Page 74 of Speed Crush

And Noah? He’s not letting go.

We pass the simulator wing, the telemetry lab, and into the massive garage where the new season’s car gleams under floodlights.

This place has a very different kind of energy than my dad’s shop—sleek, silent power instead of roaring engines and classic rock. It’s intimidating, clinical almost. But watching Noah move through it, all easy command and sharp focus, completely at home in this high-tech space, I wonder what it would feel like to belong here.

“Dante’s not here?” Noah asks, scanning around. One of the senior engineers, a guy with silver at his temples and spotless hands, glances over.

"Boss just left for the States last evening," he replies. "Not sure when he'll be back but the rest of us are here for your sessions. Everything’s set up for chassis data and aero response testing."

Noah smiles broadly at him. “Good. Good.”

One of the mechanics spots us and mutters something in Italian. Another nudges him. They're trying to be discreet. They're failing.

“New build?” I ask, pointing at the car.

“Chassis is almost completed. We’re just running software tests and aero tweaks now.”

I crouch beside the front wing, tapping the carbon curve. “Will you be getting turbulence through corner exits?”

Noah grins as his lead engineer stares.

“You’re not wrong,” Noah says. “We’ve been debating a redesign on the front flap. Want to see the aero model?”

The team watches me differently now. Not like an interloper. Not like a tourist. Definitely not arm candy.

And I can feel Noah watching me, too. It’s more than pride. There's a hint of awe, and fascination. And I hope—maybe even a hint of hunger, like he’s already addicted.

And when I ask another question—this one about tire degradation under cold track conditions—someone behind us actually chokes.

One of the engineers raises an eyebrow and murmurs, “She asks the questions our junior data guys should’ve caught three days ago.”

Another mutters without looking up, “Bet she doesn’t ask for five runs of the same lap just to confirm the obvious.”

The lead engineer smirks, nodding toward me. “You looking for a job, Kennedy?”

Noah leans back and puffs up, “Told you she was brilliant.”

His pride is clearly visible now, to my delight.

A younger mechanic—gorgeous, all dimples and thick lashes—sidles up to me and says something flirtatious sounding in Italian. I smile at him, confused, and glance at Noah for a translation.

He quirks a smile that’s laced with something wicked. “He said he hopes you’ll stay to watch us test. And that your eyes gave him a tummy ache.”

The guy groans and shakes his head, clearly amused. “That’s not what I said,” he says in accented English, but he’s laughing as he says it.

A few team members nearby snort out loud. Someone mutters something that sets off another round of chuckles. The younger mechanic shoots Noah a look like,Seriously?

Noah just lifts a brow in mock innocence, then casually wraps his arm around my waist and lets his hand drop—low enough to cup my ass.

My breath hitches. Not because I mind. Because Ireallydon’t.

He smiles at the junior mechanic. “She’s taken,” he clips in fluent Italian. “Move it.”

The guy chuckles, lifts both hands in surrender, and backs away.

I jab him in the side. “You’re a terrible translator.”

Noah shrugs. “More or less. It was the vibe.”

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