Page 19 of Speeding Hearts

He stayed in the passenger seat the whole time, and when he showed me how to maneuver the modified on the track, he didn’t flinch when I hit the same pothole the first few rounds; didn’t laugh when I ground the gears. He urged me to take the speed up, and when I felt confident enough to take a few calculated risks on my own, he didn’t balk. His only tell was the way the long length of his thigh tightened next to me as I swung around a tight corner fast enough to fishtail.

I think I scared myself more than him after that one.

By the end of the afternoon, I’d fully memorized the Back Track. I wasn’t going at top speed, but I was confident enough that I told him I wanted to try the rounds on my own. I spent my last few laps spraying Dean with road dust as he leaned back against his truck, looking—of course—sexy as sin. Even passing him at a clip, I couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles cut through his t-shirt. The way his grin made a warmth spread low in my abdomen.

It was only when the sun began to slant through the trees—and Dean mentioned on a break that he had to deal with getting dinner together for his dad—that we decided to call it quits.

My body was still thrumming with the feel of the motor as I pulled the car into the makeshift lot next to our vehicles.

“Fun, right?” he said as I pushed open the car door.

“Yeah,” I said, and I meant it. It had been exhilarating, and those nerves had only come back when I’d started getting tired and had a couple of near-misses with some of the potholes on the track. As I stood up, I had the briefest moment of light-headedness.

I was hungry—that was all. We’d been at it since late morning and hadn’t stopped to eat. This morning, I’d been too nervous to grab more than an orange on the way out the door. When I slammed the door, the world spun slightly, and I rested my hand on top of the car, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice.

Worry crept up as I thought about it—what if I’d had this dizziness in the car? I could have put myself at risk.

I could have put both of us at risk. My heart slammed against my chest, harder than when I’d been exhilarated by driving.

I hadn’t felt dizzy when I was driving. And if I had, I would have stopped the car. Wouldn’t I?

For a brief moment, all the worry I’d been trying to suppress since I got here bubbled up in a rush.

This was crazy. Racing cars was crazy. I was a grown woman, acting like a little kid. Today had been incredible, but how the hell did I think I was going to do this on the track at the Speedway, with other cars? A thick rush of nausea ran through me, making my mouth water.

“Stella?” Dean’s voice was threaded with worry. “You okay?”

My back was still to him, and I closed my eyes, taking a breath and shoving it all down—the physical feeling and the fear coursing through me. I didn’t want Dean to see me with doubts. He’d do an about-face. The only reason he was indulging me with his car and this track was because he knew how much I wanted it. I’dsaidhow much I wanted it.

I straightened my shoulders, turning around and giving him my most winning smile. “Never been better.”

He’d been looking at me with concern, but when he saw my face, he seemed to relax slightly.

As I strode over to him, deciding whether I’d risk a hug or if I’d just give him a bro-pat on the shoulder, the dizziness came back, and my foot caught in one of the potholes in the dirt next to us.

My ankle gave way, rolling under me painfully and I gasped, flailing ungracefully, but unable to stop myself from going down.

Dean rushed toward me but was too far away to catch me, and I yelped as my knee hit a sharp rock.

Dean was by my side in an instant, his arm wrapped around me. “Shit, Stella! Are you okay?”

I looked up at him, embarrassment rushing through me. “I fell on my ass. My knee, technically.”

When I saw the depths of his concern, I didn’t know what else to do, so I laughed a little too loudly, a little too falsely. “I’m tired, that’s all. Maybe a little hungry, too.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Dean said. “That’s my fault. I should have kept my eye on the time.”

“You did! You have to get going to feed your dad, remember?”

Dean nodded. “Here.” I felt his arm lifting me up as if I weighed nothing, and before I realized what was happening, I was on my feet.

But he didn’t let go. He held me there, pressed up next to him, making sure I was stable. Only he wasn’t looking at my feet. He was looking at me—not at my face, but at my arms wrapped around him.

I should have let go. Given him space. But I didn’t know if my feet would hold me.

“Test out your ankle?” he said after a moment.

Was his voice hoarse? Or was it just low because his face was so close to me? If I leaned my head down, it would fit perfectly under his chin. I could smell him here, the scent of soap and sweat and dust from the track intoxicating.

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