Chapter 6
HAIR DOWN
Samara adjusted her headset as the camera settled into place, the hum of the paddock threading through the air behind her.
“For the viewers watching who might be new to the sport,” she said, turning slightly toward Reese, “can you define open-wheel racing—and what brought you to it in the first place?”
Reese didn’t hesitate. She leaned back against the car, gloves dangling from one hand, already half in race mode.
“In open-wheel, all four tires sit outside the body of the car,” she explained.
“It’s part of what makes it so aerodynamic.
These cars live on ground force. That invisible pull that keeps us pinned to the asphalt.
” She tipped her chin toward the cockpit.
“People are always surprised by how low we sit. You’re basically reclined, almost lying down, inches off the track. ”
Samara nodded, following Reese’s gaze. “So today—reclining, sitting that low—what’s going to be the biggest obstacle for you out there?”
Reese rolled her shoulders once, loosening up. “Consistency,” she said. “That’s the real test today.” She gave a quick, self-aware smile. “I get antsy when I’m not leading. That impatience can turn into bad decisions if I’m not careful. I need to settle into a rhythm, find my pace, and be smart.”
Samara’s brows lifted slightly. “You brought it up,” she said. “So let’s go there.”
Reese laughed under her breath. “Fair enough.”
“You’ve built a reputation for some pretty daring overtakes,” Samara continued. “Some say too daring, that you squander your position. Are we going to see more of that risk-taking behavior today?”
Reese grinned as she tugged her gloves on, tightening the straps with practiced ease.
“Hopefully, a little less of it,” she said.
“At least, that’s the plan.” She glanced briefly toward the pit wall.
“My coach, Sloane, reminds me that patience wins races. It’s not about diving into every gap.
It’s about knowing which ones are worth the risk.
Points matter. The team matters.” Her voice softened just a touch.
“I’ll be trying to remember that once the adrenaline kicks in. ”
“That sounds like a shift for you,” Samara said.
“It is.” Reese exhaled, thoughtful now. “I like to chase. That’s how I’ve always driven—see a car ahead and go get it.
But Formula Next isn’t about individual moments of glory.
” She shrugged lightly. “If I take myself or someone else out with a bad move, everyone pays for it. So today’s about control.
Smart aggression.” She smiled. “Not just … aggression.”
Samara smiled back. “Smart aggression. I like that.” A pause. “You seem calm for race day.”
Reese laughed, the sound quick and bright.
“Give it ten minutes. Once the lights come on, calm disappears.” She reached for her helmet, fingers resting there for a beat.
“Then it’s just me, the engine, and about a hundred decisions every lap.
But yeah, I’m trying to borrow a page from Sloane’s book. Think before I send it.”
Engines began to growl to life around them, the sound rippling through the paddock. Mechanics moved in close, final checks happening almost wordlessly now. Samara lowered her mic slightly, though the camera kept rolling.
“Good luck out there, Reese.”
Reese slipped the helmet under her arm and flashed a quick grin. “Thanks. Let’s see if I can actually level up.”
“Who’s behind me?” Reese asked Julie over the radio.
Her pulse thudded in her ears, matching the engine’s roar.
Adrenaline pumping, Reese was in the zone, dialed in, and flying.
She had less than three laps to hold her position and bank some points for herself and her team, and she’d be damned if she let another driver overtake her at the last minute.
This was her first feature race for Formula Next, and she wanted that podium so badly it ached.
“You have Danielle behind at 0.8 seconds. She’s quicker. Be careful.” Julie was advising her to defend, and she would. “Push, push, push.”
“Copy that,” Reese said, gripping the wheel tighter.
Sweat beaded at her temple beneath the helmet.
Her eyes flicked to the rearview. Danielle Todd was a go-getter from England—a bold, aggressive driver.
A lot of folks had their eyes on her as an up-and-comer, but she was prickly at best. Her tactics behind the wheel were also questionable, if you asked Reese.
Right now, she was inching closer, just enough to make Reese’s pulse pound harder.
Up ahead, Marissa was pulling away, smooth and confident, completely unaware of Reese’s battle behind her.
Reese’s instincts screamed at her to go for the overtake, to stay on her tail and then surge past Marissa for the glory.
Her foot twitched on the throttle. Just one move, one perfect corner, and she could do it.
But Sloane’s voice reminded her of the bigger picture.
Points matter. A reckless move could result in zero and damage to the car.
She took a deep breath and focused on the line, forcing her shoulders to loosen, her vision to narrow to the asphalt ribbon ahead.
She brushed away the urge to dart for the inside on the next corner.
Danielle tried a move into Turn 7, but Reese anticipated it, defending her line without overcommitting. The tires squealed, and smoke curled as she braked later than Danielle expected. “Fuck no. Not today,” she muttered, a grin tugging at her lips.
The final lap stretched out like a test of endurance.
Each straightaway, each chicane, Reese balanced aggression with caution, blocking Danielle while resisting the temptation to chase Marissa.
Every nerve in her body screamed for release, for risk, but she held steady, the car an extension of her will.
The checkered flag waved in the distance, and Reese crossed the line in third, heart pounding, grin spreading wider.
“That’s P3, Reese,” Julie said. “Nice race.”
She’d held her ground. P3 wasn’t the win, but it was smart, strategic, and just as satisfying in a different way. She’d made the podium and was damn proud of herself. She’d earned it.
Because she never celebrated without Luke, Reese brought him up on FaceTime as she walked back to the garage.
“Who in the world was that?” he asked immediately upon answering
“I’m trying a few new tricks,” she said, unable to hold back her grin. “Not bad, right?”
“That was methodical, Reese, and exactly the kind of drive that’s gonna take you to F1.”
“You don’t think I should have gone for the overtake at the end?”
“I didn’t see a safe opportunity. Did you?”
“Sometimes you’ve got to create your own.”
“That’s how you spin out and damage the car for folks like me to piece back together again. Trust me. This was better.”
“Fine,” she said with the extra sarcasm she reserved for him. “Love you. Miss you. Hey, did Mom watch?”
“Through her fingers as she walked through the room every ten minutes.”
Reese nodded. “It’s her process. Gotta run. Podium soon.”
“You earned it.”
When she passed Sloane in the paddock later, she made a point to make eye contact. She’d taken her advice and had a better race for it. She couldn’t help but wonder if Sloane had noticed her more conservative driving style the way Luke had.
“Was it hard?” Sloane asked with a smile. That smile. God. It was unfair, really—slow-building, genuine, the kind that made Reese feel like the only one standing there.
Reese went immediately warm. “Fucking Mount Everest. I wanted to attack.”
“Of course you did,” she said, meeting Reese’s gaze. “And one day you will. All about picking your moments.”
“You coming to the podium ceremony, or do you prefer to pretend like you don’t have a favorite?” She was on a high, and that made it hard not to casually flirt with a woman she found dangerously irresistible.
Sloane’s mouth curved, slow and knowing. “Oh, I’ll be there. My favorite earned it.” She looked behind Reese. “Where is Marissa anyway? I need to congratulate her.”
“That’s a dagger,” Reese said, covering her heart. “You know that, right? You did that on purpose to wound me mortally.”
“I’ve met you, and you’ll get over it.” She tapped Reese on the shoulder as she passed. “Maybe there’s a woman at the bar you can teach all about racing.”
“And I’m dead. No point in the podium now.”
But Sloane laughed, and it was everything.
Remarkably so. Reese would take jab after jab if it meant she got to experience the sound again.
Light and easy with a melodic tone. She got the feeling Sloane didn’t laugh a ton.
Reese instantly wanted to change that. She also wanted to know what made her laugh, which movies made her light up, and which foods were her absolute favorites—all of it.
And where had that come from? The realization was more than a bit jarring.
“Did you hear what I said?” Sloane asked, quirking her head. “Hmm. I don’t think you did. You drifted off to somewhere that actually looked awesome.”
“What’s that?” Reese straightened from the dreamy posture. “Say it again. Please?” A few of the Ravensport crew passed by, smacking her on the back and calling their congratulations.
They stood in front of each other, and even in the midst of her excitement and continued congratulations from everyone as they passed, all Reese could think about was the way Sloane looked with her hair down.
She seemed free. Sexy. Like a day at the beach.
It was a small rebellion against her usual polish: loose, natural, and entirely captivating.
She had a strand of hair that cut across her forehead, nearly shading one eye.
Lengthwise, it brushed a little past her shoulders and was thicker than Reese had realized.
She’d been pretty before, noticeably so to anyone with a pulse, but today she absolutely stunned.
Reese’s brain short-circuited somewhere between professional admiration and something she definitely shouldn’t be feeling for a mentor.
“Um. You still in there? Basking in your glory? Think I lost you again.” Sloane said with a slight turn of her head. Her tone was teasing, but her eyes—steady, curious—seemed to see right through Reese’s scramble to recover. That jarred Reese back into action.
“Sorry. I was, um,” she sighed, smiled, and shook her head. “Nothing.”
Sloane stepped in. “It was more than nothing. You showed a lot of talent and control out there, a nice balance. Enjoy it.” Her hand found Reese’s arm in a quick, confident squeeze, which was gone too fast. But the contact lit something low in Reese’s stomach that had nothing to do with racing adrenaline.
Sloane disappeared into the crowd, and Reese couldn’t help but think that control had never looked so damn good.
She let out a slow breath, reveling in the moment, loving the win and stomach flutter, a one-two punch that she didn’t mind in the slightest.
Sloane was probably on her way to similarly stroke the egos of the top two finishers, and that was fine.
This was enough. Because Reese knew she had many more race weekends to make her mark on the academy.
And if fate was kind, maybe a few more moments like this one.
Turns out, she had a lot more to learn. And maybe she wouldn’t mind if it was from Sloane Foster.