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SEVEN
VIOLET
Violet gazed through the fence with Cornel, the man who had been holding the clipboard before the practice run. He informed her that he was the lead mechanic and engineer for the team, as well as a good friend to Franco.
Cornel helped Violet feel comfortable in the company of so many people who knew Franco’s passion better than she did. She met a few of the pit team members, the two who had known him for years, one named Felix and one named Samantha. They were all warm and welcoming despite the surprise and sudden announcement of her being their fearless leader’s fated mate.
“I am not going to lie to you,” Cornel said, his fingers wrapped around the chain-linked fence they watched Franco through. “I never thought I would see the day Franco chose to settle down.”
Violet and Cornel were the only ones out near the track. The other members of the pit team waited at their stations while some others watched the car’s movements over the monitors in the garage. There was a kinship between her and Cornel that she felt almost immediately; her intuition told her the lead engineer was a tiger shifter like her.
She wrinkled her nose and cracked her jaw without realizing it, still staring out onto the asphalt swirls, hearing the hum and zip of the vehicle as it blasted by.
“Well, I’m not going to lie to you either,” she said, sounding a little playful. “I was pretty damn surprised too.”
Cornel looked at her, a deep carving of a frown knitting his eyebrows. He was older than Franco, there was no doubt. But Violet also wondered how many years of working on cars, using his muscles and fingers and likely scowling in the exact matter he was now, had aged him. He was tall and lean with a slightly receding hairline, his eyes a slight bulge in his head.
“And that means?” he asked, nearly scoffing.
Violet didn’t take his attitude to heart. Tiger shifters, and shifters in general, could be very emotional, often jumping to conclusions and appearing prickly in demeanor. So she smiled at him, gliding her eyes over and diminishing his resolve.
“I mean that we just met at an event last night in the hotel. I had no clue he was going to announce it like that.”
Cornel cleared his throat, then turned his gaze back to the road. Franco’s machine whizzed by, the engine a shrieking blast as he passed them in a streak of red-and-yellow paint splatters. He returned to their conversation, tucking his free hand around the loops of the fence.
“Well, that makes sense to me. Franco hasn’t exactly been the relationship guy for as long as I’ve known him. He’s always been the car guy, the big lion bursting with zeal. Very meticulous. Rarely impulsive.”
Violet nodded along, a fascinated smile teasing her lips. She had gathered that information about Franco already, judging by his focus on the race and the way he had handled the apology at the gym. It was clear that he felt the fated mate pull, but he was torn about how it was going to affect the one thing he adored more than anything in the world: racing.
But that didn’t make Violet want to run for the hills. It was an odd feeling, but Cornel’s confirmation of his startling behavior only made her even more intrigued to see what would happen.
“Is that so?” Violet asked, trying to conceal her grin.
“Uh-huh,” Cornel responded. “Look it up. He’s pretty famous for driving, but I don’t think I’ve heard him mention a woman in all of the time we’ve been friends. Not that I’m not happy for him.”
Cornel looked at her, his eyes avoiding her bust, and gave her a soft, reassuring smile. He was confused as well, which meant that Violet wasn’t alone. She was quietly thankful that she had someone else nearby who could confirm the swirling emotions inside her head.
She and Cornel watched as Franco moved by them, as fast as a bullet, multiple times. After only twenty minutes or so, the pit team pulled the fence back, and Franco blasted into his spot. Violet backed into the garage, the roar of the car palpable under her feet and vibrating over her skin.
The door rose, and Franco popped out unharmed. Violet felt a silent sense of relief, even though she knew that the real risk would come on race day. She was even more reassured when he climbed out of the car and whipped his helmet off, his eyes as big and bold as the rising moon at midnight.
“HELL YEAH!” he exclaimed.
The rest of the team clapped again before surrounding Franco, chatting in their racing jargon, discussing changes that would need to be made to the vehicle and the feel of the track. Violet lingered again in the garage, sitting on a stool as Franco ushered his team back into the space where they had initially met.
“She’s mostly smooth,” Franco said, referring to the car. “There’s a bit of a jolt around the second and third lap down at the northeast side.”
Everyone, including Cornel, with his handy clipboard, was fixated on Franco. He mentioned some gaps in the performance of the car as well as some technical issues with turning his head around a few low and curvy turns. Violet listened, slowly beginning to understand the complexity of the science behind making a car go so fast.
“Safety is paramount,” he said, continuing. “The slide into the pit is narrow, too, so I’d like to go over that a few times.”
The sun was shining high in a lovely blue sky, and Franco turned to her, the first time he had since he exited the car. Her chest nearly heaved, and she had to suppress a groan when she caught a glimpse of a few pebbles of sweat lining his neck.
Her first thought was that she needed to lick it off him. Hell, he must have been so sweaty under the suit. Her long, tigress tongue could surely lap up all those delicious beads … and more.
Violet blinked the thought away in a millisecond as he regarded her. He was once again grinning like a little boy who had bought his first set of Hot Wheels.
“What do you think, darling?”
