Page 79 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

And as I hold her close, my pain and the world outside fading away, I know that I’ve finally found my finish line. It’s not a checkered flag, a trophy, the deafening roar of the crowd. It’s Lola, her in my arms and in my heart, her love a constant presence in my life.

And that is a victory worth fighting for.

The kiss deepens, our tongues tangling, a slow burn that quickly ignites into a wildfire. The taste of her, the feel of her body pressed against mine, sends a wave of desire crashing through me stronger than any adrenaline rush I’ve ever experienced on the track.

I pull her closer, my hand sliding beneath her shirt, my fingers tracing the curve of her spine, sending shivers down her back. She moans softly, the sound echoing the yearning in my own soul.

“Cole,” she whispers against my lips, her voice breathless, laced with a need that reflects my own.

I break the kiss, needing to see her, to lose myself in the depths of her emerald eyes. “Lola,” I breathe, her name a prayer escaping my lips.

She reaches up, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me down towards her. “Less talking,” she murmurs, her gaze holding mine, burning with a fire that threatens to consume us both. “Just kiss me.”

And I do.

Our bodies move together, a dance of passion and longing, our clothes becoming obstacles in the urgency of our need. I shift, pulling her onto my lap so her legs straddle mine, the heat of her body a welcome pressure against my aching ribs. The pain, the frustration, the uncertainty of the future—it all fades away, replaced with the all-consuming desire to lose myself in her, to find solace in the warmth of her embrace.

Her hands roam my back, exploring the fresh scars, the contours of muscle I’ve honed by years of pushing myself to the limit. Her touch, gentle yet possessive, sends shivers of pleasure down my spine, a reminder that I am alive, that I am wanted, that I am hers.

Our kisses grow more urgent, more demanding, our tongues tangling in a dance of need and desperation. I groan. The sound is a primal rumble deep in my chest as her fingers find the hem of my shirt, pulling it up, her touch sending sparks across my heated skin.

I break the kiss again, needing air, needing to see her, to memorize every detail of her flushed face, her tousled hair, the way her incredible emerald eyes, blaze with a desire that matches my own.

“Lola,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with need. “God, you’re so beautiful. And so mine.”

She smiles a shy, hesitant smile that is more intoxicating than any victory lap. “You’re not so bad yourself, hotshot. Andyou’re mine.”

Her words, laced with a teasing affection that makes my heart ache, are all the encouragement I need. I lower my head, my lips finding the sensitive skin of her neck, trailing kisses along her jawline, her collarbone, the swell of her breast above the lace of her bra. She arches into my touch, her breath catching in her throat, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

The world outside the living room, the uncertainty of the future, the echoes of the crash—it all fades away, replaced by the heat of her body, the taste of her on my lips, the intoxicating feeling of finally coming home.

And as I lower her onto the cushions, her body yielding beneath mine, I know that this is just the beginning of a race neither of us want to end.

EPILOGUE

LOLA

The California sun,warm and golden, paints the Pacific Ocean a dazzling sapphire as we cruise down the Pacific Coast Highway. Eleanor, her engine purring like a contented cat, eats up the miles effortlessly, the wind whipping through our hair, carrying with it the scent of salt water and freedom. It’s a familiar scene, one we’ve played out countless times over the past year, a dream that’s become as essential as breathing, as comforting as the feel of Cole’s hand in mine.

It’s been a year since that last race in Abu Dhabi, a year of healing, of rediscovering ourselves, of building a love that’s stronger than any checkered flag. Cole, my reckless, infuriating, beautiful Cole, is back on the track, his eyes brighter, his smile wider, the shadows of the crash fading with each victory. The doctors had been cautious, warning him of the lingering effects, but Cole’s determination, that fire that burns within him couldn’t be contained. He is a racer, through and through, and the track is still his sanctuary.

And me? I’m right where I belong—by his side, his partner on and off the track, his heart beating in sync with mine. We’ve faced our demons, navigated the treacherous curves of doubt and insecurity, and have emerged stronger, more united. Thescars remain, reminders of the past, but they don’t define us. They are simply part of our story, a physical reminder of what we have overcome, a testament to the resilience of our love.

Cole pulls over at a scenic overlook, one with a breathtaking view—rugged cliffs plunging down to meet the crashing waves, the endless expanse of the ocean stretching towards the horizon, a panorama of blues and greens, calming the emotions swirling within me.

“Come on, Lola,” he says, a mischievous glint in his whiskey-colored eyes, the same look that used to make my heart race with a mixture of annoyance and desire, but now simply fills me with a warmth that spreads through me like a shot of pure joy. “Let’s stretch our legs.”

I follow him out of the car, my hand finding his, our fingers intertwining instinctively, a habit that feels as natural as breathing. We stand in comfortable silence, shoulders brushing, our gazes fixed on the mesmerizing dance of the waves, the rhythmic crash and retreat a soundtrack to our happiness.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, the word inadequate to capture the awe I feel, not just for the view, but for the man standing beside me, the man who has shown me what it truly means to love and be loved.

“Yeah,” Cole agrees, his voice rough with emotion, his gaze fixed on my face, as if committing every detail to memory. “It is.”

He turns to me then, his eyes searching mine. Those whiskey-colored eyes that had once held anger and resentment, are now filled with a tenderness that makes my heart ache with love. “Lola, I…” He hesitates, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that makes my chest tighten with a mix of anticipation and a fear.

“What is it, Cole?” I ask, my hand tightening on his. I keep my gaze locked on his, looking for anything that could tip me off.

He takes a deep breath, the air catching in his chest, and for a moment, I see a flash of the scared boy I met all those years ago, the one who hid behind the bravado of a race car driver, the one I’d fallen in love with despite all his flaws and rough edges. But the fear is fleeting, quickly replaced by a resolve that shines in his eyes, a determination that mirrors the grit I’ve witnessed on the track countless times.

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