Chapter Nine
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Jax
The memory of the Vegas kiss clung to Jax like smoke he couldn’t shake, thick and persistent, curling into every quiet moment.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her lips parting under his—soft, yielding, then hungry.
He felt the way she’d arched into him, her small body pressing flush against his, the instinctive hook of her thigh around his leg pulling him closer.
He heard the soft, needy sound she’d made when his tongue found hers, a quiet moan that had vibrated straight through him.
His body remembered too—vividly. The hard press of her breasts against his chest, the heat of her through that thin dress, the slick warmth he’d felt when his hand skimmed lower.
He’d spent the entire flight to Qatar hard and restless, shifting uncomfortably in the first-class seat, trying to will the ache away with deep breaths and distractions—telemetry data on his tablet, noise-cancelling headphones blasting a playlist. It didn’t work.
The plane’s hum only amplified the pulse in his veins, the way his mind kept replaying the kiss like a loop he couldn’t escape.
Qatar arrived with dry desert heat that hit like a furnace blast and floodlit nights that turned the Lusail circuit into a glowing arena under artificial suns.
The routine snapped back into place like nothing had happened: hand-holding in the paddock whenever cameras were near, his arm slung loosely around her shoulders for sponsor photos, quick hugs after every session, cheek kisses timed for maximum visibility.
Aria played her part flawlessly—smiling up at him with that practiced warmth, leaning into his side during walkthroughs, laughing at his quiet jokes like they were the funniest thing she’d heard all day.
She gave no sign that the kiss had rattled her the way it had rattled him.
No lingering glances when their hands brushed, no flushed cheeks when he pulled her close for a staged moment, no hesitation before the touches. She was calm. Professional. Oblivious.
Or pretending to be.
Jax wasn’t sure which was worse. The uncertainty gnawed at him during downtime—staring at the ceiling in his hotel room, replaying her words from that night: That should do it. Like it had been nothing more than a scene in a script. Maybe to her, it was.
Friday practice went smoothly—P5 in FP1, P4 in FP2.
He climbed out of the car after FP2, helmet off, sweat dripping down his back and soaking the fireproofs under his race suit, the desert air doing nothing to cool the heat trapped against his skin.
And there she was at the barriers, waiting like always.
She stepped forward for the expected hug.
He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her slightly off the ground like routine demanded.
Her body pressed against his for the usual three seconds.
Soft curves moulding to him, faint perfume cutting through the sharp bite of fuel and rubber, the press of her breasts against his chest. His body reacted instantly—blood rushing south, cock twitching against the confines of his race suit, a sharp reminder of what one real kiss had done to him.
He set her down fast, jaw tight, and turned away before she could notice, busying himself with his gloves to hide the flush creeping up his neck.
She didn’t seem to. She just smiled up at him, bright and easy. “You looked fast out there.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, voice gruff. “Car’s good.”
She pulled out her phone, scrolling quickly with one thumb. “The Vegas clip worked. Comments have flipped. No more ‘just for publicity’ or ‘sibling vibes.’ Now it’s…” She turned the screen toward him.
He glanced down. Throat tightening.
“I bet he makes her scream his name.”
“Wonder if he drives her as hard as he drives that car.”
“That kiss was NOT staged. Look at the way he’s holding her. Man’s starving.”
“They’re definitely banging. No way that chemistry is fake.”
Jax’s mouth went dry. He handed the phone back, forcing a slow, lazy grin—the one he usually pulled out for cameras when he needed to look unbothered.
“Wow. They really went there.” He let out a low whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m flattered they think I’ve got that kind of stamina. Should probably add it to my LinkedIn: ‘Professional driver, occasional scream-inducer.’”
Aria laughed—soft, surprised—but her eyes flicked over his face like she was checking for cracks.
He kept the grin in place, leaning back against the wall with exaggerated nonchalance. “Good news for the narrative, though. Publicity is cooking. Sponsors will be thrilled. Min-Jae’s texting up a storm, right?”
“Yeah.” She hesitated, voice softening. “He wants to meet up when I’m back in Seoul. Says we need to talk things out. I think…” She looked down at her phone, thumb hovering. “I think he might actually want me back.”
The words landed like a quiet punch. Something cold and sharp twisted in Jax’s chest—unexpected, unwelcome. He felt it settle there, heavy, but he swallowed it down fast.
He nodded once, slow, keeping his tone light. “That’s the win, then. Mission accomplished.” He flashed another grin, this one a little tighter at the edges. “Guess I’m officially the best fake boyfriend in the paddock. Should get a trophy for that too.”
Aria’s smile was small, almost apologetic. “Jax…”
He waved it off, quick and casual, like it was nothing. “Nah, seriously.” He pushed off the wall, stepping just close enough to bump her shoulder lightly with his. “Go get your soulmate back, super star.”
His voice stayed easy, teasing, but the words hung a fraction too long, and his eyes didn’t quite match the grin.
Aria laughed, but it was softer this time, quieter. “Thanks, Jax.”
“Anytime.” He gave her one last wink—quick, playful—then turned toward the garage exit. “Catch you later, fake girlfriend.”
He walked away without looking back.
But the cold thing in his chest didn’t leave with him.
◆◆◆
He signed his contract extension the next morning—two more years with Ashworth.
Marcus shook his hand hard in the team principal’s makeshift office, grinning like a proud father.
“You’ve earned this, kid. Keep driving like you have been.
This new you—the focused one, the committed one—it’s paying off. ”
Jax nodded, the ink still wet on the page. It should have felt like victory. Instead, it felt like another layer of the performance locking into place.
They celebrated that night in his hotel suite: instant ramen from the convenience store down the street, cold beers, the desert skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows like a sea of stars fallen to earth.
Aria sat cross-legged on the couch in leggings and an oversized hoodie, slurping noodles with unselfconscious glee, laughing when he burned his tongue on the first bite and cursed under his breath.
“Seoul’s going to feel quiet after all this,” she said, twirling noodles around her chopsticks.
“I’m looking forward to it. Home. Normal life.
And…” She glanced at him, expression shifting to something more serious.
“We’ll need to plan the breakup announcement once Min-Jae confirms he wants me back.
Something clean. Mutual respect. No drama. ”
Jax took a long pull from his beer, the cold fizz doing nothing to ease the sudden tightness in his throat. “Yeah. Clean break.”
She smiled, soft and hopeful. “Thank you, Jax. For all of this. It’s working.”
He nodded. Didn’t trust himself to say more. The ramen sat heavy in his stomach, the celebration feeling hollow despite the contract, despite the points, despite everything.
◆◆◆
The next day before qualifying, Lucas found Jax in the garage, leaning against the wall near the data screens, staring at nothing.
Lucas walked up, clapped him once on the shoulder—firm, brief. “Solid yesterday. You’re looking sharper.”
Jax huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Trying to be.”
Lucas leaned one shoulder against the wall beside him, arms crossed, eyes on the screens but voice low. “Saw the Vegas clip. You two weren’t holding back.”
Jax’s ears went hot. He forced a grin—the easy one he’d perfected years ago. “What can I say? She brings it out in me. Hard to keep my hands off when she looks like that.”
Lucas gave a small, dry huff—almost a laugh.
“I’ve seen you pull in plenty of dark corners back in the day.
Ibiza, that model in the VIP section—quick, clean, gone by sunrise.
But this?” He shook his head, corner of his mouth lifting.
“This looked different. Less performance, more… intent. Like you actually gave a shit about the person on the other end.”
Jax looked away for a second, jaw tight before he caught himself. He shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugged like it was nothing. “She’s different. Makes the rest of it feel… quieter, I guess.”
Lucas nodded once, no pressure. “Yeah. I remember that shift.” He paused, gaze steady.
“Back when Mia and I were keeping it quiet—her still at Ashworth, me trying not to blow it every time she walked past in team kit—it wasn’t easy.
Felt like walking around with a live wire.
But it was real. And it changed how I drove. Grounded me. Made the noise quieter.”
He shrugged, casual. “You look steadier this weekend. Lighter. Whatever’s going on, it’s working. Keep it.”
Jax didn’t answer. Just nodded once, short.
Lucas pushed off the wall, clapped his shoulder again—lighter this time. “Don’t cock it up, mate. She’s good for you. And you look like you’re starting to believe it.”
He walked off toward his side of the garage, no backward glance.
Jax watched him go.
He didn’t know how to tell him the truth.
That none of it was real.
That every touch, every kiss, every staged moment was calculated.