Page 44 of Speed Crush

“I’m good.” I lock eyes with her, grounded now.

“You?”

She exhales through her nose, fingers giving one last sweep down my arm—like she’s checking for something else.

“Better now.” Her voice is steady, but her hand doesn’t fully leave me until she’s sure I’m leaning into her.

Then the cameras start flashing again.

Someone’s been filming the entire thing.

And I realize—it’s all probably going to go viral on the internet now.

My voice, sharp and unrelenting. My orders. My snarl. The way I demanded the track be shut down, barked at Dante to hold the line. My body shielding the downed man, every muscle locked in instinct.

It wasn't performance. It was reflex. Real. Raw. And now... public.

Dante appears beside me, jaw tight. He glances at June, then back at me. “Thanks for taking care of Verelli,” he tells her. “I can take it from here.”

“No thanks,” I immediately object. “I prefer her.”

I lean in just enough to whisper to June, “Your soft curves are better for morale.”

She shoots me a look that’s half amused, half scandalized—exactly the reaction I want.

Dante clears his throat, clearly hearing more than he wanted to.

“You handled the entire thing like a pro,” he says. ”Actually, more like a hero.”

“Not how I wanted to be remembered,” I mutter, jaw flexing as the scene replays in my head.

He shakes his head. “They’ll talk about the simulator PR, sure. But they’ll remember the man who jumped the barrier without blinking. The protector. That’s how they’ll remember you, Noah. You might’ve just earned yourself a key to the city—along with a lifetime supply of small-town hero worship.”

Chapter 9

The Thing About Trust

June

Ishouldn’tbethisflustered.

It's just lunch. Just friends. Just a casual post-camp, post-Verelli-saves-the-day hangout at Mane Street Bistro.

The restaurant hums with the familiarity of small-town life—the creak of hundred-year-old floorboards, the clink of Mrs. Whitmore’s mismatched ceramic mugs, the smell of cinnamon rolls that makes this place feel more like someone’s kitchen than a business.

Except nothing about this feels casual.

Not when Noah’s sitting beside me. Not when the entire town is still buzzing about how he vaulted a barrier like a stuntman, barked orders like a commander, and somehow managed to flirt with me in the middle of it all.

Especially not when his thigh is inches from mine, and I can still feel the ghost of his hand on my waist.

I think everyone at the track fell a little bit in love with him yesterday.Including me.

My heart—and body—have not exactly recovered.

And now he’s here, in this everyday corner of my world, like he’s always belonged.

He’s beautiful—though heaven knows, that’s not new. But watching him handle pressure, watching the way his body moved with focus and certainty, the way he read the track faster than anyone else?

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