Page 80 of Boss and Brat

“You!” he barked, pointing at Ethan. “Red helmet. Off the bike.”

Ethan froze. “Uh… me?”

“Yes, you,” the owner snapped. “You don’t jump the hill on practice runs. And you don’t lean that low unless you’re in a sanctioned race. You wanna break your neck, do it somewhere else.”

Ethan’s face went bright red—ears, cheeks, even down his neck. He looked as if he wanted to sink into the dirt.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not. Last chance,” the owner said, then stomped off.

Ethan stared at the ground, mortified.

Carter waited until the owner was out of earshot before he stepped closer, voice low and firm.

“What the hell was that?” he said. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Ethan winced. “I just… got excited.”

“Excited?” Carter leaned in, helmet almost touching Ethan’s. “You pull that stunt again, and I swear I’ll put punish you with my paddle.”

Ethan’s eyes went wide. His blush deepened. “Carter…”

“I mean it,” Carter said, softer but still serious. “I’m not losing you over some damn hill jump.”

Ethan nodded. “Okay. I’ll be careful. Promise.”

Carter exhaled, tension easing. “Good. Now let’s practice like normal people.”

They rode again—slower this time, more controlled. Carter stayed close, watching Ethan’s posture, his balance, the way he corrected his turns. The kid was talented—no doubt about it—but he needed someone to keep him grounded.

And Carter was more than willing to be that someone.

After another half hour, the loudspeaker crackled to life.

“Racers for the amateur heat, line up at the gate!”

Ethan looked at Carter, excitement sparking again—but this time, tempered. “You ready?”

Carter smirked. “Born ready.”

They lined up with a dozen other riders. Engines revved. Dirt churned. The air buzzed with adrenaline.

The gate dropped.

Ethan launched off the line fast, kicking up a strip of dust that rolled straight into Carter’s face. Not wild, not reckless—just sharp, controlled speed. The kind that came from muscle memory waking up.

Carter stayed a few lengths behind, the grit in the air hitting his teeth, the smell of hot engines settling in his throat. Watching Ethan handle the bike like that sent a tight pull through his chest, something low and electric. Every clean turn, every steady lean, pushed that feeling deeper.

Ethan wasn’t trying to outrun anyone. He was claiming the track as if it belonged to him. And damn, Carter felt every second. The kid was flying.

By the final lap, Ethan had a clear lead. Carter could see the determination in the set of his shoulders, the way he leaned into the bike like it was part of him.

When Ethan crossed the finish line first, the crowd cheered. He skidded to a stop, ripping off his helmet, hair wild, face flushed with victory.

Carter pulled up beside him, heart pounding—not from the race, but from watching Ethan come alive.

Ethan grinned at him, breathless. “Did you see that?”