Page 10 of Hot Lap
Inside, the place is mostly empty. A couple of teens hunch over a claw machine, a man sleeps on a racing bike game, and the unmistakable whir of air hockey bounces off the stained ceiling tiles. The Mario Kart cabinets glow in the far corner.
We slide into the side-by-side units. Reece settles into the seat, all ease and confidence and immediately picks Yoshi like it’s a strategic decision. I choose Princess Peach, obviously (gemstones and vengeance, always).
“I should warn you.” I look for a non-existent cup holder, then settle for putting my drink on the floor. “I’m basically terrible at video games, and I don’t have a competitive bone in my body.”
“Whoa. Head games already?” His gaze rolls toward mine as he tilts his head. “I’ll brace for humiliation.”
He shouldn’t.
I was not lying, and the moment the race starts, it’s clear he’s obscenely good. Tight corners, perfect drifts, well-timed shells — all while sipping his soda like he’s casually driving a rental. Which, I guess, he kind of is.
By the third race, he’s wiped the floor with me every time.
I gape at him. “You said you haven’t played in years!”
“I haven’t.” What a smug bastard Reece Pritchard is. "But I've been racing professionally since I was fourteen." He shrugs, all false modesty. "Transferable skills."
“That’s cheating.” I slap the wheel as Peach spins out on a banana peel.
He laughs, and the sound of it totally turns me on.
“Here.” He gets up and steps around to stand behind my seat. Before I can ask what he’s doing, Reece leans over from behind me, one arm braced on either side of me, his cheek brushing mine. He grips my hands on the wheel, and his fingers are warm, steady, and annoyingly confident.
“Ease into the turn,” he murmurs, voice low and breath brushing my skin. “Drift... now… hit it.”
I do. My kart rockets forward. I dodge three shells and cross the finish line in second place.
“I did it!” I throw my hands up and smack him in the face.
He catches my wrist, laughing. “Victory is violent with you, huh?”
I twist to look at him, breathless and giddy and way too aware of how close we are. His hand is still around my wrist, his face just inches from mine. His gaze drops to my mouth, then lifts back to my eyes.
For a second, the arcade noise vanishes. It’s just lights and breath and his smile hovering over mine.
Then I tilt my head and nearly fall out of the seat.
“Whoa.” He grabs my other arm to steady me, as I giggle. "Maybe we should chill for a few minutes."
He escorts me to a small lounge area with a few tables. We collapse into the plastic chairs, and Reece digs in his jeans pocket — that odd little coin one nobody uses. He pulls out something small that catches the light. A ring. It’s platinum with a bunch of diamonds, including a sizable square one in the middle.
"What's that?" Curiosity and alcohol push aside tact.
“Engagement ring.” He holds it up, squinting at it. "I bought it for my ex, then found her shagging another guy in our bed in Monaco." He sounds more resigned than bitter.
“Cripes. What a bitch.”
His expression goes really dark for a minute, then he shakes his head. “Yeah. I should’ve seen it coming.”
“Why?”
He hesitates, then says, “I’m traveling nine months out of the year.”
“No excuses. She shoulda said she couldn’t hack it. She was just lazy and spoiled.”
He stares at the ring, turning it this way and that. The diamond is huge and really sparkly.
"Why d’you still carry it around?"
