Chapter 17 Hotshot
HOTSHOT
Sloane should have known this was coming.
The quiet she’d come to rely on had been slashed apart when the news that Tyler had been truly hurt hit her phone.
He was a veteran of the sport, and they’d shared the track for two seasons.
He was one of the most respected drivers in the lineup, careful, measured, and talented.
Injuries were part of the sport, but they landed differently now. Heavier.
Each new report pulled her back into her own accident: the impact, the long recovery, the months of rehab, and the final, irreversible loss of her ability to race.
In the end, it hadn’t been the physical damage that sidelined her.
She could have come back from that. It had been the emotional wreckage.
No matter how many times she slid behind the wheel, she couldn’t complete a full lap without the panic setting in, which made her a danger to herself and to others.
To drive at that level, you needed a clear head and nerves of steel.
She no longer had either. The biggest tragedy of her life.
By the time she made it back to the hotel, Sloane had barely had a few minutes alone before Reese knocked on her door.
Her mouth curved into a smile. It had only been a few hours, but she already missed the green of Reese’s eyes, the sideways glance she deployed so expertly when she was being funny, and the way her eyebrows dipped when she was deep in thought.
She took a breath, let it calm her, then crossed the room. When she opened the door, Reese was still mid-knock, her hand hovering awkwardly in the air. She dropped it, grinning, unrepentant.
“Hey,” Sloane said, like they hadn’t already spent half the day together. She felt so much better just for laying eyes on Reese, her shiny dark hair loose and gorgeous tonight. It cut across her forehead just shy of her left eye.
“I love the way you open doors.”
Sloane paused. “I can’t say that’s a compliment I’ve ever received.”
“Well, you should hear it more often. You have door flourish.” Reese demonstrated with an exaggerated sweep of her arm. “Confident. Decisive. Strong hinge work.”
Sloane stepped aside to let her in, suddenly aware of how small the room felt once Reese crossed the threshold, how easily she filled the space just by existing in it.
Reese glanced around, taking in the aggressively neutral furniture and forgettable art. “I didn’t examine your room the last time I was here.”
“Well. We were … occupied. Have at it.” She folded her arms and waited as Reese walked the perimeter.
“Thrilling accommodations,” she deadpanned. “Very corporate retreat chic. I notice the absence of a single cactus painting.”
“Ah, yes. I’m told the club-level rooms were remodeled,” Sloane said, adding a deliberately superior wince. Teasing Reese was quickly becoming one of her favorite pastimes. “The rest of the hotel is aspirational.”
Reese spun around, eyes wide and blazing. “You’re club level? Do you have a lounge?”
“I’m afraid the first rule of club level is you don’t talk about club level.”
Reese’s eyes went wide. “You brought it up.”
“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Sloane said, flashing her slyest smile.
Reese’s mouth fell open. She then grabbed Sloane’s hand and gave it a small, decisive tug, pulling her closer. “What is happening right now?”
“I think it’s you getting all hot and bothered because my room is nicer.”
“That’s not why,” Reese said, and then she kissed her.
It was quick, sure, and unmistakably Reese. Sloane leaned into it without hesitation.
“You taste like strawberries,” Sloane said when they parted, genuinely delighted by the discovery.
“It’s how I get my women.”
Sloane lifted a brow. “Your women?”
“So many,” Reese said solemnly. “ChapStick groupies. They can’t resist the strawberry.”
Sloane laughed. “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re serious.”
“I’m rarely serious,” Reese said. “But the truth is, I’ve never had much time to date. Being on the road for ten months a year isn’t ideal for nurturing a mature, emotionally complex relationship. I have standards, Foster.”
“It’s known to work well for hookups,” Sloane said, then immediately wished she hadn’t. Or maybe she wished Reese wouldn’t agree. The thought of Reese with other women tightened something low and uncomfortable in her chest. “I mean, you’re young. Sought after.”
“Are we going there?” Reese asked with a tentative look in her eyes.
Sloane met her gaze and made a decision. “Why not?”
“Okay. So, here’s the truth. Once in a while, I spend a night with someone.” Reese shrugged. “I’m a bigger flirt than I am anything else. I don’t think I was built for casual as much as I wanted to be.”
“I suppose I’m still figuring that part of you out,” Sloane murmured, brushing her thumb over Reese’s bottom lip.
“That’s fair.” Reese’s expression softened, sincerity dialed all the way up. She hooked a thumb behind her. “But here’s the truth. That version of me you met in the bar in Miami? She’s brave and flashy and has a few smooth moves—but she’s all show. I go home alone most every night. By choice.”
Sloane nodded slowly. “And is that what you still want?”
She hadn’t earned the right to ask that, but she asked it anyway.
“No. I don’t want to be alone,” Reese said simply. “But being with the wrong person is worse. So I guess I want to find the right one—and never let her go.”
She threaded their fingers together and held on.
So maybe this wasn’t just sex to Reese. And if Sloane was honest, it wasn’t feeling that way for her either.
“Suggestion.”
“I’m listening.”
“Why don’t we take this one day at a time,” Sloane said quietly, “and see where we end up?”
“You might have a hard time shaking me,” Reese replied in earnest. “I’m really drawn to impressive door openers. Bonus points if they can also drive fast like you. It’s a whole thing.”
Sloane huffed out a laugh. “You’re impossible.”
A beat.
“But not wrong,” Reese said.
“Well, I can promise consistency on one of those counts.”
“Time will tell. The audition continues.” Reese moved to Sloane’s bed and plopped down on her stomach, chin in her hands. Oh, Sloane liked her there very much. Not only was the visual sexy as hell, but it felt startlingly natural, like she belonged in Sloane’s space. “How was dinner?”
Sloane came to the bed and sat on the edge near Reese, like a magnet unaware it had no choice.
“Longer than I’d planned, but it was nice to catch up with some old friends.
Denny was my engineer back in the day, and his wife is currently expecting their second child.
A little girl that they’re going to call Theodora.
Theo for short. We’ve been through a lot together. ”
“He’s your Julie.”
Sloane nodded. “And just as good at his job.” A pause. “We got the news about Tyler while at the restaurant.”
“Right. I wondered.” She watched the smile fade from Reese’s lips. “And how did that affect you? I imagine it was jarring. I’m glad Denny was there.”
Sloane went still.
She’d expected Reese to leap immediately into a discussion about the available seat and her chances of snagging the reserve spot.
And why wouldn’t she? It was the obvious pivot, the big talking point, the undisputed headline everyone in the paddock would be dissecting by morning.
Instead, Reese had thought first of her—of Sloane and her headspace.
The realization landed hard enough that Sloane swallowed, the words she’d been ready to say stalling on the tip of her tongue, stunned into silence.
“What’s up?” Reese asked, her brows drawing together as she studied Sloane’s face. She shifted, pushing herself into a seated position so they were eye to eye, close enough that Sloane could see the concern etched there.
“Just really thoughtful of you to ask,” Sloane said finally. “You’ve got a lot going on.”
“So do you,” Reese said automatically. “And I know how you respond to incidents on the track.” Sloane flashed to another time. Reese in a quiet suite, holding her hand, talking her through the panic that had wrapped itself tight around her. “How did you feel?”
Her therapists—there had been several over the years—would have encouraged her to take this moment, this sincere opening, and say the thing out loud.
To name it. Sloane dropped her gaze to the bedspread, focusing on the navy stitching that formed neat four-inch squares.
“Uh … at first, everything went a little tight,” she said.
“My chest, especially. That’s usually my cue to remind myself to breathe. To tell myself I’m safe.”
Reese lifted Sloane’s hand and turned it over, examining her palm as if it required careful study. The simple gesture siphoned off some of the pressure, making the words easier to access.
“I looked around the restaurant to orient myself and forced a deep breath. That’s usually the moment when the panic either takes hold—or it doesn’t.”
Reese traced the lines of her palm, slow and purposeful, grounding in a way that felt almost deliberate.
“I was worried it would be bad,” Sloane admitted. “But being there with Denny helped. It added a level of safety. I was lucky.”
“I’m sorry that happened,” Reese said softly, lifting her gaze to meet Sloane’s.
Her eyes held kindness, and something deeper—understanding.
Reese knew exactly what they put on the line every time they climbed into a car.
She understood the stakes in a way most people on earth never could.
And still, she took them on. Because she loved the sport.
And so did Sloane. To this very day.
“When I took Veronica’s offer to work at the academy, I was worried about stepping back into the world.”
“I can imagine.”
“But meeting you? It’s helped.” Reese’s lips parted ever so slightly. “Because whatever is happening between us has been a bright spot. A tether that made me feel … well, stronger. Like I’m not in this alone.”