It’s way too early, and I’m buried under the covers like the bed’s about to eat me whole. I hear her soft voice next to me.

“Baby, come on, wake up.”

“Mmm… too tired,” I groan, my face half-squished into the pillow.

“Lan, up. Now.”

“Nooo,” I whine like a child, peeking out one eye. “I’m not moving.”

“Don’t make me tickle you.”

I smirk. “You would never.”

“Oh, I would.”

“Nu uh.” I pull the covers off dramatically, revealing I’m only in my boxers, throwing her a cheeky grin.

“Don’t make me,” she warns, raising a brow.

I giggle. That does it. She walks over and starts tickling me mercilessly.

“Ahahahaha! Stop it, baby—stop!” I’m squirming and laughing like an idiot.

She finally lets me breathe. “Are you gonna get up now?”

“Yes! I’m up, I’m up!” I sit up, hair a mess, breathless and grinning.

She smiles and points to the chair. “Your clothes are there.”

“Thank you.” I lean over and give her a quick kiss.

I throw on my shirt, jeans, spray my cologne, and grab my black hat—backwards, as always.

“You look cute,” she says, eyes soft.

“I always look cute,” I say to the mirror, giving myself a mock wink.

She laughs and takes a few mirror selfies with me. I sneak a pinch on her ass—couldn’t help it.

“Oiy!” she smacks my hand, and I just giggle.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Let’s go before you do anything else.”

We head to the track, fingers intertwined. Max and Pietra are already at the entrance, walking up hand in hand too.

The Miami sun’s already heating up, but everything feels easy. Light. Fun.

Just me, my girl, my hat—backwards—and a race ahead.