Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Rome wins all three races the first weekend after we get together, and each time he lands his signature move, wowing both the crowd and, admittedly, me.
It’s one thing to see it on video, but in person, it’s truly awe-inspiring.
That being said, I’m excited to have a few days off, with the circuit not packing up and heading to our next stop until the day after tomorrow.
Demi’s getting closer to accessing the Indy circuit’s internal server, and per her advice, I’m spending more time with Rome, continuing to build trust and hopefully finding something that’s been missing from the case.
I shower quickly after the final race of the weekend, and when Demi and I step out of the women’s locker room, Rome is lingering in the hallway outside.
We greet him, then the three of us walk casually toward the hotel as if he hasn’t fucked me senseless the past three nights, as if I’m not desperately craving his touch.
I, of course, have had men in my life. Boyfriends and flings and even a one-night stand once, but never have I felt this blooming excitement in my chest, a giddy feeling I can’t seem to eradicate.
It takes everything in me to not reach over and grab his hand as we pass techs, drivers, and other Monster Smash employees.
It isn’t until we’re in the empty hall leading from the arena to the hotel that Rome’s hand slips to my waist, tugging me into his side.
I sigh, melting into him, and I don’t miss the small, knowing smile Demi gives me when I do.
I’m so, so screwed.
“You killed it out there,” I grin.
“Feels good to be back,” he says, then bends and presses a small kiss to the top of my head.
“How do you want to celebrate?” I ask. His hand tightens on my side.
“I’ve got an idea,” he murmurs low, and I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
“Your hotel room? Demi’s still in mine.”
“Yeah, no fucking while I’m in the room,” Demi says, appearing out of nowhere. I glare at my partner and roommate, but Roman surprises me by shaking his head.
“No, we’re not going to either of our rooms. I’ve got another idea.”
“Sounds kinky,” Demi laughs as we enter the hotel lobby, Rome regrettably stepping away from me. He stands a bit too close to be just friends, but not close enough to feel his warmth, or the way his breaths are strangely perfectly timed with mine.
“You okay if I steal her for a bit?” he asks Demi. She shakes her head before patting him on the shoulder.
“Nah, you earned it, big guy.” He grins, that wide, boyish one I’ve only recently gotten the pleasure of seeing, before he tips his head toward the exit.
“Come on,” he says.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, and even though there are a dozen reasons to decline, the biggest being I am here for a job, I can’t make the words form on my lips. Instead, I look over my shoulder at a smiling Demi and wave, before letting Roman lead me away.
I ask where we’re headed a handful of times on the forty-minute drive, but each time, Rome brushes me off.
It’s dark, and we’re driving into what feels like the middle of nowhere.
In between my nosy questions, we chat amicably about nothing of importance, but it dies off as we pull up in front of a set of gates.
Rome puts the rental in park, rolls down his window, and hangs out to punch in a code into a keypad before the doors open.
As we drive in, I can’t quite pinpoint what I’m seeing or where we are, and when we park in front of a giant, unmarked garage door, it’s not any clearer.
“Where are we?” I ask with a laugh as he turns off the car, jogging around to open my door before he pulls me out. He’s grinning wide as he gives me a hard, excited kiss.
“This is the DeLuca Racing headquarters. We’re gonna race, heartbreaker.”
“Race?” I ask, both excited and nervous. He sets his forehead to mine before he speaks in a whisper.
“I want to show you my world. Let me show you why I love racing so much.” I smile then, and press my lips to his, but it doesn’t last long.
Instead, he pulls back, twines his fingers with mine, and pulls me toward a side entrance of the garage.
As we walk, I realize we’re where DeLuca Racing tests vehicles and practices in between races.
My stomach turns as he types in another code to allow us into the unmarked garage.
“Are you going to get into trouble? I ask, looking around at the empty place. “This feels like we’re trespassing.”
“No,” he assures me. “I told my dad we’d be coming here. “
“We? Have you told your dad about us?” His hands hesitate as he pushes the door open, looking back at me with sudden nervousness written across his face.
“Was I not supposed to? He won’t tell anyone, I—” I smile at him, cupping one cheek and stroking my thumb over it.
“No, it’s fine. I just didn’t expect you to be telling people about me, people who matter to you.” His arm wraps my waist and tugs me close until we’re chest to chest.
“You matter to me, Lana.” Butterflies erupt in my chest at his words—words that could mean nothing, but also could mean everything. Before I can say anything more, he tips his head. “Now come on. Let’s get you geared up.”
Apparently, “geared up” means going into a giant room with suits and safety gear lining the walls and picking a set that fits me.
It’s almost like a shop, but Rome tells me the array is because they occasionally host events or experiences, so there are plenty of extras on hand.
Even though the gear isn’t much different from what I’m used to, he helps me dress, pressing playful kisses to random inches of skin and making me giggle before I’m fully zipped up.
Once I’m set, he spends no time getting his own gear on, customized in a way that makes me realize it’s the set he wore last season.
I wonder if it’s bittersweet to slip it on, but before I can ask, he’s grinning wide.
“You know, you’re hot in your Heartbreaker gear, but fuck, seeing my team’s name written across your tits does it for me.
” I grin wide, and his hand slides around my back, tugging me into him before he presses a slow, deep kiss to my lips.
I’m panting as he pulls back, considering whether we really have to race.
He thankfully makes that decision for me, taking my hand and leading me to the main garage. “Come on, before I get too distracted.”
In the garage, I instantly recognize his car parked among a handful of others, including the one he tells me I’ll drive.
He tells me his dad has been storing it here since his suspension and that no one else has been allowed to drive it but him, something that warms me just a bit toward his dad.
I watch with utter fascination as he inspects his car, then mine, before finally telling me we’re good to drive.
Then he grabs a helmet from the wall of them, walks toward me, and slides it onto my head.
His helmet follows. I’m startled to hear his voice loud and clear in my ears. He laughs at my shocked look.
“So we can talk while we ride,” he explains.
“Fancy,” I say with a grin. I watch with reverence as he presses his lips to his fingers, then presses them to mine, a makeshift kiss with clunky helmets, before he slides my visor down and gives me a crash course on how to work the car.
Then, we race.
It’s incredibly different from the truck, but it offers a similar thrill to the go-karts I used to race, and in no time, I’m zooming along the track. A few times, Rome lets me pass him, but when I tease him about falling behind, he picks up speed and effortlessly passes me without a second thought.
It’s exhilarating.
More importantly, watching Rome in his element is absolutely breathtaking: the way he takes tight turns at lightning speed without fear, the way he laughs as he speeds up, the utter joy and freedom in his voice as he rides.
It’s boyish and fun, and I realize while he drives that this is the real Rome, the version beneath the mask he built all those years ago.
The version that was just in it for the love of the game, the version he calls nerdy and hyper-focused, the one he hid to be more appealing to his teammates and the circuit.
The version he seems completely willing to share with me.
After an hour of racing, he tells me to follow him into the pit, then the garage. He undoes his own equipment, but I stay still, nervous about messing anything up and shaking a bit from the adrenaline of it all.
“Holy shit,” I say as he leans into the vehicle to help me out, his grin as wide as my own. “That was a rush.”
“It’s great, right?” he asks, and it’s written across his face, the pure and utter joy he gets from racing. It’s not like the look he gets when he’s in the arena, less cocky and more enamored, and it’s crystal clear now: this is what Rome is meant to be doing.
Monster Smash is fine to scratch his itch for racing.
It keeps him in the game, keeps him doing what he loves, what he can’t breathe without—but it’s not his passion.
I completely understand why the loss of this leaves him feeling so adrift.
Seeing it makes me even more determined to solve this case, to help him clear his name and get him back where he belongs, where he’s happiest.
“I can see why you love it,” I say, then accept his hand as he helps me out of the low vehicle, my legs a bit weak. “I think I’ll stick to trucks, though. Being that low to the ground is a bit too intense for me.” He lets out a loud laugh.
“Yeah, it’s definitely different. Plus, you were made to be in a truck. Though I gotta say, watching you race kind of made me hard,” he says, voice low. I laugh, rolling my eyes at him.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Oh yeah.” His hand slides down to my ass and pulls me into him, where I can feel he’s not exaggerating. He’s hard beneath his suit.
“I didn’t know that cars turned you on that much,” I tease, my voice breathy and low to my own ears.