Checking the rearview mirror, I saw Roman’s car gaining speed, and gripped the dash harder. Fucking Roman. If Tate wasn’t gone by the time it made the turn, they’d slam us.
“Hit the gas!” I yelled after she’d straightened out the car. “And don’t turn so hard. You’re losing time correcting yourself.”
“Who’s in first place?” she replied haughtily.
“Don’t get cocky.”
But she didn’t listen. She only turned up the music and slammed the stick shift into sixth. We shot forward, and I tensed up but not from nervousness.
I didn’t feel helpless right now, which was weird. Normally, I wanted to be in control, and riding shotgun bugged the hell out of me but now? I liked watching her.
“Next turn is coming. You need to slow down,” I ordered.
She folded her lips between her teeth, but the car’s engine wasn’t slowing down.
What the hell was she doing?
I pinched my eyebrows at her and made my voice deeper. “Tatum, you need to slow down.”
Yeah, that didn’t work.
My heart beat faster the closer we got to the turn, and I grabbed the dash helplessly with both hands as Tate skidded around the corner and spun the wheel left, then right, and then left again to get centered. She was quick, and she and the car were one. It wasn’t smooth or clean. It was fast and dangerous.
“Don’t do that again.” I wanted her safe.
She was going to win, anyway. Roman’s car was behind, and I cringed at the tongue-lashing his girlfriend was probably getting.
Tate didn’t need to be reckless. Not in a car anyway.
I spewed a few more orders her way during the next turn, to which she fucking ignored, and we advanced on the final turn at a significant gain. Slowing down to about thirty miles an hour, Tate looked over at me and smiled sweetly.
“Is this okay, Ms. Daisy?”
Her eyes lit up with a challenge.
She was trying not to laugh, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her full, pursed lips.
And I knew right then and there that I was going to wipe that smug, little grin off of her face.
I wanted Tate—panting and helpless—as I buried myself inside of her. No jokes, no sarcasm, no words. Just me in her eyes.
“Tatum?” I challenged her back. “Stop toying with your opponent and win the damn race already.”
“Yes’m, Ms. Daisy.”
I clenched my fists and my teeth.
God, I couldn’t wait to have her in my hands again.
Tate cruised past the finish line so hilariously slow that the crowd roared more than Madoc’s and my races put together. She brought the car to a stop as the swarms of spectators hovered around the car.
Leaving the Boss in neutral and setting the e-brake, she leaned back and relaxed against the seat.
“Thank you, Jared.” Her voice was almost a whisper, sweet and sincere. “Thank you for asking me to do this.”
My throat tightened.
She reached up and unhooked the necklace from my rearview mirror and slipped it around her slender neck. Her face was thoughtful but comfortable.
The air turned warm, and it was just us.
Tate and Jared.
I combed my hand through my hair, shaking off the déjà vu feeling and opened my door to the cheering crowd.
I stopped and looked down to the floor. “Waking the demon…” I murmured. I don’t know why I picked that song to race to, but it just occurred to me how it fit.
“Thank you, Tate,” I whispered, looking over at her.
“Tatum” didn’t fit. It never did, really.
She was Tate and always would be.