The pit reeked of gasoline and engine heat, but all I could smell was you. You stood there in your racing suit, helmet under your arm, hair messy from the prep, and I swear for a second I forgot there was an entire team of mechanics behind us.

I leaned against the car, letting the fringe of my dress sway with every slow shift of my hips, pretending to be casual even though my pulse was matching the rev of the engines. You looked at me like you were already chasing the finish line—and I wanted to be the prize.

“If you win,” I said, tilting my head just enough for my voice to cut through the noise so only you could hear, “I’m taking you out tonight.”

The way your eyes flickered—part surprise, part hunger—made me want to grab your collar and kiss you right there. But instead, I stayed leaning, watching you walk away toward the track, knowing you’d push yourself harder now.

Because you didn’t just want to win. You wanted to earn me.