Page 46 of Speeding Hearts

Only now, I’d lost him anyway. And it was becoming clear, even after the excitement of the race just now, that driving cars really wasn’t what I’d thought it would be.

My cautious win tonight had been fraught with nerves. I’d barely been able to keep my hands on the wheel because they were sweating so much. The only reason I had come in sixth and not last was because of a couple of hotshots who’d burnt out in the middle of the race, spinning off the track and disqualifying themselves from continuing.

I was just getting my keys out to get in my car when I heard my name.

I spun around, my heart lifting. It was a deep male voice. But when I saw who it was, my heart sunk. It was Fabrizio, the winner of the qualifier.

If I were any other woman—hell, if it was another time—my heart would have been doing backflips.

Fabrizio was a devastatingly handsome Italian guy doing a dirt track circuit around America for the summer. He would have been a Formula One star I knew, if it weren’t for his passion for the famous small-town dirt tracks of the good ol’ USA. He was probably around five years my junior—I’d have put him at mid-twenties—and charming as hell. Plus, he knew exactly the effect his devilish grin, tanned skin, and dark hair had on women.

But he didn’t hold a candle to Dean Hughes.

“Stella!” Fabrizio said as he came up to me, his helmet tucked under his arm. “Will I be seeing you at—what is it called—the Rox?”

“Oh,” I said. My first instinct was to say no, to use this as an excuse to celebrate all by my sorry self down at the creek. Then, I thought about the open stands—how Dean had skipped the race he knew I’d been angling toward the whole time I’d been here. The one he’d helped me get a car for, helped me practice for, brought me to the hospital to stitch up the wound I’d gotten training.

Anger bubbled in me as I thought once more of how he hadn’t even done more than text me once over the past two weeks, telling me he couldn’t make it to the Back Track last weekend.

“Yeah,” I said now, lifting my chin up and pasting on a smile. “I’ll be there. You?”

He grinned back at me. “Yes, of course. I will be waiting for you.”

I was too surprised to do anything but laugh at his forwardness. I was a little shocked, actually, that the young Italian had taken an apparent interest in me. He hadn’t seen me in anything but mechanic and racing gear, and I knew he could have his pick of women. But maybe a hook-up with Fabrizio was exactly what I needed.

The thought of it made me feel a little sick. But I shook that off. If not a hook-up, at least a little flirtation. I’d vowed not to get involved with anyone and focus on racing, but everything had kind of gone to shit since I’d gotten here. Might as well get more than pain and doubt out of it.

“I just need to go home to shower and change first,” I said.

Fabrizio did a little eyebrow lift, and I responded with a laugh I hoped came off as at least halfway flirtatious.

* * *

For the firsttime since I'd moved into the little bullet trailer, I used the outdoor shower and mostly didn’t think of Dean. As I scrubbed the sweat and adrenaline off of my body, I focused on regrouping. I had come here to race. I hadn’t come here to wallow over Dean—hell, I hadn’t meant to see much of him at all.

I tried hard to believe that.

Hooking up with him was exactly the mistake I’d known it would be, but it was in the past now. I was going to refocus on what I wanted to get out of this stint in Oak Bend.

Racing cars.

But even that felt hollow. I scowled as I got out of the shower. The whole time I’d been here, I’d felt out of control. I felt like I’d been following Dean to his hometown, and everything had been contingent on him helping me. Maybe I needed to take a step back and focus on what Ireallywanted.

It was like a lightbulb going off.

I wanted to get my power back. No matter what I did, I wasn’t one to sit back and let people dictate how I should feel. I had never let those guys at mechanic training get away with the shit they’d said to me. In fact, I’d whipped them all into shape and had even punched one of them in the stomach when he’d asked me what I was wearing under my jumpsuit. Then, I’d proceeded to blow them all out of the water with my top marks.

I had come here to race, and I raced. If I wanted to race in the Bender, now I could.

I may have given away my power to Dean when I’d needed his help with so many things and when I let myself give into the feelings that had been simmering underneath everything, but that was then.

This was now. I was going to go to the bar tonight and celebrate how far I’d come and how far I still had to go, whether or not Dean was a part of it.

Chapter 15

Dean

It wasmy dad who’d convinced me to go to the qualifier. Of all people.

---