Page 46 of Knot So Lucky
Cale finally releases me—thank fuck—and I immediately put distance between us, adjusting my coveralls and trying to look like a professional pit tech instead of someone who spent the morning getting thoroughly fucked by the Alpha currently smirking at my discomfort.
"Who pissed you off?" Cale asks Roran, head tilting with genuine curiosity.
"I'm not pissed off," Roran shoots back, but his jaw is tight and his shoulders are tense in that particular way that means something's definitely wrong.
"Yeah, right." Cale's smirk widens. "I know when you're mad as fuck."
"And how's that?"
Instead of answering verbally, Cale just looks at me.
Pointedly.
Deliberately.
With that knowing expression that says everything without saying anything at all.
Because, of course Cale knows when Roran's upset. They've been racing against each other, training together, existing in each other's orbit for years. Add in the fact that Roran and I share identical tells—the jaw clenching, the shoulder tension, the way our eyes narrow just slightly when we're containing emotions we'd rather not display—and Cale's basically fluent in reading Lane's body language.
I frown, rolling my eyes.
"You're going to be banned from having breakfast with me again if you keep acting delusional."
The threat is empty and we both know it, but I need to establishsomeboundaries or he'll keep pushing until we're making out against the garage wall where anyone could see.
Cale shrugs, crossing his arms in a mirror of Roran's posture.
"There's plenty of ways I can 'join' you for breakfast."
The air quotes around "join" make the innuendo crystal clear.
"Can younottalk all flirty with my brother around?" Roran's glare could strip paint. "Thanks."
Cale just chuckles, the sound rich with amusement and zero remorse.
"I'm in a good mood, so I won't further piss you off. But seriously, what's the deal?"
Roran's expression shifts from annoyed to genuinely troubled, and that makes my attention sharpen immediately.
"They're changing the rules of the game," he says, voice flat with barely contained frustration. "Potentially partnering me up with a completely different team."
All three of us freeze.
The implications of that statement ripple through my mind like dominoes falling. Different team means different support structures. Different engineers, different pit crew, different dynamics entirely. For a racer who's spent months building rapport with their current setup, it's the equivalent of being told to rebuild everything from scratch right before the biggest competition of the season.
"What do you mean?" I ask, keeping my voice pitched low and steady, even though my pulse has kicked up. "Why would they do that?"
We start walking toward the main garage, falling into step together as Roran explains.
"They announced this morning, while you were probably still asleep, that they're implementing a new tier system for the upcoming Formula One Competition." His hands gesture sharply as he talks, punctuating his frustration. "Saying they want to make things more 'unpredictable and exciting for viewers.'"
He uses air quotes with the kind of venom that suggests he's directly quoting some corporate marketing bullshit.
"Which means merging two different teams together. Potentially four drivers per team instead of the standard two, which would make the competition schedule significantly longer. But from everyone's reaction this morning, they might pull back on that stupidity."
"Four drivers per team?" Cale's eyebrows rise. "That's a logistics nightmare. Not to mention the internal competition would be brutal."
"Exactly." Roran's jaw clenches. "You'd essentially be competing against your own teammates for resources and recognition. It's designed to create drama for the cameras, not to showcase actual racing talent."
