7. Everest
Everest
I’d come out early specifically to avoid people, but I never seem to manage it.
Even today, when I've only had two hours of sleep so I could make sure all the parts were in order, I still have an interruption.
Raindrops stroke Harmony Grace's skin like a lover as she drips with rain. Every single drop falls to the concrete under me, potentially creating a disturbance, and not just with myself. I accounted for rain, but not for it to touch Maddock's car.
I have a very fine routine that I need to complete in exact order or something might go wrong.
Every time my pre-race routine goes smoothly, either Maddock or Jaxx will place on the podium for a Grand Prix.
I can’t let her disrupt my process, no matter how good her strawberries and cream scent is. And how many years I’ve waited to see her again.
From the way she looks at me, she has no idea who I am.
I've worked Formula circuits since I left university. She had been a racer on another team in F2, and we met so briefly that she hadn't realized we had scent matched.
And now that she’s finally in front of me, I can’t afford to stop and introduce myself and casually mention the desire to bond with her that's plagued me ever since our first meeting.
If I don’t keep to my routine, Vegas might be ruined, and we are so close to coming second in the Constructor’s Championships.
I run my hand over the corner of the chassis, making sure the seam is smooth and intact, and she simply still stands there, staring at me.
“Can I help you?” I ask more shortly than I would have liked.
I don’t want to look at her, especially because of the way the rain clings to her sports bra. I already can’t handle the scents pouring off of her, but if I look at the light bumps of her nipples under the padding, I’ll have to leave the garage.
I told myself before I wouldn't give in to her if I ever saw her again. She had everything laid out before her when she was leading the F2 championship, and she gave it all up.
I wanted to be part of F1 ever since I was a child, and I can’t understand why she would abandon it when she was at the height of her career.
I know it’s incredibly petty to resent her for leaving when she has no idea who I am, but I worked hard to make it to the Grace team to be with her, and she left a month before I was hired.
Even standing near her is enough to bring up all that longing and desire and deep need for my omega to see me.
And to wipe away those years of wondering if she didn't care about me at all.
But maybe my feelings are obvious. Because my body pumps out pheromones and my blood runs hot at how close she is.
I had no interest in sex until I met her, and even then, it was a passing curiosity.
But her closeness, her touch, her scent . It's driving me absolutely crazy, and I need to hold myself back or I’m going to do something I regret.
Like using the wrong bolt on the suspension and ruin the entire race for Maddock.
Or worse. I don’t want to have to wipe down the chassis because I acted on my urges by pressing her against my favorite car and making use of my arousal.
I quickly glance at her, trying to hold back my smile at the fact she's finally looking at me. I’m not just a face in the crowd anymore. She’s right here with me, taking deep breaths, trembling, showing me she can feel it, too.
Harmony wraps her arms around herself and keeps staring at me with wide eyes.
I really don’t want to step away from the car.
If I don’t stay with the car until Maddock arrives, something might go wrong again.
I take pride in the fact that he consistently comes in second place in every race.
The only reason he came in third last week was because I had to stop during a check to deal with a late delivery.
But she's just been chased down by two reporters. Plus, she’s an omega that needs comforting.
So I regretfully remove my hand from the car, and walk to the station behind her.
We have a stack of towels for the drivers when they get off the track and need to mop up the sweat.
“How do you like it?” I say, tapping the coffee machine as I hand her a towel.
“What?” she asks, jumping like she’d forgotten I was here.
She blinks slowly, and I deny the urge to brush the strands of bright ginger hair that have fallen from her bun and obstructed her eyes.
“Coffee. We have a machine. Do you want a drink?”
She nods numbly, and I quickly turn around so I don’t have to watch her dab the line of her breasts with the towel.
I wish there was a tablet that could block my sense of smell as well as my rut. Because my head is spinning as more of her gorgeous scent pours from her.
As the coffee machine works its magic, I pluck my jacket from the chair next to the station. I’d only worn it on the drive to the garage, but my alpha senses are telling me to cover her in my scent in case more reporters come after her.
But I haven't thought it through.
Because when I hand her the jacket while holding the coffee, she puts the towel between her legs, opening up her thighs.
And I can’t tear my eyes away from her lycra shorts that cling to her curves.
When she swings open her arms, her breasts rise as she slips the jacket over them, and the tops of the Vs of her hips stretch above the short’s waistline.
I nearly crush the cardboard cup in my hand.
I’m not used to feeling like this. I’m not even sure how to approach it. I accepted a long time ago that every time I saw Harmony Grace’s picture, I would feel attracted to her, but that was manageable.
I didn't have to watch her as she lifted the collar of my jacket to her nose and take a deep inhale.
Her eyes widen, and her gaze flies to mine. I’m very sure she is testing to see if I can tell we’ve matched as well.
But I really don’t have time to experiment with things like that. It’s my duty as the Chief Mechanic, or 'Pit Stop Boss', as everyone insists on calling me, to keep the cars running and make sure everyone is safe. I won’t be able to do that if I’m distracted by my bodily desires.
I had had years to adjust to these feelings. Just because she’s closer than I've ever been to her and that my scent is blending with her skin doesn’t mean I can get distracted.
I turn from her, reaching to the tool trolley on my left to pick up a front wing piece I want to measure up against the nose.
“Wait, is that a front wing?” she asks, leaning around my shoulder, instantly putting me on high alert.
I look at her in surprise as she gives a low whistle.
“Look at that beauty. How did they get the shape to stay like that? I don’t remember them ever arching at that angle.”
She looks genuinely interested, and I can’t help myself. The cars are the entire team’s pride and joy.
“Yes, actually, there have been changes in our design since you left. Especially from F2 to F1 models.”
The front wings sit before the tires to redirect air over them and give them a smoother run.
It isn’t unusual for drivers to want to know the final details of their cars, but none of them smell so good that I want to lick the back of their sweat and rain-drenched necks as they lean forward.
Harmony reaches out, and I edge the wing away from her. I usually refuse to let anyone touch the more intimate parts of the car unless they have been trained how to handle them.
But she looks so fascinated that I falter, and in seconds her fingers are tracing the curve of the wing. Now, suddenly, all I want is for her to stroke me like that.
I try to hide my sharp breath. I don’t like how easily she can make my thoughts run wild.
I give her a hard stare, but she doesn’t see it. She’s too interested in caressing each edge back and forth so slowly I can feel it in my body.
Clearing my throat, I make an attempt. “The new shape spirals the air and allows Maddock and Jaxx to turn a half-inch more precisely,” I say hurriedly. I can’t tell if my heart is beating from nerves, excitement, or arousal.
She pauses as I say our drivers names, and I think I sense a shift in her. But it must be my imagination, because her head shoots up with a bright smile that almost makes me jump back.
“That's amazing! A half inch! Is that at full speed? What’s different about this one compared to the 20s model?” she asks before she takes a sip of her coffee.
I really want to keep running through my routine, but I’m specifically working on the outer body, and maybe it wouldn't hurt to talk her through my checks.
I take a breath before plucking a screwdriver from my pocket, praying this deviation won’t interfere with the qualifying races.
“Well, if you look back here, the way we attach the wing lets us...”
I glance at her occasionally as I speak through my routine to see if it’s enough to put her off, but she keeps nodding, looking more and more interested.
Ten minutes later, she’s pulled up a stool and sits next to me as I work.
We settle into a comfortable atmosphere where we only talk about the car.
Harmony doesn’t ask me any questions about myself; she doesn’t pressure me to tell her who I am.
She doesn’t ask anything of me, or need anything. She’s happy to sit here and sip her coffee or sniff my jacket, though not as deeply as she'd inhaled when she’d buried her face in my crotch.
I won’t live that down. It’s already seared in my memory, and it’s easier to focus on work than on her flushed cheeks and her easy smile.
By the time the sun rises, she’s gone, and all that’s left is a light brush of strawberries and cream and a feeling of peace swirling around me.