The McLaren sped down the straight, the engine roaring beneath her like a living thing, but all Jason could focus on was the telemetry in front of him. His eyes flicked between the numbers and the track feed, his fingers gripping the radio tightly as he watched her take the next corner.

“Easy on the throttle, corazón,” he murmured into the mic, his Puerto Rican accent thick, voice calm despite the chaos around him. “You’re losing grip on the rears—gotta bring it back under control.”

Her response crackled through the radio, sharp but teasing, just like always.

“I’ve got it under control, Todd.”

Jason huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. Yeah, she always said that. Stubborn as hell, just like him. He ran a hand through his dark curls, the silver of his rings catching in the light before he pressed the radio button again.

“Mhm. That’s what you said last time, and then I had to watch you nearly send my car into the barrier.”

“Your car?”

“Sí, mami. I take care of it, don’t I? Make sure it runs perfect for you every weekend. Now do me a favor—take care of it back, yeah?”

There was a beat of silence before her voice came back through, softer this time, laced with the same heat that always curled between them when they were off the track.

“Alright, Jay. I’ll take care of it.”

Jason smirked, satisfied, before leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his tattooed chest. Yeah, she was a hell of a driver. And him? He was going to make damn sure she made it across that finish line first.