Page 9 of Speed Crush

He tilts his head, eyes scanning my hoodie, the streak of grease on my sleeve. “So… is this place always this exciting at night?”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re always this smug with strangers?”

His grin deepens. “Only the cute ones hiding behind karts.”

Andthere it is. That tiny spark down my spine. Annoying.

I hate that I notice how he moves. How his voice dips. How he’s clearly used to attention.

"Noah Verelli." I say his name flatly, with deliberate disinterest.

He raises an eyebrow. “Guilty.”

Of everything, probably.

Race car driver. International playboy. The guy Levi said might swing by to help out at the camp. I didn’t expect him until the press conference. Didn’t expect him to show uptonight—while a couple’s very audibly hooking up in the far-left garage.

And I definitely didn’t expect him to look like this in person.

“You’re taller in person,” I mutter, not meaning to say it out loud.

He smirks. “I get that a lot.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“Didn’t take it as one.”

He’s still too close. Still too amused.

And Iknowthis type.

Flashy. Fast. The kind of guy who collects hearts like pit crew flags and tosses them into the stands.

No thanks.

Not for me.

A sudden scream pierces the air—the woman in the corner, clearly getting closer to her climax. It shatters my thoughts like glass.

He shifts closer, his shoulder brushes mine as he leans in. His body heat, his closeness, the scent of his cologne curling into my lungs. And it’s making me feel all kinds of things I shouldn’t, not with him this close. Not while the couple are going at it just feet away.

“You're interesting,” his voice stays low—dangerously low. His gaze dipping just enough to make my skin buzz. “Confidence. Grease. That mouth.” He gives a slow, knowing smile. “Wasn’t expecting all that under a hoodie.”

I lift a brow in retaliation. “And you’ve got a reputation.”

He tilts his head. “Do I?”

“Fast cars. Faster women. Full-throttle flirt.”

“I’m off-season,” he says. “And very bored.”

“Try Sudoku.”

His laugh is low and warm. “I think I like you.”

“I think that’syourproblem.”

We’re almost nose to nose now, crouched down. The air between us is thick—too warm, too close. My pulse trips, and I swear I can feel the tension rising off my skin.

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