Chapter Eighteen – Cole
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
COLE
Another win for Hahn racing, another celebration. This time, go-kart racing.
You’d think I’d be tired of racing and sore from sitting so long, and I am, but nothing compares to a concrete track with flimsy plastic barricades and my crew trying to best me for bragging rights.
I have my sights on the go-kart with the number thirteen painted on the side, but Lola rushes past me like a bullet… “Nice try Cole. You know thirteen is my lucky number.”
“Maybe it was your lucky number, but it’s mine now,” I tease. I did change my car number to thirteen, after all.
The whole crew settles in for a little friendly competition, and we’re off. Lap after lap, some of the pressure melts away.
I slam the go-kart into another turn, tires squealing in protest. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline fills my nostrils, a familiar cocktail that sets my blood on fire.
“On your left, old man!” Lola’s voice rings out, full of laughter and challenge.
I growl, a grin spreading across my face despite myself. “In your dreams, princess.”
We’re neck and neck, our karts barely an inch apart as we tear down the straightaway. The rest of the crew’s scattered behind us, fighting for third place. But it’s always been me and Lola at the front. Two apex predators, neither willing to give an inch.
I feel the ache in my muscles, the lingering stiffness from hours in the Viper. But here, in this moment, none of that matters. The world’s narrowed down to just us, this track, and the primal thrill of the race.
Lola takes the inside line on the next turn, edging ahead. Her hair’s a wild tangle blowing behind her, cheeks flushed with exertion and joy. For a second, I forget to breathe.
“Eyes on the road, Lawson!” she shouts, catching me staring.
I snap back to reality, overcorrecting and nearly kissing the plastic barrier. “Fuck!”
Her laughter rings out, a sound that hits me harder than any crash ever could.
We’re coming up on the final stretch. Everything we’ve been through, all the tension and unspoken words between us, it all fades away. Right now, we’re just two adrenaline junkies chasing that high.
I gun it, pushing my kart to its limits. Lola matches me, move for move. We cross the finish line in a blur, so close I can’t tell who won.
As we skid to a stop, breathless and grinning like idiots, I realize it doesn’t matter. Win or lose, being here with her… it feels like coming home.
We stumble out of the karts, legs wobbly and faces split with grins we can’t contain. The crew’s hollering, arguing over who placed where, but it’s all white noise.
I catch Lola’s eye. There’s a spark there, something electric that has nothing to do with the race we just ran.
“Rematch?” I ask, voice gruff.
She quirks an eyebrow. “Afraid I beat you?”
“In your dreams, sweetheart.”
We’re moving closer, pulled by some invisible force. The air between us crackles with tension.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Cam, shouts. “We’re hitting O’Malley’s. You coming or what?”
Lola breaks eye contact first, a hint of color in her cheeks. “Rain check on that rematch?”
I nod, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is. “Yeah. Rain check.”
I drive to O’Malley’s in a haze. Lola rides with me, the silence in the car heavy with words left unsaid. I can feel her presence like a physical touch, setting my nerves on fire.
The bar’s packed when we arrive, news of our win spreading fast. Everyone wants a piece of the victorious team. I play my part, shaking hands and accepting congratulations. But my eyes keep finding her across the room.
Lola’s holding court by the pool table, laughing at something Cam said. The sight of her, relaxed and happy, hits me like a sucker punch.
I down my whiskey, the burn doing nothing to dull the ache in my chest. This thing between us, whatever the hell it is, is getting harder to ignore.
“Another round for the champ?” the bartender asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I shake my head. “Nah. I’m good. Thanks.”
I make my way through the crowd, drawn to her like a moth to flame. Lola spots me coming, her smile softening into something more private, like it’s just for me.
“Hey, hotshot,” she says as I reach her. “Enjoying your victory?”
I shrug, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands. “It’s all right. Could use some fresh air, though.”
Her eyes search mine for a moment before she nods. “Yeah. Me, too.”
As we slip out the back door into the cool night air, I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s about to change.
We step into the alley behind O’Malley’s, the sounds of celebration muffled by the heavy door swinging shut behind us. The night air is cool on my skin, a stark contrast to the heat building inside me.
Lola leans against the brick wall, moonlight catching in her hair. She’s beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
“So,” she says, breaking the silence. “What does the winner get?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Thought that trophy was pretty clear.”
She rolls her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. “You know what I mean. Go-karts. You know I won.”
She didn’t win, but I’m curious where this is heading.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, voice rougher than I intended.
Lola pushes off the wall, closing the distance between us. “Well, for starters, I think I should get to paint my bedroom.”
I blink, caught off guard. This isn’t where I pictured this conversation heading. Seems both of us are ignoring the elephant in the room. “Paint your bedroom?”
“Yeah,” she nods, eyes sparkling with mischief. “That sterile white you picked out? It’s depressing as hell. I’m thinking… pink.”
“Pink?” I choke out. “You want to paint your room pink?”
She shrugs, but there’s a challenge in her stance. “What’s wrong with pink?”
I run a hand through my hair, trying to wrap my head around this. “Nothing, I guess. Just… It’s my house, Lola.”
“And I live there, too,” she counters. “Or am I just a guest?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with meaning. My throat tightens.
“You know you’re not just a guest,” I say, my voice low.
She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her subtle perfume. “Then prove it. Let me make it feel like home.”
I swallow hard, caught in her gaze. “Pink, huh?”
Lola nods, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Pink.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. But I’m already caving, and we both know it. “Fine. But nothing too… you know.”
She laughs, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “Too what, Cole? Too girly?”
I grunt, not trusting myself to speak. She’s so close now, I can feel the heat radiating off her body.
“Don’t worry,” Lola says, her voice a husky whisper. “I’ll make sure you like it.”
The double meaning isn’t lost on me. My hands itch to reach for her, to close this final gap between us.
“Lola,” I start, not sure what I’m going to say.
But before I can figure it out, the back door bangs open. We jump apart like guilty teenagers.
“There you are!” Gene’s voice booms. “C’mon, they’re about to do a toast!”
Lola gives me a look that’s equal parts frustration and promise. “We’re not done talking about this,” she says, before following Gene inside.
I stay back for a moment, trying to get my racing heart under control. Pink bedroom. Fuck. What am I getting myself into?
But as I head back into the bar, all I can think is: if it makes her happy, it might just be worth it.
I step back into O’Malley’s, the wall of noise and heat hitting me like a freight train. My head’s still spinning from that moment outside with Lola.
“There he is!” Cam bellows. “The man of the hour!”
A beer appears in my hand as I’m pulled into the throng. Maria’s teetering on a chair, glass raised high.
“To lucky lap number 13!” she shouts. “And to lucky Lola!”
The crew erupts in cheers. I catch Lola’s eye across the room. She raises her glass, a secretive smile playing on her lips.
“Bout time you started listening to your race engineer, Cole!” Gene yells over the din of cheers.
I roll my eyes. “I always listen.”
“Bullshit!” Cam laughs. “How many races did we lose before you pulled your head out of your ass?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, but there’s no heat in it. They’re right, I can’t dispute it.
Lola sidles up, grinning. “Face it, Lawson. I’m your good luck charm.”
“More like a pain in my ass,” I shoot back, but I can’t keep the smile off my face.
“A pain in the ass that just broke your losing streak again,” Gene chimes in. “I’d keep her around if I were you.”
Something flashes in Lola’s eyes at his comment. I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close she’s standing.
“Don’t worry, boys,” she says, not breaking eye contact with me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The implications of that statement hang in the air between us, charged with possibility.
“All right, all right,” I growl, tearing my gaze away. “Enough yappin’. We came here to celebrate, didn’t we?”
The night wears on, with more toasts and race stories, growing increasingly exaggerated with each telling. But through it all, I’m hyperaware of Lola’s presence. Her laugh, her movements, the way she fits so seamlessly into this world of mine.
As the crowd starts to thin, she appears at my side. “Ready to head home, hotshot?”
Home. The word hits differently now.
“Yeah,” I nod, surprised to find I mean it. “Let’s go home.”
As we head for the door, Cam calls out, “Hey, Cole! Try not to screw this up, yeah? Some of us like winning!”
I flip him off good-naturedly, but his words echo in my head as we step into the cool night air.
Try not to screw this up.
Easier said than done. But as I watch Lola walk to the car, backlit by the neon of O’Malley’s sign, I know one thing for certain.
I probably will. I seem to have a knack for screwing things up with Lola.