Page 22 of Speed Crush

I’m not the girl who crushes on men like him. Not even with the hometown men I’d met at my dad’s auto shop—half as promiscuous, and twice as obvious.

But even after I reminded myself, even after I lay there stiff and determined…

The ache came back.

Stronger.

Like my body didn’t care about reality.

Like it only remembered how close I was. How good it felt when I circled my nipples with the pad of my finger. When I pinched. When I arched.

So, I did it again.

Rubbed slow.

Felt the heat rise and swirl low in my belly.

Grind into the air like I was starving.

Let the memory of his voice drift in again—low, deep, and dangerous.

Over and over, all night long, like I was torturing myself on purpose.

And now I’m here. Back at camp. After another shower this morning.

Dressed in my usual jeans and an old school T-shirt, the one that always makes me feel invisible.

But I feelexposed.

Because my nipples are still sore from everything I did to them. And they’re already pebbling again under this thin cotton the second I see him.

Noah’s standing twenty feet away. Staring at me.

And not subtly.

His eyes drop straight to my chest and stay there.

I know what he sees.

And it makes my core throb.

I should’ve finished last night. Should’ve let myself fall apart in the dark and gotten it out of my system.

Because now? Justbeingnear him feels like I might explode Which is not how a responsible adult in charge of engine diagnostics and teen supervision should be reacting to one man in a fireproof jumpsuit.

And I still haven’t even touched the place that aches the most.

Camp is almost over. The teens have been buzzing all morning—trash-talking each other’s lap times, daring each other to go full throttle on corners. I blame their adrenaline and sugar from the donuts someone brought in.

Reid’s been eyeing me and Noah like he’s just waiting to start trouble. And because the universe clearly hates me today, they start chanting the one thing guaranteed to crank my body temperature even higher.

“Coach Noah versus Miss Kennedy! Coach Noah versus Miss Kennedy!”

“We wanna see it,” Reid says, tugging off his helmet with a grin. “Come on. You and Coach Hotshot. Head-to-head.”

Noah steps up beside me, arms folded. Calm. Casual. Smirking and dazzling.

His eyes don’t leave mine.

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