Page 39 of Break My Heart

“Are you implying I lack skills?” I demand, affronted.

She shrugs before offering, “Social ones, maybe.”

I can’t help but snort at her well-earned barb. But then Christin turns her attention to Dario, who has joined us. With him, she addresses the team’s upcoming schedule and how, “I’ll map the downtime between races against the project schedule I have for the software rebuild. I’m already about seventy percent there, but this should be customized to you.”

I’m staring at her lips the entire time she’s talking. She waves a hand in front of my face. “Leo? Any concerns?”

Just one. That I was a fucking idiot. Instead, I manage, “No, none.”

“Good.” Dario excuses himself.

“Then I’ll see you both at the track.”

“Have a good rest of your evening,” Dario remarks.

“Thank you.” Christin slips away even as I reach out to touch her wrist to stop her momentum. Electricity surges through my fingers when I feel her skin briefly against mine.

Tomorrow.

We start again tomorrow.

14

WARM-UP PHASE: TIME FOR TIRES TO REACH OPTIMAL TEMP

My father taught me that the rhythm of a track is dictated by the drivers. Merely stepping into the home of Apex Orion Racing, I know something is off.

While Apex Orion has been optimized enough to win, there’s a fluidity missing. Sure, things are efficient and clear-cut, but just beneath that, I sense hesitation, as if the people working with Leo can’t figure out how to optimize his talent instead of forcing him to conform.

It mirrors the data I’ve been studying.

By the time I finish the nickel tour, meet the engineering and tech teams for each driver, and upload the new telemetry prototype, it’s nine a.m. I’m startled when Dario falls into step beside me as we both make our way to the pit wall. He asks, “Settling in?”

“Settled and already evaluating.”

“What’s your initial take?”

I study the asphalt track. “Leo’s tremendous, but he’s compensating for something.”

His face expresses intrigue. “You noticed that?”

I briefly consider if there’s a dual meaning behind his words before deciding to answer, “That’s what the data tells me.”

Behind us, the pit crew is already in motion. The crew chief calls out updates. Within seconds, all four tires are replaced. A low hum of anticipation builds inside me as the car is rolled into position. Leo stands beside it with a look of fierce concentration etched across his face.

“You want to see him run the track?” Dario asks.

Immediately, I perk up. “Full lap. No constraints. No staged input.”

His gaze flicks toward Leo, then back to me. “You don’t ease into things, do you?”

“No.” That includes my relationship with the man I now have to study for the foreseeable future.

Dario calls out, “Leo. Full lap.”

His head turns, and I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t acknowledge the way my heart accelerates when his gaze locks on me. Even through my sunglasses, I feel the intensity—focused and impossible to ignore. His helmet is tucked under his arm, his race suit unzipped at the collar and darkened slightly by the effects of the Nevada heat.

He doesn’t say anything. Just holds my gaze for a second longer than necessary before sliding on his helmet, stepping over the side, and sliding down into the car.