Page 31 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

And as Cole’s car slices through the turns, his movements smoother now, his lines more precise, I feel a shift in the air, a palpable release of tension. The music, a bridge between our past and present, seems to mend the gap between us, too.

“Turn four, apex late,” I instruct, my voice calm and steady, the data on the screen guiding my words. “Ease off the throttle, let the car drift…”

“I got it, Lola,” Cole’s voice comes back, a hint of a smile in his tone. “I got it.”

And he does.

He and the car move fluidly as one, a graceful dance between man and machine, his movements flowing, his instincts sharp. The Viper, responding to his touch, to our shared understanding, roars down the straightaway, a black blur against the sun-drenched asphalt.

I watch him, my heart swelling with a mixture of pride and something that feels dangerously close to love.

No. Don’t go there, Lola. Lock that down. This is a job. A contract. A carefully constructed lie.

But even as I repeat the mantra, I can’t ignore the truth that is staring me in the face. The chemistry between us, the way our minds work in tandem, the undeniable spark that ignites every time our eyes meet… it’s all real.

The rest of the practice session flies by, the earlier tension replaced by a focused intensity that hums between us. We’re in sync, each lap building on the last, pushing the limits, honing our strategy, and becoming a single, powerful unit.

I can feel the team watching us, their initial skepticism melting away with each successful run. Even Gene, with his perpetually furrowed brow and arsenal of Cole-related grudges, seems to be reluctantly impressed.

And as Cole pulls into the pit lane, his face flushes with exhilaration, a triumphant grin splitting his face, and I know that this is just the beginning. We’re a team. A force to be reckoned with.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

“That,” he says, his voice husky with exertion as he climbs out of the car, “was… better. A lot better.” He pulls off his helmet, running a hand through his damp hair.

My gaze snags on the movement, the way the sweat glistens on his skin. I can practically see the muscles in his arms flex through his fire suit.Focus, Lola. Work. Engines. Not abs and arm flexes.

“It was good,” I agree, trying to keep my tone professional, my voice steady despite the way my pulse is hammering and the blush that I can feel creeping up my neck. “But there’s always room for improvement. I want to try a different line through turn thirteen.”

“You sure?” Cole tilts his head, his gaze meeting mine with a challenge that gets me more hot and bothered. “You think you can trust me to handle it?”

The question, loaded with double meaning, hangs in the air between us. I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry.

“I trust you,” I admit, my voice a soft whisper that is almost lost in the roar of the nearby engines.

The corner of his lip twitches, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Good,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Because I trust you, too.”

The air sizzles between us, charged with something more potent than the exhaust fumes and racing fuel surrounding us. The weight of his gaze is almost too much to bear, and I find myself leaning closer, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Lola…” he breathes, his voice a husky murmur.

But before he can close the distance between us, and our carefully constructed façade crumbles completely, a voice booms over the loudspeaker, shattering the moment. Practice is over. Time to face the cameras, the sponsors, and the world outside of our bubble on the track.

And I can’t shake the feeling that the real practice is just beginning.

He turns and strides back towards the Viper, his movements fluid, his confidence radiating off him like heat waves off the asphalt. As I watch him climb back into the car, his gaze meeting mine one last time before he pulls his helmet on, I know that this isn’t just about winning races anymore.

This is about something much more dangerous. Something that could wreck both of our lives if we aren’t careful. Smile and wave Lola. Just smile and wave.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

COLE

The crowd’sroar hits me like a freight train, rattling my bones and setting my nerves on fire. It’s race day, baby—the big show after weeks of busting our asses and juggling more bullshit than a politician at a press conference.

But the second I slide into that driver’s seat, everything else fades to background noise. The familiar cocktail of leather, gas, and pure adrenaline floods my senses, and suddenly only one thing matters: Lola.

She’s standing there, clipboard in hand like it’s welded to her palm, headset already in place. Her eyes are locked on mine with the intensity of a laser beam, making my heart rev harder than the engine behind me. Gone are the flirty jabs and fake smiles we’ve been tossing around like confetti. Today, it’s all business.

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