Page 72 of Prove Me Wrong
She nervously tucks hair behind her ear, and I can see the anxiety creeping across her face, the shadows passing over her silver eyes.
“I know, and thank you, Grey,” I say softly.
Nodding, unsure of what else to say, her stomach growls loud enough for Jade to look up from her food. Cheeks flaring with heat, I grin and turn to the fridge. “All right, all right, keep the monster in there. I’ll make something good, I promise.”
Biting her lip, Mia watches as I pull items out, checking off a recipe in my mind. My gaze lingers on her puffy lips, remembering how that tasted only moments ago, the softness and fullness of them. All I want is to pull her into my arms and never let her go, but that can wait.
I have all the time in the world to kiss her, because I really don’t want to let her go now.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
NOAH
“Carmichael is one point seven in front,” Julian says into my ear. My knuckles tighten on the wheel, fumes floating through the car. The noise of the track pounds in my ears as I swerve the car to the left.
The red and white car in front of me is keeping time, braking down the chicane, swiftly missing the barriers as I follow behind him in second place.
“Stevens one point nine behind. Losing speed.”
“Good,” I grit back, bracing myself for the sharp right turn before we come to a straight. “Slipstream?”
“Not close enough. One point three away.”
I mentally curse, shifting gears and slamming the clutch before the turns begin again.
“Stevens one point five, but he’s being chased down by Grimaldi.”
Sweat drips from my forehead inside the helmet, and perspiration rolls down my side from my armpits as I pull the car to the left.
“Laps?”
“Twenty-six to go. Pitting in two.”
“Got it.”
I jam on the brakes, gliding through a chicane before climbing speed again on the straight.
“Grimaldi passed Stevens.”
“Time?”
Julian takes a moment as I turn the car to the left, nearing a barrier but missing it marginally.
“One point eight.”
“Carmichael?”
“One point two.”
“Good.” I gear shift out of the next corner.
The red and white car in front of me is getting closer, my car nearing his when I see the yellow flags raise on the sides, and I mutter out a curse.
“Hearst and Baker are out. Barrier collision on turn eight. Slow down and come in for a pit.”
“Yep,” I answer and follow behind Carmichael into the pitlane. The pit crew line up, and I stop the car, waiting for them to work their magic. “How bad was the crash?”
“Decent,” Julian answers. “It’ll take three to four laps to clear.”
