Chapter 19
NINETEEN
The widest grin is plastered across my face as I walk through the arena, Lana’s hand in mine. She nearly skips beside me while holding her bag of toys, a girlish giggle escaping her lips every so often. Each time I look down at her in utter awe of how ridiculously adorable she is.
After she convinced me to ditch the movie, I spent five minutes with her pressed against the door of my rental car, my tongue tasting every inch of her mouth, before we made our way back to the arena.
She stayed in the hallway while I quickly changed into my suit and slid her hand right back into mine when I stepped out.
Sure, I could do a few rounds without the full gamut of safety gear, but I’m determined to overcome this fear once and for all; I’m more likely to do so if I’m wearing the proper safety equipment.
“Hey, Jackson,” I say, grinning at the security guard who travels with the circuit.
He gives me a wide smile in return; he’s less happy to be here and more about the cash he knows is coming his way.
“Mind letting us inside for a bit?” I slide him a stack of bills, and he takes it without hesitation, slipping it into his pocket with a well-practiced motion.
In the beginning, he played the bashful, oh, I couldn’t card, but the truth is, money speaks, and I know Phil probably isn’t paying them enough to pass up the extra cash I’m offering.
“Of course, of course,” he says, sweeping an arm toward the entrance. I give him a grateful nod and then head in, the door slamming behind us. In the empty arena, it sounds ominous, vibrating around with an echo.
“How often do you do that?” Lana asks, tipping her head toward the door. I shrug.
“Often enough.”
“So you haven’t completely lost your rebel side,” she states with a smile.
“Never.” Something in my mind registers an old thought that had been rattling in my brain for a while.
“How did you get in the arena that day?” It’s been bothering me since part of my agreement with Jackson is that I can go in, but no one else can.
Something shifts across her face for just a moment, too quickly for me to grasp, but long enough for me to notice and wonder what it means.
“I’m hot,” she says with an easy shrug and a cocky smile.
“You can get a lot of places if you’re hot.
” I open my mouth to argue, but she gestures toward the arena before us, the sometimes-basketball court covered in a thick layer of dirt, mounded in some areas for jumps.
“Come on, pretty boy. Let’s see you flip.
” For the first time since we made the decision, my heart plummets as fear creeps in, but she squeezes my hand and moves to her tiptoes, pressing her lips to my cheek.
“It’s just for fun, Rome.” There’s something about it that settles in me, and I wonder when the last time I raced just for fun was.
Not for practice, work, or to better myself.
A race where I wasn’t picking it apart after the fact, trying to see how I could improve or what I could do better.
I can’t remember, and something about that disappoints me.
I wonder if Lana would be up for a race at the track sometime. Our next stop is in Pennsylvania, where the DeLuca Racing home base is. I was planning to make my way there on a day off, to get some practice runs in, but now I’m seeing the opportunity differently.
“You go in the stands,” I say, giving her a wide grin, “The best seat in the house.” Then I start guiding her up the stairs, right past the seats blocked off for the audience’s safety.
I tell myself it’s so she can watch from a better vantage point, that it has nothing to do with how the idea of Lana standing in the pit—where any number of dangerous things could happen if something goes wrong—scares me to hell and back.
She doesn’t argue, something I’m grateful for, before she slowly makes her way up the stands.
I grab the headset I need before following her up, and I can’t help but watch her ass for a few moments as she walks ahead of me.
It’s a really great ass.
“You coming?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at me, a knowing grin spread across her lips. “Or are you just gonna watch my ass as I walk?”
“I’m great at multitasking,” I say, taking the next step intentionally slowly.
“I’ve yet to see that, pretty boy.” Her eyes linger over me, and even though I’m in my full suit, which doesn’t lend much room for my dick, it twitches in acknowledgment.
“Let me show you how it’s done, then I’ll drag you back up to my room and show you just how good I am at getting things done.”
“Promises, promises,” she says with an exaggerated sigh, stopping at the step right where the open seats start.
“I mean, we could—” I suggest, but she shakes her head before I can finish.
“Hell, no. I want to see the champ in action.”
I know she’s being kind right now, trying to hype me up, but it works; her compliment boosts my ego. So instead of grabbing her and bringing her to my hotel like I want to, I follow her up the steps.
“Wear these so I can hear you,” I say, settling the communication headphones onto her head once she finds a seat.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this free, this assured.
There’s something about being with Lana that makes me forget all the pressure constantly surrounding me and reminds me of who I once was, before all the notoriety that came with titles, sponsors, and expectations.
Just a kid who liked to drive and really liked impressing pretty girls.
“You need my voice in your head to land it?” she asks, teasing. I lean down and press my lips to hers.
“I just might,” I say, giving her that thread of honesty. “Now sit here and look pretty. I’ll show you how the big boys flip a truck.” I turn to head back down, but before I can, her hand is around my wrist, stopping me. When I turn, the teasing light is gone, a serious, soft one in its place.
“You know, if you’re not ready, you don’t have to today. There’s no one here judging you, Rome. I’m just here to watch you have fun. No expectations.”
I’m reminded that Lana Carson might just be perfect.
I’ve never had anyone in my life who wanted nothing from me, who didn’t have expectations dangling over my head. Maybe, just maybe, I can have that from her one day.
“We’re just doing this for fun,” I say with a nod, then start to jog down the steps. I’m about to jump the railing when she calls my name.
“Wait!” she says, and when I turn, she’s racing down the stairs toward me.
When she’s at the base of the steps, she stops, panting.
She puts a hand on each of my cheeks, pulling me down to her before grazing her lips with mine.
“For good luck.” Warmth floods my chest, and I pull back, setting my forehead to hers.
“Better motivation than I’ve had in months, heartbreaker,” I say, and she grins wide, looking so sweet before skipping back up to her spot.
I let that feeling carry me over the railing as I get my helmet on, but the nervous energy returns as I slide into my truck and buckle in.
It’s harder without help but not impossible, since, as Lana pointed out, I’ve done it a bunch of times in the past few months.
Even before the crash, I snuck out here, desperate to steal more time behind the wheel of a goofy monster truck.
Racing has always been the only thing that ever felt natural.
In a time when I’ve created a caricature of myself, when I lost nearly every other thing in my life, I always had racing in one form or another.
It’s why, when I was suspended from Indy and Dad told me that if I tried other similar ventures, I’d be blacklisted, I agreed to come back to Monster Smash for a season; I couldn’t picture an entire year without racing in some capacity.
With a sigh, I settle into the truck, checking all of the vitals and indicators.
“Lookin’ good, hot stuff,” I hear through the headset, and I grin, even though she can’t see it.
“Try not to get too turned on until I can be up there with you.”
“I’ll do my best,” she says, her laugh a bright sound filling my ears, easing some of my nervousness as I start the engine. I make a few laps around the arena, trying to get my bearings before I line up for the ramp and take a deep breath.
“No pressure,” she says before I floor it and launch off the ramp.
I tell myself I can do it.
I tell myself it was a fluke, a one-time thing.
I tell myself this fear is all in my head.
Still, I can’t get my hands to even attempt the move. Instead, I just get air and land with a hard bounce on the other side.
“Hell yeah, that was sick!” Lana cheers.
“Wasn’t what I wanted,” I say, trying not to get annoyed.
“Who cares what you wanted? It was sick. You got like, twenty feet with that one.” I shake my head because it most definitely was not twenty feet, but I appreciate her kindness. Instead, I circle the track again, then line up.
Again, I tell myself it’s all fine.
Again, I floor it, the engine roaring in the empty arena.
Again, I don’t do a front flip. I do manage a backflip.
“Holy shit, that was hot,” she says, and I laugh. “Now I need to nail that myself.”
“It’s not hard at all, just gotta get enough traction and height,” I say, and I’m relieved that neither of us brings up the fact that it wasn’t the trick I was aiming for. Instead, I circle the track a few times. She’s as quiet as I am, but as I line up the trick, she speaks again.
“You’ve got it, baby. Nothing bad can happen.
Not when I’m here,” she murmurs. Something about it settles in my chest, chasing away the spot of darkness that’s been sitting there for weeks.
It makes no sense, since I know logically Lana can’t actually do anything to prevent disaster, but I find myself believing it all the same.
Then I hit the gas, zooming up, up, up and over the ramp. I slam it into a wheelie as I go, not hesitating for a moment as I picture her pretty face, her proud smile, and it happens.
I flip.
My heart stops while I’m in the air, the blood rushing in my ears, but I hear it all the same.
“OH, MY GOD!”
Lana shrieks with utter excitement right before I bounce down into the compacted dirt.
“HOLY SHIT! ROME, YOU DID IT!”
“HELL YEAH!” I shout, my hand coming down on the steering wheel as my heart races.
I slow the truck and bring it to a stop, already taking off my helmet and working to get out before it’s even completely off.
Lana is racing down the stairs as I hop out, her golden hair trailing behind her.
I pump my fist in her direction as I run toward her, and she jumps over the railing with no hesitation, knowing I’ll catch her.
When I do, she peppers kisses over my face,
“Rome! You did it! You did it! Oh my god, that was so fucking cool!” I back her into the wall with my body, her legs wrapped around my waist as I capture her in a deep kiss.
The adrenaline from tackling my fear, from landing the trick, still rushes through my veins, but quickly morphs into something else altogether—need and desire that only the woman in my arms can sate.