Page 40 of Speed Crush

Cameras flash again. Someone near the back yells, “So, are we signing up for the simulator today or what?”

Mayor Lewis takes the stage to answer these logistical questions as the city staff begin shifting into motion—clipboards in hand, subtle nods exchanged, already jotting down names of anyone asking how to try the sim for themselves, smoothing the edges of what’s now a full-on media moment.

People are excited. Curious. The energy is buzzing like an idling engine waiting to launch.

As I shake hands with the press after the presentation, I catch Karla whispering to Tara near the chairs, her voice sharp with amusement. "First he can't take his eyes off June at karaoke, now he's bringing million-dollar simulators to town? This man doesn't do anything halfway."

I smirk, wiping a hand across the back of my neck. If only June understood. If only she could see that all of this—every wire, every screen, every deal I just pitched—is for more than PR.

It’s for her.

The very thought of her makes my head swivel—like a damn magnet just flipped polarity—and there she is.

June, like sin in denim.

Leaning casually in the doorway, arms crossed, braid gone, that black waterfall of hair loose around her shoulders like a dare.

So, while I was running simulations and presenting, she's must have been here all along. Watching.

“You’ve been holding out on us, Verelli? You did good there.” She calls out once our eyes meet across the room, cool as ever.

My heart kicks.

She’s looking at me like she saw right through the smoke, speed, and precision—like she caught the part of me that’s doing what I believe in. Not just chasing speed.

My body tightens with the memory of her pressed against me, the taste of her mouth, the tremble in her fingers against my collar.

Dante notices my distraction and follows my gaze. "She’s the teacher-slash-mechanic?" he questions off-handedly.

"More than that," I admit, the first time I've said it aloud. "She sees through my bullshit. Makes me want to be... better."

I watch June as she turns to leave, and I know—simulation or not—I'm about to chase after her again. Because one thing's becoming clear: June Kennedy isn't temporary for me.

Last night, she asked for all or nothing.

And I'm starting to realize that when it comes to this amazing woman, I want it all.

An hour later on Mega Max tracks.

The simulator press demo had wrapped up successfully with a final photo of me and Dante in front of the gigantic Mega Max banner. Journalists scatter, chatting excitedly.

The main go-kart track is live—karts are zipping around in controlled bursts while staff monitor everything from the control booth.

The end-of-camp party is in full swing. Off the track, families join their teenagers as they excitedly share their proud moments. There are kids sprinting between games, parents juggling pizza slices and hot chocolate, and the facility smells like sugar and motor oil. It’s loud. Bright. Exactly the kind of sensory overload I’m used to.

Some of the camp kids swarm me for selfies. Levi claps me on the back as he walks past with Lily, flashing a thumbs-up. From their smiles, I know they’re proud. Their donation didn’t just build a track—it built momentum and legacy. For their beloved town. For the kids. For something lasting.

Then I hear her.

June’s voice—light, teasing, cheerful—filters through the noise. She’s across the track, now in her Mega Max staff t-shirt. Her braid swings as she bends down to help a child tie a scarf. She’s laughing at something, shoulders relaxed, her eyes bright. And for a beat, the world stills.

She looks like she belongs here. In this town. In this joy. In this life.

And somehow, standing here—sweaty, tired from the early morning and hours in the sim, surrounded by engine fumes and teenagers—I do too.

It hits me, quiet and certain.

I’m happy.

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