Chapter 17
“Tighter?” Georgia asked, her hands fatigued from gripping so hard.
“Tighter,” Jake affirmed. “You sure you can handle all this?”
“I’ve handled more,” Georgia said, cinching the helmet’s chin strap until it was snug.
After the intensity of the last two days, Jake wanted to take someplace Georgia fun. That was how they ended up in Pine Village Speedway, a year-round amusement park, twenty minutes north of his grandparents’ place.
The air smelled like gasoline and cotton candy, an oddly perfect mix of speed and nostalgia. Engines sputtered and roared, the high-pitched whine of tiny motors mingling with the squeals of kids and the bark of the track manager’s megaphone.
Jake stood casually by his kart, acting like it was a twenty-million-dollar racing car.
“Did you come here a lot?” she asked.
“This place used to mean the world to me. When things were bad with my parents, I would work out my frustration on the track. I still do that.”
Jake could still remember the Christmas he’d spent in the French Alps with his parents— the kind of holiday that looked perfect from the outside.
Snow dusting the chalet rooftop, skiing as a family, and a twelve-foot fir trimmed by the staff to match whatever theme his mother had declared that year.
He’d been twelve, lanky and restless, his head full of engine specs and go-kart races instead of polo scores and gallery openings.
And while he’d spent the afternoon outside, elbow-deep in grease trying to coax life into a battered snowmobile with a local mechanic, his sister had been inside, sipping Bordeaux and discussing politics in flawless French with their parents’ friends.
When he finally came in, smelling like oil and triumph, proud of the engine he’d helped fix, his mother barely looked up from the fire.
“You might consider a shower before dinner,” she’d said, as if his effort was something shameful.
His father offered a distracted nod, already back to debating foreign policy.
Rachel stated a bold opinion and his dad had said, “Brilliant insight said with such poise, exactly the kind of person this family needs to be proud of.”
It was in that moment — standing there with dirty hands and an ache he couldn’t name — that Jake understood the quiet, unspoken truth of his family: No matter how hard he tried, he would always be too much of himself and not enough of them. And somehow, that stung even more at Christmas.
Sometimes when his sister said or did things reminiscent of his dad, it was a reminder that even though she had his best interest at heart, she didn’t necessarily understand him.
Jake looked at Georgia, who was still adjusting her helmet. “And after dealing with my sister, you deserve to blow off some steam.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you. I know how hard Rachel tries to protect me. And it’s too much sometimes. You could have really gone after her, but instead you handled yourself with grace and professionalism.”
“I don’t want there to be tension between us, but she seems set on creating it.”
“She is a lot like my parents. It’s all about appearances.”
“What’s it all about for you?”
“Racing. Making a difference. I hate being the center of something as ridiculous as pictures and social media, spinning the truth to make me look better. There are more important things in the world.”
“Like what? I mean I know what it is for me, but what is it for you?”
“Friends. My grandparents. And even though she drives me crazy, my sister. And of course there’s racing.”
Georgia gifted him with a stunning, heart-pumping smile. “Of course.”
“Now.” Resting one hand on the steering wheel, he used the other to point at the track. “Racing isn’t just about speed. It’s a complex sport with complicated strategy. You’re going to want to take a hard left at the first turn or you’ll plow into the barrier.”
“I’ve been in a bumper car before.”
Jake gave her a horrified look. “Do you see any bumpers on these cars? No. Because these babies can go up to forty miles per hour.”
“I see.” Georgia flashed a smile, making it clear she’d just been shitting him. “Thanks for bringing me here. I needed a break from work.”
“Speaking of that. I didn’t just bring you here for fun. I have some good news. Or at least I think it’s good.”
“I need good news.”
“I talked to Theodore about using the track for the auction and gala.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s important to you, so it’s important to me,” he repeated her words from the other day. “Plus, I’m part of this project. I want to pull my weight.”
“He agreed to the date?”
“No. But, I talked to the owner of Pine Village racetrack, and he’s agreed to let you use it and the entire family park for the gala. Free of charge. I know it’s not the Circuit of America, but I thought it fit your theme even better.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he didn’t expect her to smack her lips to his.
Which made him one lucky SOB, because she was kissing him in public and that had to mean something.
Okay, so there wasn’t any tongue, it was more of a peck, but it revved his engines more than the other night. And that was saying something.
“It’s perfect,” she said. “You’re perfect.” Her eyes went wide as if she hadn’t expected to say that. “You know. As a partner.”
“Uh huh,” he said. “Now back to the race. I’m going to cream you.”
“Wanna bet?”
Without hesitation, she’d climbed into her bright red—Ferrari red, mind you—cart. She revved the engine like she was born behind the wheel, never mind she’d just asked the attendant which pedal was the brake.
She gave it another rev, a bold declaration she was ready to take him down. He gave her his cockiest grin. She shot him back a smile that promised sweet victory.
That was the Georgia he remembered: competitive as hell and believed losing wasn’t an acceptable outcome.
“Forty miles per hour. Wow, I’d better watch out, or my little womanly mind might just explode.”
“I know how to make you explode,” he reminded her and loved the way her face went the loveliest shade of red.
“Don’t underestimate us Warren women. Zeus himself couldn’t take us down.”
Didn’t he believe it. She was the strongest person he’d ever met. Then there was Connor, the epitome of strength and determination. Jake was raised by a strong woman, but her prowess couldn’t stand up to Georgia’s.
The woman was ninety percent badassery and ten percent sass—not to mention the exterior mix of feminine grace and lethal promise.
“I grew up on a street with boys,” she said. “I was the only girl, so I’ve been training for this my whole life.”
“I bet they were more Big Wheel than big time.”
“Well, your time has run out,” she said, then unbuttoned another button of her flannel, exposing the upper swell of her breasts.
His tongue practically begged for a taste.
“I call a penalty,” he said, but she was already gone. While he’d been dreaming of cupping those magnificent tits, he’d missed the flag drop. Not that it mattered. His training and skill made this a lock.
Tires squealed on the tar track, searching to find traction. Jake did a quick zig then zag, warming up his tires to gain a better foothold and found it immediately.
He caught up to the pack in no time, passing three cars in a single move. But the only car he cared about passing was the race leader, whose chocolate-brown hair was screaming out the back of her helmet like she was doing a hundred miles per hour instead of thirty.
There was another track a few miles away, but those carts were serious, reaching a top speed of over eighty miles per hour. Not that he thought Georgia couldn’t stand up to the pressure—she absolutely could. Not a lot intimidated her—except being vulnerable.
You earned that kind of trust before and, like a dumbass, lost it. But if you play your cards right you can get to that place again.
Jake raced toward her, coming up on her tail so fast he was certain he’d pass her. Only, Georgia took the inside curve like a pro, cutting him off with a move so shameless it made him laugh. She got bolder with every lap.
Jake was within passing distance, so close he could smell the faintest whiff of her vanilla-scented shampoo mixed among the gasoline-and-cotton-candy air. And for the first time in years, Jake realized the thrill of the race had nothing to do with the checkered flag.
All that restless energy coiling in his chest was pretty damn close to what he’d felt with Georgia all those year ago.
He didn’t want to go as far as to say he was in love with her. But the probability that he could be was reaching dangerous levels.
What had she been thinking?
Agreeing to walk through the Christmas tree maze had been a stupid move of epic proportions.
Epic.
The safety of the crowd vanished the moment they stepped into the man-made forest, leaving them completely alone. Which went against her new rule:
Never be alone with Jake.
Because when she was, she made bad decisions. She’d taken being his handler too far.
Yet there she was, ticking off another decision placing her closer to the Naughty List.
Pine needles and bittersweet memories hung heavy in the Christmas air. The maze was a majestic green box, wrapped up like a present with twinkle lights and chilled December air.
Georgia kept one mittened hand tucked around her hot chai and the other buried deep in her coat pocket, mostly to keep from reaching for Jake. The man walked like he owned the path, his long strides confident even while weaving between eight-foot evergreens.
Georgia sipped her hot chai, the steam turning into frost the moment it made contact with the late afternoon air.
“This,” she said breaking the silence, “is exactly how every holiday should smell. Sugar, cinnamon, and the subtle hum of potentially rebellious Christmas lights.”
Jake chuckled. “The cinnamon is winning me over. But questionable wiring? Deal-breaker.” His grin came with that same easy warmth that could melt through ice.