The garage was a storm of red—Ferrari crew moving like clockwork, screens flashing data, the scent of hot tires and engine oil thick in the air. But Jason? Jason only had eyes for one thing—the car tearing through the circuit, and the driver behind the wheel.

“Alright, corazón,” he murmured into the radio, his voice low and steady despite the tension of the race. His thick Puerto Rican accent curled around the words like a familiar embrace. “You’re P3, but the Merc in front is losing pace. We can take him in the next two laps if you time it right.”

“You saying I don’t know how to time an overtake, Todd?”

He smirked, shaking his head as he leaned over the pit wall, dark curls falling over his forehead. Silver rings glinted against the mic, the inked letters on his knuckles flexing as he gripped it tighter.

“I’m saying don’t get too hot-headed and send my car into the gravel. You know I hate seeing her all scratched up.”

“Your car?”

“Sí, mami. I take care of her, don’t I? Make sure she’s perfect for you every time you sit behind the wheel. Now do me a favor—keep her clean and bring her home in P1, yeah?”

Silence crackled for a second before her voice came back, softer, teasing.

“You askin’ nicely?”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head, his lip ring catching in the light as he bit down on a grin.

“You want me to beg, princesa?”

“Might like the sound of that.”

“Win the damn race, and maybe I’ll consider it.”

The radio clicked off, but not before he heard her laugh—bright, confident, the sound of a woman who knew she was about to take the lead. Jason leaned back, arms crossed over his tattooed chest, eyes locked on the track. Yeah, she had this. And him? He’d be right there, guiding her home.