Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
My eyes widen in confusion. He’s just won P2 and he’s talking about vacation. “You want to go surfing?” I ask dumbly.
He grins at me. “Only if you want to.”
“Yes,” I exclaim with a laugh. “But let’s talk about this later, okay?”
Reid grins at me as he steps back and then moves down the line, back-slapping and hugging the entire team.
The next half hour is surreal to watch. Reid disappears into the media scrum, and I stand off to the side as he gives polished answers to questions, his professional charm never slipping even as the promise of champagne and victory fills the air.
The best part, though, is the podium. I watch him take the second step, lift his trophy, and grin at the crowd. Champagne explodes as all three drivers soak each other with the celebratory spray. Reid is grinning from ear to ear and my face hurts, so I know I’m matching him pearly white for pearly white.
I’m about to burst with pride. That man belongs up there.
And I suddenly realize—standing here as close to Reid’s racing career as I can get—I want to belong by his side.
CHAPTER 13
Reid
We pull into the small lot outside Lara’s apartment complex in Torquay just after eleven a.m. The late-morning sun casts long shadows across the gravel and I ease the rented SUV into a spot before killing the engine.
The two-hour drive from Melbourne was quiet, but not awkward. Comfortable. Granted, we’re both tired as hell because we were up all night celebrating the race finish. We hopped nightclubs, dancing and drinking, along with Carlos, my teammate Gunner, Sebastian Wolff over at Freedom Dynamics, and Ronan Barnes who drives for Crown Velocity. He’s a bit of a douche but Gunner invited him along, so not much we could say about it.
Ultimately, it didn’t matter. I had Lara by my side and while we all sat together as a group as we skipped around the Melbourne nightlife, she and I danced the hours away while sipping cocktails. When we got back to the hotel, I fucked her in the shower, and then once again in the bed, and we were both exhausted by the time we fell asleep.
We left for Torquay after breakfast, both of us eager to get out of the city.
As pre-planned, our parents stayed behind. They have tickets to the Regent Theatre this evening and they’ll do some shopping tomorrow before heading home. That means I have a full day and a half with Lara before they arrive and we have to go back to pretending to be just friends.
As for Lance, he’s apparently off to Italy to pitch his product to the Rosso Corsa GTX team, at least according to my parents who talked to him last night after the race. Honestly, his departure is welcome at this point, because Lara’s not ready to deal with him and I don’t know that I ever will be. I can’t speak for Lara’s mind or heart, but I don’t know if I have it in me to forgive what he did.
“I hate this part,” Lara mutters, staring up at the second-floor windows where she used to live with my brother. I’ve never been here before and am not looking forward to seeing a glimpse of what she and Lance had together, but the sooner I get her out of that part of her life, the sooner she can move on with me.
“Packing definitely sucks,” I murmur.
She nods. “It’s not about the stuff. It’s just… crossing the threshold. Seeing everything where I left it. Like nothing happened.”
I reach across the console and squeeze her hand. “You don’t have to do it alone. In fact, tell me where everything is and I’ll do it all. You can wait down here.”
She offers me a small, grateful smile. “In case I forget to tell you a million times after this moment, thank you for all you’ve done for me.”
“No thanks needed,” I assure her.
I get another smile, this one more confident. “I know and that’s why I’ve always adored you. Let’s get it done.”
Their apartment is exactly what I expect for Lance—pristine, minimal, sterile. It doesn’t strike me as lived in so much as staged, but it goes against everything I believe Lara to be.
Warm, creative and a little chaotic in the best way, and yet I see none of that in the furniture or décor.
I can’t tell what belongs to Lara and what doesn’t until she starts moving through the space, opening drawers, pulling sweaters from the closet, setting things in soft piles on the bed.
I help without question—gathering the shoes she wants, wrapping her jewelry in a cloth pouch, folding a faded university hoodie I’ve seen her wear a hundred times. Every so often, she pauses with something in her hands, her gaze going distant.