Page 49 of Crash Course

I grin. “No.”

I spend my days pushing faster, harder, closer to the edge of human performance and physics. But this battle of wills with her is the most amped I’ve ever felt off the track. Every time I’ve got one up on her, she hits back harder. Getting her expelled somehow went from a priority to the farthest thing from my mind.

It’s that momentary weakness that has my gaze softening on her hair, her face, the V in her shirt.

If she can tell I’m soaking in every inch of her, she’s gracious enough not to point it out.

Fuck that. If she knew, she’d lord it over me. Because that’s how this works.

Whatever this even is.

I don’t have time for distractions. Particularly not ones in the form of sexy engineering students who have the uncommon ability to pinpoint my weaknesses.

“Yeah, well. Sabotage isn’t exactly a high art,” she says, arching a brow. “Any asshole can break things.”

I’m still turning over her words as a few classmates brush past us, their attention on me. She doesn’t look at me like they do—wanting what I am, what I have.

“Ever imagine what it’s like to be invisible?” I ask suddenly.

“No,” she answers without looking up. “I know what it’s like. You, on the other hand, could never be invisible.”

“Because I’m Jameson Ashford.”

“Because you’re too fucking good.” She says it like it’s a great tragedy.

I’m leaning in, my forearm brushing hers. “Too perfect. That’s what you said.”

There’s no way I’m letting her off the hook this time. She lives to exploit my weaknesses? I get to push back once in a while, if only to keep my sanity intact.

This time, her tongue darts out to sweep her lips. “I was talking about the car.”

But she knows she’s been caught out, and she knows I know it too.

When the flush colors her face and neck, my fingers itch to trace the path. I want to know how far that reaction goes.

I want to know what else I could do to make her blush.

“You should pick on someone who actually wants your attention,” she decides, flipping through the pages of her text.

“Like you want Theo’s.” My brother’s name feels odd in my mouth.

When she shifts, her knee brushes mine under the table. I bite my tongue.

“My brother has been taking his workout seriously. Did you flatter his ego? That’s the surest way to control my brother.”

“I told him he had a chance,” she says simply.

The belief on her face hits me. I’m used to having all the answers, but for a moment I’m envious of my brother, and it’s not because he coasts through life.

Our conversation has veered dangerously far from racing strategy. We should get back to business, but there’s one thing I owe her first.

“What I said at Test Track about you only getting in a car because Theo wants to fuck you. That was wrong.”

“He doesn’t want to fuck me?” Her brow lifts.

I exhale. “No. He absolutely does.”

She laughs as my words settle between us.