Page 118 of Crash Course

Three.

It’s like the countdown of a race, the lights blinking on before we go tearing off the start line.

Four.

Her fingers trace my scar through my shirt from memory. I brush her arm. We’ve both been impacted by the world. Both done what we had to in order to survive. Maybe all of it brought us here.

Five.

When my shirt hangs open, she angles her face up at me, smug.

“Well, that’s one—”

I cut off her words with my mouth.

37

Jameson

“Too fucking slow!” Knox calls.

Across the room, the bartender carrying the full tray of pints toward our booth scurries between the tables.

A few of us are grabbing a drink after evening workouts. My session was seriously compromised thanks to the busted collarbone, but no one said it out loud.

The downside of never having been in a wreck is I’m not used to navigating injuries. I’m short on not only patience but rehab skills.

“I could still beat you both,” Knox’s saying to me and Theo. “While you’re taking each other out at the front, I’ll sneak right by. I could rename ARI. Change the team colors—”

“The prize is a seat in the car, not the CEO job.” Theo laughs.

“First the car, next the company.”

I nod at the bartender who brought my beer, sliding him a nice tip for dealing with my boisterous friend.

“You can pry it from Luca’s cold, dead hands,” I say, lifting my glass to my lips with my good arm.

But Knox’s comments remind me the third and final race is less than two weeks away. The real question is whether I can compete seriously in the final Challenger series race. I’ll have to.

“You want to leapfrog both of us, your engineers better come up with a Hail Mary,” Theo’s saying to Knox.

“You mean they need to put wings on his car,” Mateo says, shaking his head.

Knox flips him off. “If only we all had engineers who would fix our tire pressure and suck our dicks when they’re done.”

He reaches for his beer. I reach for his neck.

In less than a second, I’m across the booth and holding his throat with my good hand.

“You want to stay friends when I win my first world championship, you’ll say a hell of a lot less about Shay from here on out.”

Eyes are on us, but I don’t care. Knox wheezes, incredulous. “You’re not serious.”

I squeeze.

I’ve tolerated his antics for too long. Not anymore. Not when he’s directing them at Shay.

“Your expressed opinions will be limited to polite applause when she wins, breathes, or so much as deigns to look in your direction.” I adjust my grip, because this might set my healing back, but I need him to fucking hear me. “Understood?”