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“Hey, Tess?”

“What?”

“Don’t make that noise again.”

My eyebrows furrow. “What noise?”

“The moan you just made when you took a drink of your Diet Coke…”

Oh.

“It sounds an awful lot like–”

“Rome!” I shout.

His chuckle is throaty, and if he could see me, I would flip him off.

Embarrassment stains my cheeks, and I sigh. “Will you please focus on the race? It’s minutes from take-off.”

“Fine.”

Rome’s deep breaths filter through my headphones as the race nears, and like a switch, he’s ready.

The countdown starts, the beeps matching the rhythm of my heart.

5…4…3…2…1.

I hold my breath when the light turns green.

Take-off is one of the most critical parts of a race. Depending on where you start on line, it decides your position and can limit any overtaking opportunities.

The first few seconds, Rome manages his clutch control, and I stay quiet, trusting that he knows what to do.

I reach for my Diet Coke and take another two mouthfuls, the burn of the soda easing my nerves for a split second.

“Take the outside,” I stress.

Rome says nothing.

He does exactly as I say and moves to the outside to come around Vinny. He moves to third, where he started.

“Yes!” I squeeze out between clenched teeth.

“Good call, Princess.”

I roll my eyes. “Stop calling me that, anyone could be listening.”

He chuckles. “Everyone calls you Vanstone’s Princess.”

“There’s a difference, and you know it.”

A few laps pass, and Rome does a phenomenal job holding his position. However, the track is fast, and some of the drivers are driving aggressively, whether on purpose or not, I’m not sure.

“Behind,” I say.

Milo King, a driver from the Australia team, is forced off the racing line, causing some unnecessary drama between a few cars. One spins into a curb, the other two nearly sliding against one another.

I wait for the flag to change and stare up ahead.