Chapter 21 #2
Reese slid one hand down Sloane’s body, over the taut fabric of the tank top, across the soft swell of her breast, thumb circling a hard nipple through the cotton until Sloane gasped.
Then she focused lower. Reese dipped her fingers beneath the waistband of Sloane’s pants, finding her soaked through her underwear.
“You’re so wet,” Reese whispered, voice reverent. She pressed the heel of her palm against Sloane’s clit, rubbing slow, firm circles over the damp fabric. Sloane’s thighs parted wider on a shaky exhale.
“I’m—fuck, I’m already so close,” Sloane admitted.
Reese’s eyes darkened with satisfaction. “Then let me finish what I started.”
She shoved Sloane’s pants and underwear down just far enough, not bothering to remove them completely.
Two fingers slid through her slickness, gathering wetness, then pressed inside in one smooth glide.
Sloane arched hard, a low moan tearing from her throat.
Reese curled her fingers immediately, stroking that same perfect spot she knew so well, thumb finding Sloane’s clit and rubbing in tight, relentless circles.
It didn’t take long.
Sloane’s hands flew to Reese’s shoulders, nails digging in. Her hips rocked up to meet every thrust, breaths coming in sharp, desperate pants. “Reese—right there—don’t stop—”
Reese leaned down, capturing Sloane’s mouth in a kiss as she drove her fingers harder, faster. Sloane broke—body locking tight, a choked cry muffled against Reese’s lips as she came hard, walls fluttering and clenching around Reese’s fingers.
Reese kept the pressure present through the aftershocks, drawing it out until Sloane went limp beneath her, chest heaving.
When Sloane finally opened her eyes, they were glassy, soft. She reached up, cupping Reese’s face with trembling fingers.
“You’re … unfairly good at that,” she managed, a breathless laugh escaping.
Reese grinned, pressing a final, lazy kiss to Sloane’s swollen lips. “Only with you.”
They stayed tangled like that, sated with heartbeats slowing, until the demands of the world outside the room started to creep back in. But for now, it could wait.
By midmorning the next day, Reese had learned the exact weight of a Laurens team polo.
It wasn’t heavy in the hands, but it carried expectation. Or the idea of it. She tugged it straight as she stepped into the fan zone, smile already in place, as the cheers hit. She waved, she high-fived. This was all a part of it.
“Reese! Over here!”
“Can you take a photo with my daughter? She loves you!”
She signed caps, cards, and even the occasional forearm thrust eagerly over the barrier.
Phones everywhere. Parents nudging kids forward.
She crouched to eye level, answered questions about how hot the car got, simulator hours, and what it felt like to stand in the F1 paddock wearing that logo.
She gave them the version of herself that they wanted, even if it zapped every ounce of her energy.
Because it was her full-time job now.
After that, a PR rep peeled her away for a quick media hit. Two questions. Three minutes.
“How does it feel being part of the Laurens race weekend?”
“Incredible,” Reese said without hesitation. She tacked on a big smile. “I’m learning constantly. Watching the data, listening in on strategy meetings. Um, it’s everything you want at this level.”
“And any chance we see you in the car today?”
The question landed lightly. Carelessly, even.
Reese smiled anyway. “Not today. But I’m ready when my number’s called.”
The answer was clean and professional, because she’d practiced it.
The pit walk came next. She moved with purpose through a corridor of noise with her headset on. Mechanics nodded. Engineers barely glanced up. She belonged there enough not to be questioned, but not enough to draw focus. And that was okay.
She stopped at the garage threshold, her gaze drawn to the car.
She ignored the pit in her stomach, knowing it was still out of her reach.
The ache of not knowing the next time she’d race was starting to gnaw at her.
This was the order of things, though, and no amount of longing would take away the gratitude. Still … the ache persisted.
Someday. She told herself that as she watched the final checks, the choreography of a team preparing for battle without her. Four months ago, this would have felt impossible, so she could suck it up.
Still, a quieter thought followed.
When do I race again?
The question tightened her chest before she could stop it. She swallowed it down and forced her shoulders back. This wasn’t the moment for impatience. This was everything she’d ever wanted, and wanting more might ruin it.
As she turned, she caught the look.
Marco Faz, already suited up, helmet under his arm. His gaze slid over her, dismissive and smug. A flick of the eyes that said marketing hire.
Reese held it. Didn’t blink. Didn’t smile.
Then she stepped past him, deeper into the garage, knowing her time would come soon. And when it did, no one, least of all Marco Faz, would be able to look past her again.
Later that night, while Sloane was buried in long, strategic meetings with Veronica, Reese went looking for the only people who understood.
She found her friends holed up in Marissa’s hotel room, and they all arranged in what could generously be called a circle.
There were two of them on the beds, one cross-legged on the floor, one half-perched on the arm of the chair, all surrounded by the wreckage of room-service casualties.
Reese tried to articulate the struggle within. “It’s my dream, and it’s here, but …”
“It’s still just out of your grasp,” Delaney said, nodding like she knew.
She did. They were all wired to be behind the wheel of a car, doing what they loved.
It was one of the reasons they had such an easy shorthand.
The three could complete her thoughts before she had them because they were their thoughts, too.
“It’s only temporary,” Marissa said, meeting her eyes. “And who knows when you’ll get a break from the wheel like this again. Put it to use. Get yourself in absolutely impeccable shape both mentally and physically.”
“But you know what?” Cassidy said. “It’s okay to miss it, too.” She reached up and squeezed Reese’s hand from her regular spot on the floor. She definitely preferred it to furniture. “And it’s okay to bitch to us about it, because we’re your people and we will bitch right back.”
“I’d like to bitch about jet lag math,” Marissa said, stretching her neck. “I don’t know what time it is, what country I’m in, or why my body thinks it’s 3 a.m.”
Delaney didn’t look up from her phone. “Time zones don’t care about your feelings.” She pointed at them with her bottle of sparkling water. “I’d like to bitch about this morning’s meeting with my PR team. Apparently, my brand is ‘approachable but mysterious.’ I don’t even know what that means.”
“But you’re so cute when you’re brooding and mysterious,” Reese said.
“I’m not aiming for cute,” Delaney pouted in a move that was damn near a smolder.
“Too late,” Reese said, ruffling her hair with nothing but unbridled affection.
Cassidy reached for a fry. “I answered an interview question today and realized halfway through I was still in yesterday. Like, spiritually.”
Delaney nodded seriously. “That explains a lot.”
“And why,” Reese continued, sitting up now, “do all hotels either feel like sleeping on a cloud or a personal attack?”
“Fucking spite mattresses,” Marissa said immediately. “That’s what they are. Designed by someone who’s never had hips. I figured that part out early in my career. It’s criminal.”
“And the pillows,” Cassidy added. “Six decorative ones you’re not allowed to touch, and zero that actually support your neck. I’ve written letters.” A beat. “I’ve never sent them.”
“The decorative pillows are there to judge you,” Delaney said. “For moving them.”
For a moment, no one spoke. The AC hummed.
“I know we complain,” Reese said finally, softer now. “But I still can’t believe this is our life.”
Delaney’s expression shifted. “Yeah. Same.”
“Not sure I’d trade it, ya know?” Cassidy offered with a smile tugging. “Even for better pillows.”
“The Starting Grid forever,” Reese said, leaning into the cheese and placing a hand over her heart.
“Daily,” Delaney laughed.
“Obsessively,” Cassidy added.
Marissa smiled. “In this thing.”
Reese let the moment settle because this was it. This improbable, hard-won life.
She could want and complain all she wanted, but she looked around the room and understood. She really was the luckiest.