Page 57 of Overtake
He steps closer. “Validateyou? Christ, Petra, have you seen yourself drive? You don’t need anyone’s validation. You never have.”
“Thenwhy?” I’m not going to back down. I never have. I never will. “Why take that perfect, textbook line instead of fighting for pole?”
“Because it was the right line!” The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his face. Sweat still gleams on his neck. “Because sometimes the clean way is the fast way. Because maybe I—” He stops, fingers flexing against his hand wraps and making them creak.
“Maybe you what?”
He leans closer. “Maybe I wanted to prove something tomyself.” His reply is quiet, intense, his breath mixing with mine in the small gap between us. “That I could race you straight up, no games, no politics. Just pure racing.”
“And?” I don’t remember moving, but suddenly we’re breathing the same air.
“And you beat me.” His eyes lock with mine, shifting back and forth as he holds me in place with that amazing grey gaze.
Something changes between us. The anger’s still there, but it’s tangled with something else. Something that makes my pulse jump for reasons that have nothing to do with racing.
“I didn’t need you to prove that.” All my anger’s evaporated.
“No.” He raises his hand, fingers hesitating a centimeter from my face. “You never need anyone to prove anything for you. That’s what makes you amazing.” He brushes my cheek with his fingers.
The touch feels like qualifying lap adrenaline, like perfect apex precision, like...
“Petra, are you in here?” Jacintha’s in the gym. Reece must’ve told her where to find me.
We jump apart like startled rabbits.
“Fuck. I need to go.” I gesture toward the door.
“Sí.”He runs a hand through his hair. “Sprint prep.”
“Right.” I take three huge steps toward the door, then hesitate and look at him again. “Nico?”
“Hm?”
“Next time, race me properly. No proving anything to anyone. Just...” I roll my eyes. “Just try to keep up, Bunny Boy.”
His answering grin makes my heart do stupid shit.“Sí, señorita.”
Bloody hell.
When I emerge from the room, Cin pivots toward me, but her gaze goes past my shoulder even as she shoves a protein shake into my hand. “No skipped meals.” This is a red flag she waves any time I’m late for one. It’s reasonable, given my history. “Then we prep and—” She stops, studying my face. “Why are you flushed?”
“Rage.” That lie comes automatically.
My cousin’s eyes narrow. “Are you okay? You look...”
“I’m pissed off, Cin.” That comes out sharp. I head toward the front doors and she follows, though I don’t miss her glancing back toward the room I just left.
“At Nico?” She falls into step beside me.
“Who else?” I suck down some shake, grateful for the cool liquid.Mm, chocolate chia.
She gives me a look. “Where do I start? These days the list seems endless.”
Shit. Double shit. And triple shit.
My physio switches to professional mode. “Now, about sprint prep.”
But my mind’s circled back to that touch, those grey eyes and contained power. An eyeful of bare skin and taut muscle, sweat and warm breath.
