Page 86 of First in Line

“Of course. The race is in nine days, so try to decide before that. But even later, if you’re bored out of your mind—which, I mean, this is Colorado—then you can join me.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

My cooperation apparently warrants a reward, and it comes in the form of a long, bone-melting kiss. As I let myself be wrapped in his incredible aura, I’m reminded of why we used to spend so much of our time in bed. This man is a sex machine, and I’m nothing if not his most willing victim.

Just as things are starting to heat up, the air fryer dings. When it hasn’t stopped after a few seconds, Jax lets me go with a groan.

“Alright,” he mumbles. “Some food, then round four.”

“Good idea.”

“But be warned, princess. Round four is where I shine. Especially after three incredible rounds of qualifying.”

I chuckle at his very on-theme innuendo, then let myself slide down the counter he propped me up on.

This is nothing more than two adults enjoying some naked time together. It doesn’t mean anything more than that. And it definitely doesn’t mean that I should take him up on his offer to follow him to Europe.

I’ve been there, I’ve done that, and I really didn’t like it.

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

Jackson

“Do you have it?” I ask Evie. She nods, tightening her grip on her handbag.

This is our third attempt at talking to Wesley Pryce. Our last chance. And she looks as nervous as I feel about it.

For three days now, we’ve come to the entrance of the Bellagio, hoping we could get his attention. We missed him on Friday and Saturday, and now that the convention is over, he’ll likely fly back to his home state of Arizona, and we won’t get another chance.

The problem is, we aren’t the only ones dying for a scrap of his time. This weekend is the first big motorsport event since the FIA approved his team’s entry application. And because he hasn’t spoken to the press about it, every sports journalist in town is dying for a scoop. When we decided to go that route, Evie and I didn’t realize we’d have to fight for his attention along with thirty other people. But with our luck, we should have expected it…

Still, we both remain alert, ready to jump in as soon as he appears.

About twenty minutes into our wait, I notice two large SUVs making their way toward the entrance. These are the same plates as on the days before. I grab Evie’s arm, and her eyes follow mine before we refocus on the hotel’s double doors.

Sure enough, four bodyguards appear at the same time as the SUVs pull up, and among them is Wesley Pryce and a middle-aged woman who looks like his personal assistant.

“Mr. Pryce!” we both shout, along with thirty other people. We try repeatedly, but the man keeps his head forward, focused on getting into his car.

Evie takes the red spiral binder out of her bag and waves it, hoping to catch his attention, but it also fails. It’s a more condensed version of the one she has at home, with a detailed account of all my wins, my stats, and the graphs showing my ever-growing successes. She even made a cover for it, with the title, “A Complete Understanding of Jackson Reyes’ Growth and Wins through the SCCA and FIA Championships.” As titles go, it’s a bit of a mouthful, but at least it makes the intentions clear.

Pryce’s assistant gets into the car first, and when Mr. Pryce follows her in, an impulse that can only come from desperation and madness claims Evie. With all her strength, she throws the whole thing in their direction. I move to stop her too late and watch with unmasked horror as the binder flies through the journalists and bodyguards, pages whooshing in the wind. It lands right into the open door of the car, hitting Mr. Pryce in the shoulder before falling inside. A bodyguard slams the door shut while his three colleagues turn around, scanning the crowd in search of the binder-hurling menace.

“Evie, what the hell?!” I whisper, worried she’s gotten us into trouble.

“Sorry, I panicked!”

“You can’t throw binders at people.”

“I know… but it was our last chance. And he definitely knows you exist now.”

The door of the SUV opens, and I grab onto her hand, steeling myself for whatever will come.

“Who threw this?” Mr. Pryce asks, sticking out of the car to wave the binder.