“Well, yeah,” I tell him, honestly. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t I? All he’s ever done is try to be the best version of himself. He even went as far as to sacrifice his own happiness because he thought he was having a baby with the town skank. You know, there’s just that one thing, but that doesn’t hold me back from trusting him.
“Will you race with me?”
My mouth drops open before my eyes flick around the track. “Uhhhhhhh,” I stutter, completely forgetting that I needed to ask him something. Wait, what was I going to ask?
“Too late,” he laughs, flicking the button for the lock and trapping me in here before I get the idea to escape. “I want you with me.”
With that, he drives out onto the track and my heart begins pounding. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Noah brings the Camaro to a stop as a black car pulls in beside him. He looks across at me, his eyes sparkling, and a somber expression taking over, making me realize that whatever’s about to come out of his mouth is going to be raw and real. “Babe, I don’t know how it happened, but I’m fucking crazy about you. I’m falling for you and there’s no way in hell I’m about to let you walk away from me now, even if it’s to stand on the sidelines and watch.”
My eyes begin to water. “You’re falling for me?”
“Fucking hard, Spitfire,” he tells me. “You’re my girl and I want to give you the world. I saw the excitement in your eyes when you saw the track and even if you’re not ready to admit it yet, you want this. You want to feel the adrenaline of speeding around the track. You want to know that rush, and because it’s something you want, I’m going to give it to you.”
“If you crash…”
“If I crash, which I won’t by the way.”
“But if you do…?”
“If I do, I’ll get your name tattooed across my ass.”
A smile spreads across my face. “You’re pretty confident, huh?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Alright,” I tell him. “You have a deal.”
“That’s more like it,” he grins at me with boyish excitement. “Are you ready for this?”
I shake my head as the excitement is nearly enough to make me explode. I curl my fingers around the ‘Holy shit bar,’ and hold on with everything I’ve got. “No,” I tell him. “Not at all.”
“Too fucking late, Spitfire,” he laughs as he looks out the windshield. I follow his movements and realize there’s a woman in a tiny black bikini and short denim cut offs with her ass hanging out the bottom, holding a handkerchief high above her head. I suck in a breath. When the hell did she get there?
Not a second later, she drops the handkerchief and Noah hits the gas, taking off like a fucking boss as a high-pitched squeal is ripped out of my lungs.