Page 71 of Speed Crush

“I won’t forget,” I say. “It’s blueberry pancakes. No syrup. Just butter.”

That earns a soft laugh from Vicky and a raised brow from June.

Permission granted.

But somehow… it feels like more than that.

Maybe a real proposal in the near future won’t that hard after all.

And I’m surprised by my own thought—how natural it feels. Like it’s not some big leap, but the next logical step. Like wanting her with me, not just for a weekend, but for all the moments that come after, might actually make more sense than anything I’ve done in years.

But I also remember what she told me—she doesn’t do whirlwind. She wants time, and something that lasts. So, without sounding impulsive, I’ll tread carefully.

No pressure. No pushing. Just showing up for her every chance I get. Because whatever this is between us—I want it to be real. And I want to earn every part of it.

Chapter 13

So Deep It Stays

June

Theplanehumsbeneathus, a soft, steady vibration that matches the tension coiled low in my belly. We’re flying over Europe now—white peaks below.

Noah is beside me, smiling, his eyes closed. I slide my arm through his and rest my head gently on his shoulder. It’s casual, easy—like a boyfriend-girlfriend move that feels intimate for something we haven’t put a name to yet. But it fits.

His body shifts just enough to press into mine, and even with his eyes closed, I feel him respond. Not with words. Just with presence. It settles like we’ve done this a hundred times before.

Maybe I should close my eyes too, but there’s too much energy under my skin—tight, restless, eager, fluttering.

Maybe it’s the altitude, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never been on a trip with a man, especially one like Noah before—I’m beyond excited and nervous just thinking about it.

I want to see the HQ he’s always talking about, where he works with Dante Fagioli—the owner—his engineers, and his team. They’d called him back to test a new development they’d been refining all winter.

For the next two days, they’ll be running closed-track sessions—long stints, qualifying simulations, and live feedback pulls on cornering, grip, and balance. They’re watching how the car holds at speed, how it responds to real pressure, how he reads it instinctively—before the telemetry even catches it. And I want to see how he commands all of it.

I almost let out a giggle. It’ll be the first time I’ll be standing on a real Formula 1 track, a stage for gods of speed. Just thinking about it makes my pulse race. The scale, the sound, the precision… everything about his world, amplified, promising a sensory assault mirroring the delicious chaos he has already unleashed within me.

And if I feel this keyed up, I can’t imagine what it does to him. I can't wait to see that version of him—the one who dials in, who stops joking and starts leading. Focused. Commanding. Electric. I want to watch him in his element—no spotlight, no swagger. Just him, fully locked in. Razor-sharp. Leading like it’s instinct.

I glance at him, kind of in awe—our knees brushing every time the plane shifts. He’s staring out the window now, eyes open, like he’s deep in his head. His hand is wrapped around mine, thumb moving slow across the back.

I smile at the unconscious gesture—soft, steady, protective. It makes something in my chest go warm and melty, my heart’s finally catching up to the way his body already knows how to hold me.

I’m still tucked into his side, soaking in the comfort of his body against mine, when he looks down at me tenderly, and says, “Mack and Vicky love you so much. You know that, right?”

I glance over, surprised. “Of course I do.”

Noah nods slowly, then he turns his head to look out of the window again. “You’re lucky.”

The words hang there, unexpected.

“They’re the kind of parents who… show up,” he says. “Even when it’s hard. Even when you try to push them away. I see it in the way they look at you. Like you’re their heart walking around outside their body.”

He smiles faintly. “You don’t know how rare that is.”

I do. But I also know what he’s really saying.

“You’re talking about your parents,” I murmur while I snuggle closer.

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