Carrick stays in his car, watching the race on the screens above his head. When the tires are done, he’s heading back out onto the track.
He picks up his position in no time.
There are a few tense moments in the race, like when he drops down to second as Leandro Silva, a Brazilian driver, passes him.
I would never say this to Carrick—as it’s well known that Leandro and Carrick have a serious rivalry going on—but I love Leandro. Not in a creepy way, but in a hero-worship way. He’s an amazing driver. He’s not better than Carrick. He’s just different.
I hold my breath as Carrick nips up on the inside of a corner and takes his place back from Leandro.
Yes!
The race is pretty much that way the whole time. It’s edgy and thrilling with Carrick fighting Leandro for pole position.
We’re on the final lap, and Carrick’s now in the lead, but there’s still that nervousness that he could lose his place in that last moment as Leandro is not one for giving up easily.
Carrick needs to win this. It’ll set his whole course for the rest of the season.
Crossing my fingers, I will him on.
Come on, Carrick. You can do it. Come on…
I’m counting down the last seconds, my heart pumping in my chest and my veins alive with adrenaline.
Then, he crosses the finish line, the checkered flag dropping.
He won! Yes!
I let out the breath I wasn’t even aware I had been holding and do a little happy jig on the spot.
I’m beaming from ear to ear—not just for Carrick, but also for the whole team and myself, too. I didn’t just get to watch, but I got to aid and be part of a Carrick Ryan win. This is only the beginning. There’s more to come. I feel an overwhelming sense of privilege right now.
I’m watching everyone in the garage, all clapping and cheering. The atmosphere is electric.
And I’m catapulted back to all the times I was with my dad when he won and how we would all celebrate in his garage.
I feel a pang in my heart, a painful ache for things long gone.
Dragging myself from the past to the present, I see Carrick climbing out of his car. Removing his helmet and fireproof balaclava, his hair is all stuck to his head, but he still looks amazing, beautiful.
He’s being congratulated by all our team, his dad, Uncle John, and Pierce. Carrick’s grinning and laughing.
Just watching him makes my heart swell, my chest filling with happiness.
Then, Carrick’s face tilts my way, his stare finding mine, and the look he gives me—the depth in his eyes, the smile on his face—leaves me feeling breathlessly staggered, and exhilarated.
In this moment, I realize that I’m massively screwed.
Because I fancy him. Big time.
And now, I have to find a way to deal with that.
Trust me to get a crush on the one man I can’t have.
Pulling in a deep breath, covering my feelings for him, I smile and make my way over to congratulate him.
“I’M BORED.” Carrick drops down into the chair in front of me.
He’s looking as gorgeous as ever, dressed in khaki shorts and a white polo shirt, which shows off the deep golden tan of his skin.
I’m trying really hard not to stare at his arms. They’re just really good arms. Unblemished smooth skin, muscular, sexy veins running along them—they’re the kind of arms you want to lick.
As you can see, my crush is going extremely well. The stopping-it part? Not so well.
We’re in Kuala Lumpur for the second leg of the season. It’s my first time in this country, and I’ve got to say, it’s amazing.
“How can you be bored? It’s only nine thirty in the morning.” I take a bite of my toast.
I’m eating breakfast alone as Petra is still in bed, sleeping off last night’s hangover. Surprisingly, I’m feeling bright this morning, considering how much I drank last night. Carrick came out last night, but he didn’t stay long as he had an early morning training session.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been up since six. Feels like half the day’s gone already.”
“You just left the gym?”
“Yep.”
“Your new trainer kicking your butt?”
Carrick was complaining last night about his dad hiring a trainer for him while he’s here.
Because he’s taller than the average driver, he naturally weighs more, so he has to be careful not to tip the scales.
Carrick might win his races, but he likes to drink, and his diet isn’t exactly healthy. If he’s not careful, he’ll gain weight, putting him at a disadvantage on the tracks—hence, the new diet and training regime.
“The guy is a fucking drill sergeant. I’m bloody starving as well. Muesli was what I was allowed to eat for breakfast. Fucking muesli,” he grumbles.