Page 101 of Riding the Curve

“We weren’t . . . It’s not what you think!” I shout.

“I’m not listening!” he teases, shoving his fingers in his ears for dramatic effect. Ass.

I release my boyfriend’s lips and quickly peer around to find the kitchen absent of my best friend. Where did she go?

Emerson doesn’t give me much time to ponder. He picks me up and carries me all the way to the cabin. Leggings and Em’s sweatshirt are the closest articles of clothing I find, so I shove those on. He won’t let me leave without putting on my Converse. I guess fuzzy slippers aren’t considered appropriate driving shoes.

“Ready?”

“Let’s gooo!” I shout out the window as we drive down the road toward the shop and track.

CHAPTER 37

Emerson

Henley’s entire body vibrates with excitement, and it’s the most adorable damn thing I’ve ever seen. Since we got in the truck, she’s been unable to sit still. Now she’s buzzing around the shop like a hummingbird.

Grabbing two helmets off the shelf, some driving gloves, and the keys to the Porsche, I scoot her out back. She heads toward the driver side first.

“Uh-uh, Trouble,” I tsk, twirling the keys around my finger. “Passenger side first.”

She pouts her sexy bottom lip at me, then with a huff shuffles around to the other side. “The door’s still locked, Em,” she grumbles impatiently.

Taking my time, I stroll around the car toward her, enjoying the frustration blossoming on her face. “Safety first.”

Hen glances down at the helmets and gloves in my hands and huffs. “Do we really need those?”

“Yes,” I say softly, stepping closer and placing a helmet onto her head and securing the neck strap. I lift the visor and her hazel eyes peer into mine. “If anything were to happen to that beautiful brain of yours, I’d never forgive myself.”

Though I can’t see her lips, the crinkles in the corners of her eyes tell me everything I need to know. With a wink, I shut the visor and playfully slap her ass. “Now get in the car.”

“Yes, sir,” she purrs. Then the sassy little siren salutes me, igniting my entire body.

Once inside, I lean over and make sure her seat belt is secure, then start the ignition.

Henley’s mumbled laughter and shouts from underneath the helmet sends adrenaline thrumming through my system. I probably should have started out easy, worked up to this speed, but her contagious energy pulls me in.

I’ve never taken any woman out on the racetrack with me. The track has always been a sacred place for me. The place I went to clear my thoughts, where I came to release my fears, the place where I’d come for some many years to feel less numb. To feel alive.

As I slide around each curve and hear the vibrant euphoria from the woman beside me, I realize it’s not just the drive anymore giving me life. It’s her.

We whip around the track a dozen more times before I slow to a stop.

“Aww, that can’t be all.” Her shoulders slump, and I’m pretty sure there’s another pout hiding behind that helmet of hers.

I lift my visor so she can see my eyes, and she does the same. “Well, I had thought that maybe you’d want to drive . . . but, if you just want me to keep driving⁠—”

“Are you fucking serious, Em?” she squeals, her fingers reaching out to grasp onto my arm. “You’re actually going to let me drive?”

“Do you want to?” I jest.

“That is by far the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me, but I will try not to hold it against you,” she grumbles, and laughter tumbles out of me.

“Ouch.”

“Oh, come on . . . We both know your ego is big enough to handle it,” she scoffs.

My hand slips through the underside of her helmet and pulls it into mine.