Chapter 70
Blaze
“You’re staring.”
Carlo doesn’t even flinch. He leans against the fence like he owns the damn place, arms folded, sunglasses hiding those eyes that I know are full of heat right now.
“You’re showing off.”
I snort, adjusting the strap of my helmet as I hop off the bike. Sweat slicks my back, my shirt sticking to me in all the wrong places, but the way Carlo watches me like I’m a damn god? Yeah, I could stay like this all day.
“It’s called warming up, old man. You wouldn’t know anything about that since your ass is always parked behind a desk or on top of me.”
His smirk curves up, slow and lazy. “You saying I’m outta shape?”
“I’m saying your skills are probably rusted as fuck.”
A few of the other guys laugh as they roll by. The track is full today—smell of burnt rubber in the air, engines roaring, tires screeching. I haven’t felt this alive in months. And having him here, watching me? Fuck, it does something to me. Twists my gut in the best way.
“Wanna test that theory?” Carlo pushes off the fence, brushing past me just enough to whisper, “You challenging me, sweetheart?”
I raise a brow, toss my helmet in his direction. “Damn right. I could race you blindfolded and still leave your sorry ass eating dust.”
He catches the helmet with one hand, spins it. “Careful. I might take that personally.”
“Good,” I grin, straddling the bike again. “I’m counting on it.”
The guys around start catching wind that something’s going down. A few start hooting. One of them yells, “Fuck, it’s about to get spicy!”
I rev the engine, glance over to Carlo. He’s already walking to one of the parked bikes—some black-and-chrome beast that screams money and sex. Of course that’s his. I roll my eyes.
He mounts it like he was born for it, his long legs hugging the frame, hands sliding over the handlebars like he’s reacquainting himself with an old lover.
Yeah. That image is gonna be hard to forget.
“You sure you can handle this?” I call out.
He starts the engine. The damn thing purrs, loud and dirty. “Even though I have all the money to make sure you are okay, be careful Blaze. ‘Cause I’m about to humble your cocky little ass.”
I laugh, heart pounding as we roll to the starting line. The others gather around, phones out, cheering like it’s some underground fight club.
Then I hear her voice.
“Wow. You two need to just get a fucking room already.”
Alexi. Of course.
She walks up with her arms folded, shades perched on her head, and the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. She looks between me and Carlo like we’re two idiots about to kill each other for love.
Carlo doesn’t miss a beat. He glances at her and smirks. “Don’t be jealous, Alexi. You can watch.”
I nearly choke. “The fuck is wrong with you?”
He just winks. Asshole.
Alexi cackles. “Watch? Ew, no thanks. I’d rather stab my eyes. Just don’t crash and fuck up your pretty face, Blaze.”
“I got this,” I say, throwing her a middle finger.
She throws it back with a grin. “You better.”
We line up. The track is clear. Heart’s pounding now, but not from nerves—from excitement. From the way Carlo looks over at me, tongue running over his bottom lip like he already knows he’s won something.
I don’t care who wins this race. Okay, maybe I do. A little. But this? This is about more than speed. It’s about fire. About proving something.
The whistle blows. Tires screech. And we’re off.
Adrenaline hits me like a truck. Wind roars past my ears. I lean into the turn, tires gripping the asphalt, every muscle in my body tense and tuned. I glance sideways. Carlo’s right there—neck and neck.
Fuck. He hasn’t lost it.
We hit the straight, engines screaming. I push harder, lean forward, eyes locked on the end. The world blurs. I can feel the rush in my veins, like fire licking through my chest.
Carlo edges ahead. I grit my teeth and surge forward.
The finish line comes fast. Too fast.
We cross almost together. It’s impossible to tell who got there first. Doesn’t matter. I’m grinning like a madman when I skid to a stop.
He pulls up beside me, both of us panting, engines cooling with a soft tick-tick-tick.
“Told you I still got it,” he says, smug bastard.
“You’re not bad for a washed-up CEO.”
He pulls off his helmet, hair a fucking mess, eyes glowing. “You missed this.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I fucking did.”
He looks at me—really looks. Like he sees something raw in me, something I’ve been hiding for too long.
“Let’s not stop again.”
I blink. “What?”
He moves closer, hands on either side of my bike, his face inches from mine. “Don’t ever disappear again… Let’s stop pretending it’s just fucking or comfort or whatever bullshit excuse we’ve been making. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Say it.”
God. He always knows how to wreck me.
I grab the front of his shirt and yank him in for a kiss—hot, messy, desperate. People are still around and probably watching but I don’t give a fuck. Let them watch. Let them know.
When I pull back, I whisper against his lips, “I’m yours. And I’m gonna beat your ass next time.”
He grins. “Looking forward to it.”
Alexi claps slowly from the sidelines. “Jesus Christ, you two are disgustingly cute. I hate it.”
“Still not watching, huh?” Carlo teases.
“Fuck no,” she says, turning around. “But if you’re gonna get married, let me know so I can plan your outfits.”
Carlo wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “Told you she’s jealous.”
“She’s jealous she doesn’t have someone to ride with.”
Alexi flips us both off without turning around.
I laugh, resting my head against Carlo’s shoulder.
Maybe I really am his.
I’m not letting go anymore, he’s mine even when he’s an asshole that makes me a fucking mess.