Page 7 of Hot Lap
He nods, looking sheepish. "Too much?"
“Depends. Did you think you were buying something with it?”
His brows furrow for a moment, then arch as he realizes what I’m saying. “No, Mai. It was just admiration. One athlete to another.”
I stare at him. “No one has ever called me that.”
Now he looks worried. “Did I offend you?”
“Nooo. Impressed. It’s nice to be acknowledged.”
"What you do, it's craft. Dedication. I recognize that in any athlete. Different worlds, same commitment. I respect it."
I reach for his hand and squeeze it. "Thanks for that — the compliment and the tip. I'll put the money to good use."
"You’re welcome. And I'm sure you will." He steps back and shuts my door. I lower the window and he says, "Drive safe."
I start the engine, my mind racing faster than any Formula 1 car. As I pull forward out of my parking space, I check my rearview mirror. Reece stands in the circle of the security light I parked under, watching me go.
Something in my chest expands and contracts all at once.
I've just had dinner with a Formula 1 driver who tipped me a thousand dollars and kissed my hand like he stepped out of a different century.
Am I really just gonna drive away?
CHAPTER TWO
I roll maybethree feet then hit the brakes.
What the fuck am I doing? That man just kissed my freakin’ hand.
I look at myself in the rearview mirror and mutter, “Christ, Maiken. When was the last time a guy looked at you like you were more than just your tits?”
Before I can overthink it, I put the car in reverse, back up, and roll down my passenger window.
"You wanna grab a drink? I know some places where Junior Betterton definitely won't be."
Surprise flickers across Reece's handsome face, followed by a slow, genuine smile that reaches up to his eyes and down to my hoo-haw. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"Well, then get in."
He slides into the passenger seat and his scent — subtle, expensive, with notes of cedar and something spicy — enters the small space with him. It’s his soap, I think. Not strong enough to be cologne. Masculine without being aggressive.
"Nice ride." There’s no hint of sarcasm in his voice as he takes in the worn, sun-bleached upholstery and the dashboard bobblehead of Bettie Page.
I pat the dash. "Bettie's reliable." I pull away from the curb. "Unlike most men I've dated."
He laughs, settling into the seat. "Where are we going?"
"That depends on what kinda night you want. Quiet and sophisticated? Loud and obnoxious? Weird and underground?"
He considers this as we stop at a red light. The neon from a nearby casino bathes his face in alternating red and gold, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones. "Surprise me."
"Ooo. Dangerous words in this town." I'm already plotting our course. "Hope you can keep up, speed demon."
"I'll do my best, dancing queen."
His phone buzzes. He checks it and frowns. "Look, we're definitely heading toward too many drinks to drive. Smart move, we leave your car at your place, and I'll sort a car service for the night. The driver can stick with us, no problem."
