Page 96 of Overtake
“Sí.”He strokes the callused skin on the inside of her thumb, something every driver has from gripping the steering wheel. “Some things are more important than points, Petra.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
UNITED STATES GRAND PRIX | MONDAY
Nico wakesto the unfamiliar sensations of Petra’s hair tickling his chest and her breath warming his neck. Morning light paints faint patterns across the floor and sheets. They’d talked until exhaustion took over, making plans and jokes and love again. But it’s Monday, and they don’t have the luxury of time. El Gran Premio de la Ciudad de México is next weekend and they both have to fly this afternoon.
She stirs, yawns, and stretches like a cat. “Time is it?”
“Early.” He checks his phone. “Though not early enough to avoid decisions.”
“Mm.” She blinks, rotates her hands on her wrists, then gazes up at him. “The great escape question. Pretend last night didn’t happen?”
“Or walk out together and own it.” He arches a brow. “Unless you have regrets and need an excuse to run away?”
Petra sits up, the sheet pooling in her lap and revealing her breasts, but she’s unbothered. “I regret nothing and I don’t run from anything.”
He grins. “I didn’t think so.”
She cocks her head and looks askance at him. “You just tricked me.”
“Posiblemente.” He brushes hair from her face. “Let’s get breakfast and start the show.”
She considers him. “What do we want the world to see?”
“Whatever you want. I’ll follow your lead, Petra, just like I always have.”
“You have not, and I don’t suggest starting now. I have no idea where this is going. But I know everyone else will have opinions.”
“Sí, pero no importan.”He pulls her down for a kiss. “Right?”
She resists for a moment, considering. He sees it on her face, the decision she’s making. “You’re right.” She continues forward until their lips meet, then her smile blooms against his mouth. “Their opinionsaren’timportant.”
A few more kisses, then Nico sits her up.“Vamos.”But he already misses the feel of her body and her lips. “Let’s give the fans something to post about.”
Petra flashes that cheeky smile he loves. “Might as well.”
She rolls out of bed, and he marvels at the beauty and power of her thin, muscular body. This isn’t the gum-cracking little girl he had a crush on. Every muscle is honed. Every unnecessary ounce of fat removed. She’s thin, like they all are, but he knows the toll maintaining a driver’s physique took on her mental health. He knows why Jacintha monitors Petra’s meals and weight and macronutrients maybe even more obsessively than most other physios do for their drivers.
“The Honey Bunnies will lose their shit either way.” She retrieves her phone from the desk and mutters, “Speaking of people who’ll lose their shit.”
Nico finds his boxers and pulls them on, then gathers their scattered clothes. “Coy?”
“Mm.”
“He already knows.” Her brows lift as he pulls a note from the pocket of his jeans. “Who do you think told me which room was yours?”
“Seriously?”
He unfolds the note and reads aloud: “‘Room thirty-two oh three. Break her heart and I’ll cut off yourcojones.’ It’s signed ‘69’.”
That was Dad’s racing number—the year he was born—and now it’s Petra’s.
She laughs. “Yeah, that’s Dad.” She retrieves a set of clean clothes from the chair by the window, but freezes when a knock comes at the door.
Nico will never forget the sight of Petra Hayter, naked as the day she was born, peering through the door’s peephole. Her ass is amazing.
“Go away, Cin.” She doesn’t open the door.
