and braking zones.”
