Chapter 10
LAST OF THE BEST
As she walked back to the paddock after watching Reese accept her first-place trophy atop the podium, she was stopped by a determined reporter.
“Hey, Sloane, you got a second?”
“Sure. What can I do for you?”
“Quick question. As a veteran driver, who are you rooting for this season?” The microphone was thrust in front of her face.
“I work for the academy. I don’t play favorites.”
“Yeah, but you’re human. Who do you pull for?”
Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, she was starting to root for one woman in particular, and nothing she did seemed to stop it.
Reese’s triumphant smile when she waved to the crowd had done surprising, electric things to Sloane’s body, whether she wanted to admit it or not.
For now, she was a professional at work and would stay that way.
She offered her most practiced smile. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
It had been a while since she’d talked to the media, but she was surprised at how easily it came back—the switch flipping, the charm sliding into place.
“Fair enough. Who has the best shot at the drivers’ championship?”
“Too soon to say. Ask me in another two weeks.”
“You know we will. Thanks, Sloane.”
“No problem.”
She continued toward the paddock. Teams were already breaking down their setups. Mechanics rolling tool carts, crates slamming shut, crew members peeling tape from the concrete. The loud, frantic rush of race day softened into a tired hum as the night deepened.
All except Ravensport.
Their side of the paddock still buzzed with bright lights and leftover celebration. A speaker had been turned up, crew members were laughing, and someone was spraying down a champagne-sticky floor. A first-place finish did that.
Sloane smiled and scanned the scene just in time to spot Reese near the front of the garage, talking with Delaney.
Delaney, calm and cool as always, stood with her arms loosely crossed, listening more than speaking.
She’d finished P5—solid points for the team—and carried her success with her usual understated confidence.
Reese, by contrast, was still effervescent.
Flushed from the podium, trophy tucked against her hip, she gestured animatedly as she recounted something from the race.
Her hair was slightly mussed from the podium ball cap she’d worn, a loose curl stuck to her temple in the humid Singapore air.
Sloane had the faint, ridiculous urge to brush it back.
She could stand there and watch Reese forever.
Delaney noticed Sloane first. Her eyes flicked over, then she gave Reese a small nod, subtle but encouraging.
Reese turned, and when she saw Sloane, her whole face lit up. The smile hit Sloane square in the chest like a fastball.
Delaney murmured something. Probably Go. Reese dipped her head in acknowledgment and stepped away from her teammate.
“Hey,” Reese said when she reached her, a little breathless. “Did you see the race? Please tell me you saw the race.”
“Totally missed it.” Sloane winced immediately as Reese’s smile dropped hard and fast, like someone pulling the lights in a room.
Guilt punched her straight in the gut. “Stop that. I’m kidding.
Of course I watched. You were brilliant.
Measured when you needed to be, aggressive when it was called for.
A balanced, solid drive. You should be proud of yourself. ”
Relief returned slowly to Reese’s features, softening her shoulders.
“It was honestly a very satisfying race.” Her green eyes moved back and forth as she searched for the right description.
“It was almost like I could, I don’t know, hold it in my hand.
” She raised her gaze to Sloane’s. “I have no idea if that makes any sense.”
“It completely does,” Sloane said. “You were thinking just as much as you were feeling your way through. It takes both to win races.”
Reese’s mouth curled. “Turns out I actually don’t know everything.” Sloane hadn’t meant to laugh out loud, but she did. Reese brightened at that. “Well, until now, of course.” She flashed a sly smile. “Where are we eating?”
Sloane went still, and doubt filtered in. “I think they still have food in your hospitality room, but I’ve already had lunch.”
“Our dinner,” Reese said pointedly, holding eye contact like she had no intention of letting Sloane wiggle out of it. Reese excelled at eye contact, always so steady and confident, a little too intimate for Sloane’s peace of mind. A shiver traced down her spine.
“Oh. Right. About that.” Sloane rocked forward and back on her heels, suddenly very aware of her body. “Weren’t we just playing around?”
“We definitely were not,” Reese said instantly. Her brows pulled in like rain just invaded her picnic. “But we can keep it 100 percent professional.” A beat. “If you want.”
It was the first time either of them had acknowledged there was a spark bouncing between them.
Saying it out loud made Sloane want to run screaming, because none of this was ideal, and she definitely couldn’t lean into it.
She was here to coach, guide, set boundaries.
And the last thing she needed, given her history, was to get involved with a driver.
But another part of her stirred too. The part that had been quietly, stubbornly imagining what would happen if she let herself linger on this crush she’d developed on this hardheaded, drop-dead gorgeous—
She cut the thought off so abruptly she nearly felt the whiplash.
Sloane cleared her throat, gaze darting briefly toward the garage as if a distraction might magically appear. “Look, Reese … it’s probably not the best idea now that I think about it. The season’s long.”
“And eyes are on you. On both of us. I get that.” But she didn’t pull her gaze away.
“Let’s keep it simple. Dinner next week.
There’s a little place just outside of Suzuka.
Wooden tables. Handwritten menus. No one we know would possibly show up.
I’d love to hear about your racing days. That’s it. That’s all.”
Sloane nodded, and a smile crept in. It honestly sounded kind of nice.
Time with Reese didn’t have to be scary or carry greater implications.
It also didn’t have to mean anything beyond two people with a shared interest having dinner.
Sloane was a grown woman, and there were no laws against getting to know one of the drivers.
Even the attractive ones. She’d passed Veronica having coffee with Danielle Todd at a café that morning.
Networking was a real and vital part of the women’s experience in this male-dominated sport. They needed each other as allies.
She turned to Reese. “Next week in Suzuka it is. Let’s do it.”
Reese offered that same smile that sold a million sports drinks. It was worthy of every damn one. “Now I have something to look forward to.”
“How about focusing on the race tomorrow first?”
“It’s like you are programmed to keep me focused.”
Sloane laughed. “Someone has to be.”
She walked on, aware that she’d just agreed to something that could change her entire season if she wasn’t careful. The Singapore night pressed in around her, loud and electric, and Sloane realized that the heat wasn’t fading anytime soon.
Reese had waited a long time for a win that felt this right, and she took the time to truly savor the victory. Winning was everything. It felt like alignment, talent, patience, and belief finally pulling in the same direction.
But her brother hadn’t been there. That was Reese’s only regret about the win in Singapore.
For years, her brother had been a part of every high and low she’d experienced in her career—her hype man, her analyst, her reality check.
And while the victory had been electric, part of her longed for the familiar grounding of family.
By the time she finally returned to the driver’s room and powered her phone back on, the screen lit up like a fireworks show. Missed calls. Voicemails. A string of texts from both Luke and her mom.
Mom
You never stop impressing me. I watched the last few laps because Luke told me I’d kick myself if I missed a win, and he was right. Hugs. Kisses. Love to you.
Reese pressed the phone to her chest, eyes falling shut for a beat as warmth pooled through her. The next message was pure Luke.
Luke
Fuckin’ killed it. I was worried on turn 5 but you flipped the whole thing around after the safety car. Raising a glass to my little sis tonight. Call soon.
It wasn’t an in-person hug. It wasn’t Luke yelling at her in the garage or Mom squeezing her so hard her ribs protested.
But it helped. It was something. And given the time difference, they were probably brushing their teeth and falling into bed after staying up half the night to watch her.
She’d call them in the morning, when she could string coherent sentences together.
The circuit around her was shifting into exhale.
Crews packed up gear. Media stragglers hustled toward exits.
Only Ravensport seemed immune to the slowdown—still celebrating, still loud, still claiming their corner of the paddock like they’d never leave it.
She wandered anyway, letting the noise fade the farther she moved from the team’s hub, until she could just be a spectator again.
She slipped into the stands for F1 qualifying and found herself cheering alongside thousands of diehards who’d flocked to the circuit for the main attraction.
The roar of engines vibrated through her, the lights strobed across the track, and she watched the drivers carve through the corners with a precision that felt almost mythical.
What must it be like to sit behind the wheel of one of those cars for the big show? To feel that speed, that pressure, that world watching? The longing clawed at her, powerful enough to steal her breath.