Chapter Seven – Cole
CHAPTER SEVEN
COLE
As we walk to my office on the side of the garage, I’m still focused on the sight of Lola standing in the garage bathed in the golden glow of the morning sun, wearing my shirt as it hung loose against her slender frame hit me like a shot of pure adrenaline, a jolt of possessiveness so fierce it damn near knocked the air out of my lungs.
Her hair was a mess of blonde waves, falling over her shoulders like a golden waterfall, and her eyes, those big, expressive emerald eyes that could always see past my bullshit, were lit with a focus so intense it damn near made me come on the spot.
“Well, now I know why she was Chad’s lucky charm,” Cam drawls, a smirk playing on his lips now that Lola is gone.
A weird feeling knots in my stomach. Fuck Chad. And fuck Cam.
“That woman has more talent in her pinky finger than you have in your entire body. She’s not a lucky charm. She’s overqualified; that’s what she is.”
Cam whistles. “Damn. Someone is extra moody today.”
I’m far from moody. I’m pissed, and I don’t understand why. Seeing Lola’s tanned legs shouldn’t have had that kind of effect on me. What was she doing wearing my shirt, anyway? Did she not bring her own clothes?
My gaze instantly snaps to Lola as she enters the room again, looking much more put together than she did moments ago. Her hair is combed back into a sleek pony tail, and she has jeans and a jacket on, effectively covering her whole body.
Thank fuck.
“Ladies,” I say, addressing the team. “I’d like for you to meet Lola, my girlfriend, and my new racing engineer.” I cast a pained look at Lola. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I need Lola’s expertise like yesterday, but I don’t know how I’m going to stand her being in my ear during races. Will we argue? Will she annoy me? Will I have to fire her, too? All these things are possibilities unless Lola runs me over in the parking lot as well.
“Lola, these fine folks are part of the team. Gene is our team manager, Maria is the pit crew chief, Cam focuses on aerodynamics, Marcus is a tech genius, and Randy is our race strategist.”
“It’s nice to meet you all.” Lola smiles, and it seems I forgot how beautiful her smile is when she isn’t faking it. “I look forward to working with all of you.”
The air grows thick with tension as silence consumes the room.
“Girlfriend?” Gene, ever the voice of reason—and suspicion—folds his arms across his chest. “When did this happen? Last I heard she was Chad’s girlfriend and his racing engineer.”
Was is the operative word here.
“Not anymore,” I clip, trying to keep my voice from rising.
Gene sighs, and it only pisses me off further. “Please tell me you weren’t the cause of their breakup.”
I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to punch something—preferably Cam’s smug face—controlling the fury that surges through me at his question. “I wasn’t the cause of their breakup,” I confirm, watching their reactions carefully.
Gene’s eyes narrow further. “So, you want us to believe that she and Chad broke up organically and less than a month later, you two hit it off and became lovers?”
“Yep.”
I don’t care if he thinks I’m lying, because I obviously am. I just care that the press believes it. My reputation is what it is with my team. They aren’t the sponsors dropping me. My only goal here is to win and make money by bringing in new sponsorships. The team can think what they want.
Lola comes to stand behind my chair, facing my team as a united front. The scent of her shampoo, something citrusy and fresh, hits me like a shot of pure oxygen. It smells like the same shampoo she used in high school, and the scent, along with the memory of the classic rock song she had playing on the stereo, sends a wave of memories crashing over me.
Late nights in my dad’s garage, grease under our fingernails, the scent of motor oil and possibilities hanging thick in the air. Lola’s laughter, her quick wit, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about engines… and me.
“Lola and I,” I continue, shaking off the memories, “go way back. High school sweethearts, actually. We… lost touch after I graduated. I was chasing the racing dream, and she…” I shrug, letting the unspoken words hang in the air.
It is another lie, of course. A carefully crafted fabrication meant to add weight to our charade. But as I glance back at Lola, her expression is unreadable, and I feel a pang of something that feels a lot like… regret.
“She and Tane…” I go on, forcing my voice to remain steady, “that was just for show. A publicity stunt. And when it was over, she came to me. We talked… and, I guess you could say we both realized we made a mistake all those years ago.”
I can feel Lola’s gaze burning into my back, a silent indictment of my carefully constructed narrative. We probably should have talked through our story before testing it out on my team. But I keep going, my voice gaining confidence as I lay out my vision for the team and for our future.
“Lola knows Chad better than anyone,” I say as I turn to face the team, my voice ringing with conviction. “She knows his strategies, his weaknesses, his tricks. She’s the key to beating him.”
Right on cue, Lola steps out from behind me, the sunlight catching the golden strands of her hair, making her look like an avenging angel. Or maybe a very pissed-off mechanic with a point to prove.
“That’s a nice story, Cole.” Her voice is laced with quiet steel that sends a shiver of something other than fear down my spine. “But maybe you should let me tell it.”
Her gaze meets mine, a challenge smoldering in those big, expressive eyes. I know she isn’t happy with my romanticized version of events, with the implication that she was the one who’d come crawling back.
And for a fleeting moment, I wish she had.
But this isn’t about wishes. It’s about winning. And for the first time in years, I feel that familiar surge of adrenaline, the thrill of the race, the belief that maybe, just maybe, we can pull this off.
“Come here.” I pat my lap.
The team exchanges surprised glances as Lola hesitates to sit on my lap. She narrows her eyes and, with a sigh that sounds a lot like resignation, starts to sit. I pull her onto my lap, her body warm and pliant against mine. She stiffens for a brief moment, then relaxes as her back fits perfectly against my chest.
This feels… hard. Too hard. Pun not intended.
My arms tighten around her waist, drawing her closer. I can feel the warmth of her breath against my neck. The subtle scent of her shampoo is more potent with her this close; she’s overtaking all of my senses. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to nuzzle into her hair, to bury my face in the curve of her neck, and to inhale the scent of her.
Focus, Lawson. You’re here to work. Not to rekindle old flames.
But even as I think it, I can’t ignore the way my body is reacting to her nearness. The hard press of her thighs against mine, the subtle curve of her back against my chest, the way her scent wraps around me like a silken web… it’s driving me crazy.
Clearing my throat, I look at the team, ignoring their amused smirks. “Can we get back to work now, or would you all like to come back later and watch what we do after dinner?”
Lola shifts in my lap, her eyes flashing with a familiar fire at my crassness.
When no one says anything and the awkward silence has festered long enough, I clip out, “Good. Now, let’s get to work.” I nudge Lola in the side. “Tell us the plan.”
Without hesitation, Lola fires off. “Chad thinks he’s got this race in the bag.” Her voice is laced with a quiet confidence that sends a thrill through me. “He’s predictable. Arrogant. And he always underestimates his opponents, especially when they’re women.”
She pauses, her gaze meeting mine for a fleeting, charged moment.
“But we’re going to use that to our advantage. I know his strategies, his weaknesses, his blind spots. I know how he thinks.”
She proceeds to lay out a plan so brilliant, so audacious, it makes my blood sing. It’s risky, no doubt. But it is also…perfect.
For the next hour, the room buzzes with energy as we dissect Chad’s strategy, analyze track data, and fine-tune our own game plan. Lola is in her element, her voice ringing with passion and authority, her fingers tracing lines on diagrams and blueprints with a precision that makes my head spin.
I keep one arm casually draped around her waist, my fingers occasionally stroking the bare skin above her hip, a silent reminder of our charade. But with every laugh, every shared glance, every brush of our bodies, the line between performance and reality begins to blur.
“So,” Gene says finally, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “We’re going to beat Chad at his own game.”
“Not just beat him,” Lola corrects, her eyes flashing with a competitive fire that mirrors my own. “We’re going to annihilate him.”
“Damn right,” I agree.
Lola slides off my lap, grabbing her notebook and pen, her movements brisk and efficient. “It’s time we win.”