Chapter Fourteen – Cole
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
COLE
The crowd’s roar hits me like a freight train, rattling my bones and setting my nerves on fire. It’s race day, baby—the big show after weeks of busting our asses and juggling more bullshit than a politician at a press conference.
But the second I slide into that driver’s seat, everything else fades to background noise. The familiar cocktail of leather, gas, and pure adrenaline floods my senses, and suddenly only one thing matters: Lola.
She’s standing there, clipboard in hand like it’s welded to her palm, headset already in place. Her eyes are locked on mine with the intensity of a laser beam, making my heart rev harder than the engine behind me. Gone are the flirty jabs and fake smiles we’ve been tossing around like confetti. Today, it’s all business.
But underneath that professional veneer, there’s something simmering between us. It’s raw, electric, a shared hunger that goes deeper than just wanting to win. It’s a connection that cuts through the noise, the pressure, and all the lies we’ve been spinning.
“You ready?” Her voice comes through the headset, steady as a mountain in a storm. She’s my lifeline in this circus of engines and egos.
I grip the wheel like it’s the last cold beer on a hot day. “Born ready, sweetheart. Let’s show ‘em how it’s done,” I growl, locking eyes with Lola one last time before slamming my visor down.
The flag drops, and all hell breaks loose.
Engines scream like they’re being tortured, tires howl in protest, and the world turns into a Technicolor blur as we barrel into the first turn. My blood’s singing, a combination of terror and pure fucking joy that turns my brain into a supercomputer and my hands into precision instruments.
“Tight, Cole,” Lola’s voice cuts through the chaos, cool as ice in a snowstorm. “Tane’s trying to box you in. He’s going for an early lead, but he’s just playing mind games. Don’t let him get in your head.”
I can practically see Tane’s smug grin as he blazes past, his car a blue-and-chrome middle finger in my peripheral. The asshole knows how to push my buttons better than a toddler in an elevator.
But this time, I’ve got Lola as my secret weapon.
“Inside line on four,” she barks. “He’s leaving a gap. Take it.”
At this point, I trust her more than I trust my own mother. I ease off, letting the Viper drift wide like a drunk trying to walk a straight line, then wrench the wheel. The car responds like it’s reading my mind.
We rocket forward, the engine howling its battle cry as we slide past Tane. The gap’s closing fast, the pressure building with every inch of track we eat up.
Lap after lap, Lola’s voice guides me through the chaos. Her instructions are precise and strategic, using every advantage we have against Tane’s inflated confidence.
“He’s pushing too hard,” she says calmly, even as the crowd roars louder. “His tires will wear out soon. Stay consistent, Cole. We’ll catch him in the long run.”
I can sense Tane’s desperation growing. He’s a skilled driver, but he’s reckless under pressure. And right now, the pressure’s building at a rapid rate.
The cockpit’s a sauna of sweat, gasoline, and raw competition. My heart’s pounding, and my hands ache from gripping the wheel, but my mind is razor-sharp.
I’m in the zone now. Time blurs, instinct takes over, and all that matters is the next turn, the next gear change, the next stretch of track.
Tane might be leading now, but this race is far from over. With Lola’s voice in my ear and fire in my veins, I’m ready for whatever comes next.
Let’s see what you’ve got, Tane.
“Pit stop in three laps.” Lola’s voice cuts through the noise, steady and focused. “Fuel only. Be ready.”
I screech into the pit lane three laps later, as instructed. The crew moves fast and precise, like we’ve practiced a thousand times. Before I know it, we’re done and I’m stomping on the gas again.
The Viper leaps back onto the track. The crowd’s going wild, and the announcer’s voice booms: “Lawson’s back! He’s right behind Tane! This is going to be a close one, folks!”
The last laps are a blur of speed and adrenaline. Tane and I are locked in a fierce head-to-head battle. We’re not just fighting for a trophy. This is about proving I’ve still got what it takes for that number one spot.
Tane’s pushing too hard. His tires are wearing out fast, just like Lola predicted.
“He’s making mistakes,” Lola says. I can hear the nerves in her voice. “Stay focused. Don’t let him get to you.”
The pressure continues to build as we fight it out for the top spot. This isn’t just about winning. It’s about showing everyone —and myself—that I’m still a contender. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll show Lola that I’m worth another shot.
It’s going to be one hell of a finish.
The last turn’s coming up hot—a nasty little bitch that’ll chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful. Tane’s getting sloppy; his car slides around like a drunkard on an ice rink.
This is it. Do or die time.
“Now, Cole! Fucking floor it!” Lola screams in my ear, her composure long gone, and I slam the pedal down so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t go through the floor.
The Viper roars like a pissed-off T-Rex, and I crank the wheel, threading the needle between Tane’s flailing ass and the unforgiving wall. I blow past him and across the finish line before my brain can even process what just happened.
Holy shit. We did it!
I barely manage to park in victory lane, my pulse thundering in my ears like a techno beat on steroids. I’m peeling off my helmet when BAM! I’m hit by a Lola-shaped torpedo.
Her lips crash into mine with the force of a head-on collision. It’s all heat and hunger, and holy hell, I’m here for it. Her mouth is soft yet demanding, tasting of mint gum and adrenaline. Her tongue darts out, teasing, exploring, igniting every nerve ending I’ve got.
She’s pressed against me so tight I can feel her heartbeat hammering in sync with mine. Her hands are everywhere: in my sweat-damp hair, gripping my shoulders, sliding down my back. Each touch sends electric shocks straight to my core.
The scent of her fills my nostrils, a dizzying cocktail of citrus shampoo, a hint of coconut sunscreen, and that uniquely Lola smell that’s part motor oil, part woman, and all intoxication. It’s like huffing pure desire.
I pull her closer, if that’s even possible, one hand tangled in her silky hair, the other at the small of her back. She makes this little sound in the back of her throat—half moan, half purr—and I swear I see stars.
The world around us is going nuclear—flashbulbs popping like fireworks, the crowd roaring louder than the engines ever did—but it all fades to white noise. All I can focus on is the softness of Lola’s lips, the heat of her body, and the taste of her mouth.
This isn’t some PG-rated showmance for the cameras. This is raw, real, us-against-the-world stuff.
And damned if I’m ever gonna let it go.
“So, Cole, another win for Hahn Racing. How’s it feel to be back on top?”
The reporter’s grinning wide as she shoves a mic in my face. Around us, it’s chaos—cameras flashing, crew celebrating, sponsors clamoring for attention.
“It feels great,” I say, my voice rough from exhaustion and leftover adrenaline. “The team worked hard, and it’s good to see it pay off.”
“Now, we can’t ignore what just happened,” she says, lowering her voice, like she’s sharing a secret. Her eyes are gleaming. “That kiss with Lola was something else. Fans are going wild. Sponsors are thrilled. Any comment on the relationship?”
I can feel my face getting hot. The memory of Lola’s kiss hits me—soft lips, demanding pressure. It’s making my heart race.
Get it together, Lawson. It’s just for show. Part of the plan. Right?
But even as I tell myself that, I’m scanning the crowd for her. There she is, talking to Cam and Gene, looking at some data sheet. Her blonde hair stands out in the sea of people.
I’m in deeper than I thought.
When our eyes meet, Lola’s smile hits me like a tire iron to the chest. I force myself to look back at the reporter before I make a fool of myself.
“Lola’s crucial to the team,” I say, my voice rough. “Her expertise and passion are unmatched.”
Yeah, passion. That’s putting it mildly. The memory of her kiss is burning through my veins, melting away any pretense of professionalism.
The reporter’s not letting up. “So, the rumors are true? You and Lola are back together?”
“Lola and I are focused on winning,” I say, picking my words carefully. “We’re a team. That’s what matters.”
It’s a politician’s answer, but when Lola catches my eye again, I know it’s useless. The truth is probably written all over my face.
The interview goes on about tires, engines, and Tane—who’s probably sulking in his trailer. But my mind’s not on any of it.
It’s all focused on Lola.
Her laugh is like a perfectly tuned engine as she jokes with the staff. The way she gnaws her lip when she’s deep in thought, the fire in her eyes when she’s arguing with Gene about some technical mumbo-jumbo... It’s all burned into my brain like a bad tattoo. A constant reminder of the woman who’s flipped my world ass over teakettle—again.
“Last question, Cole.” The reporter’s voice yanks me back from La La Lola Land. “What’s the crystal ball say for Hahn Racing? More checkered flags? More steamy victory kisses?”
She winks like we’re sharing some inside joke, and the press vultures cackle in response. I plaster on a grin that feels about as natural as tofurkey, my eyes darting to Lola. She’s watching me with a poker face that’d make Vegas pros weep.
“You’ll have to tune in to find out,” I rumble, my voice low enough to make my own spine tingle.
Truth is, I have no freaking clue what’s coming next. This whole dog and pony show is spinning out of control faster than a rookie on his first lap.
The cameras keep clicking away, documenting our big, fat lie. But when Lola’s eyes lock onto mine, a silent question burning in them, I know she’s the only audience that matters.
She’s waiting for me to spill the beans. For real. And right now, I’m fresh out of answers.