Chapter Twelve #2
“To Lucas,” he said, voice carrying over the low hum of conversation.
“Second world championship. Not because the car was perfect every weekend—hell, we both know it wasn’t.
Not because the stars aligned or the strategy gods smiled down.
You won it because you’re the most relentless bastard I’ve ever shared a garage with.
You never let the car win when it wanted to bite.
You never let doubt win when the points gap looked impossible.
And you never let the rest of us slack off, either.
” He paused, letting a small, proud smile break through as he glanced at Lucas, then briefly at Aria beside him—like sharing the moment with her grounded him.
“I’m incredibly proud to call you my teammate.
And even prouder to call you my mate. To Lucas—champion, twice over.
May the third come just as hard-fought.”
The room erupted again—cheers, whistles, bottles clinking.
Lucas met Jax’s eyes across the chaos, gave a single, sharp nod—the kind that said more than words ever could—then pulled him into a rough, one-armed hug that nearly spilled both their drinks.
Jax laughed, clapping Lucas on the back, his other arm still loosely around Aria until the hug broke and he stepped back, pulling her a little closer again as the noise swelled around them.
Aria watched the exchange, warmth spreading through her chest.
The main party carried on past midnight—louder, looser, more people filtering in and out—but around 1 a.m., when the energy finally started to thin and the DJ turned the volume down, Lucas caught Jax’s eye and jerked his head toward the exit. Mia was already beside him, slipping her hand into his.
“Rooftop pool,” Lucas said quietly. “Just us. Champagne. No cameras. You two in?”
Jax glanced at Aria.
She should have said no. Should have cited jet lag, vocal rest, early flight tomorrow.
Instead she heard herself say, “Sure.”
The rooftop terrace felt suspended between earth and sky—warm desert air carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the hotel gardens below, the infinity pool glowing an electric turquoise that bled into the black horizon.
Stars glittered overhead like scattered diamonds, sharp and close enough to touch.
A low table between the loungers held an ice bucket sweating gently, champagne flutes catching the pool light in tiny, liquid sparks every time someone lifted one.
Lucas was already half-reclined on the widest lounger, long legs stretched out, one arm draped lazily around Mia’s shoulders as she curled against his side.
His race suit was long gone; now he wore only a loose white linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the top few buttons undone.
He looked loose-limbed and triumphant, the kind of relaxed that only comes after clinching a second world championship.
He was mid-story, voice carrying that easy drawl he fell into when the adrenaline finally ebbed.
“…so there I am, watching Jax come out of the tunnel in Monaco—full send, like always—and the rear tyres just let go. Bang. Spins across the track, kisses the barriers, sparks everywhere. I’m thinking, ‘That’s it, he’s in the wall for good.
’ But no. He somehow keeps it out of the Armco, limps the car back around, crosses the line P10.
P10! From dead last to points on a street circuit.
I nearly had a heart attack in the garage. ”
Jax snorted from the lounger opposite, champagne glass balanced on his knee.
Mia rolled her eyes dramatically, nudging Lucas in the ribs.
“Don’t listen to him, Aria. Lucas was ten times worse back then.
Hostile doesn’t even cover it. He growled at mechanics like they’d personally offended his bloodline.
Gave reporters the death stare until they stopped asking questions.
Barely spoke to his own teammates unless it was to tell them to get out of his way. ”
Lucas tilted his head toward her, mock-offended. “I was focused.”
“You were a prick,” Mia said cheerfully, sipping her champagne. “A very talented prick, but still. Remember Silverstone? You wouldn’t even look at the data engineer who’d stayed up all night fixing your setup. Just grunted and walked off.”
Lucas laughed—low, unrepentant. “He fixed it, didn’t he?”
“Barely.” Mia leaned forward, conspiratorial, stage-whispering toward Aria and Jax. “The whole garage had a secret betting pool on how long it would take before someone punched him.”
The stories flowed easily after that—Champagne loosening tongues, the warm night wrapping around them like a blanket.
Lucas recounted the Gold Coast surf lesson disaster in vivid detail: Jax on a borrowed longboard, overconfident, wiping out spectacularly on a head-high wave, board catching him square across the face.
Black eye for a week. “Looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a kangaroo,” Lucas said, miming a boxer’s stance.
“And still tried to play it off like it was nothing. ‘It’s fine, just a love tap from the ocean.’”
Jax shook his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re never letting that one die, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
Mia’s laughter rang clear across the terrace, bright and unguarded. She glanced at Aria, eyes soft with something like affection. “See? They’ve always been like this. Brothers who pretend they hate each other.”
Aria smiled—small at first, then wider—feeling the knot in her chest loosen just a fraction. The stories painted Jax in new colours: reckless, stubborn, quietly determined. Not the polished driver she saw on track, not the careful fake boyfriend she’d been performing with for months. Just… Jax.
The champagne was cold against her lips, the stars endless above, and for a few minutes the weight of Min-Jae, the guilt, the complicated mess she’d made—faded to background noise.
She let herself listen.
Let herself laugh.
Let herself pretend, just for tonight, that this was real.
Lucas grinned, tugged Mia into his lap. “Okay, well, I need to take this one to bed if you know what I mean.”
He kissed her—deep, unhurried, like the rest of the world had fallen away.
Then they were gone, leaving Jax and Aria alone on the loungers, the night suddenly quieter.
Silence settled, comfortable but charged.
She stared up at the stars—so many, so clear. “How did they… figure it out? Mia and Lucas.”
Jax exhaled. Took a slow sip of champagne.
“Took them forever. Lucas was a prick for years—closed off, angry at everything, convinced he didn’t need anyone.
Mia just… kept showing up. Being kind. Being real.
Eventually he couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Took a lot. A lot of almost-walking-away. But they got there.”
She nodded. Didn’t know what to say.
The silence stretched, soft and heavy, broken only by the gentle lap of water against the pool tiles and the distant hum of the city far below. Jax watched her for a long moment—eyes dark, unreadable in the turquoise glow—then set his empty champagne flute on the low table with a quiet clink.
Without another word, he stood.
He peeled off his shirt in one fluid motion, muscles shifting under tanned skin as he dropped it onto the lounger.
Shorts followed, kicked aside carelessly.
Boxers last. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pose—just stripped down like it was the most natural thing in the world and walked to the edge of the pool.
He glanced back at her once, a small, wicked grin curling his mouth.
Then he dove.
Clean entry, barely a splash. The water swallowed him whole for a second before he surfaced a few meters out, shaking his head, droplets flying in an arc that caught the lights like sparks. He treaded water lazily, arms spread, grinning up at her like the world’s most dangerous dare.
“Come on.”
Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs.
“I don’t have my bikini.”
“Didn’t stop me.”
Water streamed down his chest, tracing the carved lines of muscle, pooling in the hollows above his collarbones before sliding lower. He looked dangerous. Beautiful. Completely unapologetic.
She stood slowly.
Kicked off her heels—one, then the other—bare feet silent on the warm deck tiles.
Her fingers found the zipper at the side of her dress. She tugged it down inch by inch, feeling the silk part like liquid over her skin. The fabric whispered as she let it fall—pooling dark and shimmering at her feet.
No underwear.
Just her, naked under the stars, skin prickling in the night air, nipples tightening instantly from the cool breeze off the water.
Jax’s gaze never left her. Dark. Hungry. Patient.
She walked to the edge. Toes curled over the lip.
Then she dove.
The water closed over her head—warm, silken, a shock of sensation after the dry heat of the terrace.
She surfaced gasping, laughing despite herself, hair slicked back, mascara probably running in black streaks.
Jax was already closing the distance, cutting through the water with easy, powerful strokes.
They collided in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
Splashing. Chasing. Ducking under each other like teenagers who’d forgotten everything else. She lunged at him; he caught her wrists, spun her until her back was against his chest, his arms banding around her waist. She twisted free, laughing, only for him to catch her again—gentler this time.
The play slowed.
His hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Her breath hitched.
He turned her in the water until they were face to face.
She wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct. His hands cupped her ass, holding her up effortlessly, fingers digging in just enough to make her gasp.
He groaned into her mouth, then pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.