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The rest of the engineers crowd us to celebrate.

“What is that?” My eyes narrow at Megan, who produces a giant bottle from behind her back. “We said no champagne.”

Zane produces one, too. Raj looks guilty but does the same.

“You think everyone does everything you say just because you’re an Ashford?” Shay teases, reaching out as someone passes her a bottle. Her hand moves toward the cork. “One, two, three!”

Then I’m ducking as a dozen bottles spray at once.

Epilogue

Shay

When I pop my earbuds in and start down the street, it’s barely eight a.m. Somehow, though, the sun is already beating down on the city.

The weather is warmer here than home, the birds flitting in the trees. Melbourne is beautiful in March.

I hear the car before I see it. The purr of the engine is noticeable over the music in my earbuds as the vehicle pulls up next to me. Convertible, top down. Beautiful curves. Slick paint job. I’m a fan before I look over to the driver’s seat.

Dark hair. Sunglasses. Don’t-fuck-with-me jawline. If the car had me hooked, its driver has me sunk.

“Where are you going?”

I tug out a headphone as he speaks. “Wherever I want,” I say pleasantly.

“I have an all-access VIP pass for the first F1 race of the season with your name on it.”

I fish inside my bag for a lanyard, slipping it around my neck. “What, like this? Already got one.”

“If I have to get out of the car and carry you, it’s going to cause a scene.”

“Might be worth it.”

Jameson smiles and that curve of his beautiful mouth decides it.

Playing hard to get is fun.

Being his is even better.

I shift into the car, hauling my cross-body bag with all my gear.

“Fuck. You must have an F2 car in there.”

“Not quite.” I laugh.

He leans over to brush his lips over mine. Every thought about the day ahead evaporates from my mind as he kisses me. It’s him and me and how insanely good this feels. He was mine last night, and win or lose, he’s mine again tonight.

I’m excited for the first race of the season, to watch him drive, to cheer for him to win.

I had a text from Dad this morning wishing us luck. He decided Australia was too far, so despite an invitation from Jameson to travel with us on the ARI jet, he said he’d be watching from home.

Someone behind us honks. Jameson ignores it, coming back for another pass.

“You’re due at the track,” I murmur against his mouth.

“Your fault I’m late. You snuck out early,” he accuses.

It’s actually remarkable I woke up at all given how late he kept me up.