Page 57 of First in Line

When he finally tugs the helmet and black balaclava off, his face appears on the screen, flushed and soaked in sweat. It looks like it’s particularly hot because even the fireproof fabric of his race suit is drenched.

“Ugh, he’s so dreamy,” one of my friends lets out, practically drooling on the table. I can’t blame her. He’s a remarkably attractive man.

We watch as Jackson does his usual winning routine, goes through the post-race protocol, and then moves on to the interview stand for some quick questions. He easily answers despite the adrenaline rush he must still be going through.

Mindlessly, he opens his race suit as he talks, likely to beat the heat, exposing the soaked fabric of his undershirt. Something golden against it catches my eye. Something I never thought I’d see again.

My locket. The one I gave him. The one he used to wear for luck during every single race. The one I thought I’d lost forever after I walked away. He has it. And he’s wearing it, still, years after I left him, during a race. Does he wear it under his suit every time?

That revelation throws me into such a state of distress that even Cynthia notices. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asks, gently grazing my arm.

“Yes, I—I got a little lightheaded. I think I’ll go home now that the race is over.”

“So soon?”

“Yes, don’t worry about me. I’m good, I promise.”

She doesn’t insist, probably thinking this is about Nathan, and after saying bye to everyone, I walk out into the parking lot with my things.

I haven’t even made it to my car when my phone rings. I check, thinking I forgot something at the table, but freeze when I see the caller.Jackson…

How? He’s barely made it to the cooldown room at this point. Why is he calling me?

Still confused about what I just saw, about him having—and wearing—my locket, I decide to ignore the call. I stare at the screen until the ringing stops and let out a sigh before resuming the walk to my car. I’ve just reached it when it rings again.

Dozens of people want to talk to him right now, either to congratulate or interview him. But I’m the one he wants to hear from, less than ten minutes after winning a race.

That’s enough for me to give in and pick up. “Hey,” I greet.

“Hi.” I can hear people talking near him, probably the other two drivers in the cooldown room.

“You won again.”

“I did.”

“And you didn’t get bored this time. You were steady and focused on every lap.”

“Yeah, I… I found a trick to keep me engaged.”

“Oh?”

“You remember that first trip we took from Colorado to Indiana?”

“Of course.”

“I told the team to ask me a ‘Would You Rather’ question every time I passed the start line. I looked forward to it and remained focused so I could get to the next question faster.”

“See? It’s an entertaining game,” I say with a proud smile.

“You were right. But as far as car games go, my favorite remains ‘Head of State.’”

Trying to contain my laugh only makes it come out as a snort. “It doesn’t sound like a game that can be played in a single-seater.”

“I don’t cross many state lines, anyway.”

“True.”

Someone shouts his name behind him, and he answers to wait.