Page 4 of Hot Lap
“Your hands." I gesture to them. He has long fingers, neat nails, and calluses that don't come from an office job. I like hands. They say a lot and never lie.
"My hands?" He looks down at them, bemused.
"Mm-hmm. Strong but precise and really fucking fast. I bet you need insane reflexes to drive those super speedy cars.” I pick up the laminated menu, though I already know what I want. “Are you any good?"
He laughs and cute little lines crinkle the corners of his eyes. "I manage." His gaze narrows. “Are you bullshitting me, or do you really not know anything about Formula 1?”
I give him a wide-eyed look and shake my head. “Not a fucking thing.”
Dini appears tableside with two glasses of ice water. "The usual, Mai?" She has a wide smile for me and a wider one for Reece. Which, I can’t blame her. He’s hot as fuck and she may be married but she ain’t dead.
"Please. And coffee."
"For you, speed demon?"
Wait. She knows who he is? This makes me feel a little extra dense ’cause, like, am I the only person in Vegas who doesn’t?
Reece orders a salad with grilled chicken, blue cheese dressing on the side, and a Coke. When she leaves, he leansforward, forearms on the table. "Burlesque dancing. How'd you get into that?"
"I was a ballet dancer first." I watch his expression. Most people look surprised when I say that, as if someone who takes off her clothes for an audience couldn't possibly be classically trained. He just nods, eyes attentive. “You know anything about dance?”
Reece grins. “Not a fucking thing.”
I laugh and he looks pleased with himself, which is adorable.
"Touché.” I sip my water then continue. “I had a girlfriend in college who introduced me to burlesque. It was empowering. Ballet is all about discipline and pain and conforming to an impossible ideal. Burlesque celebrates the body you have."
"You're brilliant at it. The way you move is hypnotic."
Well hell, I think he means it. “Thanks.” I look down as heat rises to my cheeks. I’m used to guys hitting on me and making assumptions. Reece isn’t doing either. "So, fast cars, huh?”
“Pretty fast, yeah.”
“Is it glamorous or sweaty and tiring?"
He laughs. "Sweaty and tiring and sixteen-hour days and living out of a suitcase for nine months of the year."
"God, that’s gotta suck for relationships."
His eyes meet mine. "Is that a subtle way of asking if I'm single?"
I take another sip of water. "Maaaybe."
He smiles. "I am. How about you?"
"Also single. Men tend to get weird about dating a woman who takes her clothes off for a living."
He blows a raspberry. "Their loss."
I sit up and slap the table. “Thanks for saying that.”
“It’syourbody.” His gaze wanders for a split second. “I know what it’s like to have people control you.”
That’s surprisingly heavy, but before I can follow it, our food arrives — my burger and onion rings, his salad and soda. Reece takes a sip of his Coke and makes a sound of pure pleasure that sends a little zing right to my naughty nethers.
"Good?" I ask.
"Fuck yeah." He lowers his glass. "I get a Coke maybe twice a year."
