Rush: Part One & Two (The Pitstop Series Book 3)

“Come on, come on, Adrian,” I whisper, my hands shaking and my legs bouncing up and down.

I hate watching him struggle in seventh place, but there is nothing he could have done. Eduardo pushed him off the track in the first corner and by the time he rejoined the others, he was in eighteenth place. He’s been making his way back up while Gabriel is occupying the second position, fighting Kyle for first. I keep watching Adrian, and I can’t help but smile when he shoots past James and holds up his pinkie into the air.

“Why is Adrian showing James his pinkie?” someone asks next to me.

I don’t tell them. That story is too personal, and if anyone knew, it could be trouble for both of them. But I can’t help that stupid grin on my face when I replay the memory of the pinkie incident in my head.

It happened about fourteen years ago, and it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed. I remember it as if it happened yesterday, despite the fact that I was so young.

It was on a Saturday, and Grandpa took Adrian, James, and me karting. I was racing against my brother and best friend for a little while, and I remember winning every race against them. Eventually, I had to go to the bathroom, which meant Grandpa went with me, leaving the two idiots alone on the track.

When we came back, Adrian had driven into James, and the Brit broke his pinkie. I don’t know how or why it happened, but I also know a couple of children like them didn’t have common sense. Grandpa took James to the hospital where he had to get his pinkie in a cast and couldn’t move it for an entire month.

From that moment on, Adrian started teasing James about it. Soon, because they were young and not allowed to show each other the middle finger, they chose to use their pinkies instead.

My eyes focus on the screen again, and my heart stops when I see Gabriel trying to move past Kyle. Their cars touch and Gabriel’s front left tire gets a puncture, causing him to spin off the track. I gasp and groan when I see it. I can’t believe he is out of the race now when he was so close to winning. Gabriel gets out of his car, and I sigh with relief when I see he’s okay.

He is frustrated. I can see it in the way he kicks the dirt and puts his hands on his helmet. When they replay the incident, I notice Kyle didn’t leave enough space for Gabriel and practically forced him off the track. That’s why I’m glad when the FIA is investigating the accident.

“You see this here, Valentina, this is what we deal with when a driver crashes,” Tom\masso, Gabriel’s strategist says, interrupting my thoughts.RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

I’ve been working with my boyfriend’s team the entire weekend, studying their strategies, methods, and procedures. I listen to his explanation of the course of action they take.

Moments later, my boyfriend walks through the pit box and toward me. I give him a confused look, but he merely grabs my hand and leads me into his private room, the one where he gets massaged after races.

He rips off his helmet and balaclava, throwing them to the side and closing the distance between us. His arms wrap around my chest, and I lift mine to hug him back, ignoring how sweaty he is.

“Are you sure I should be here?” I ask, and he pulls back to look at me.

Sweat drips down the side of his forehead, and I reach for the towel next to us to wipe it away. His eyes are glassy, making the green in them even more dominant.

“I want you right here and nowhere else,” he replies, claiming my lips. “I need you,” he whispers, sucking on my soft spot and making me forget about his responsibilities.

“Hmmm,” is the only response I give him, although I know it’s wrong.

He lifts me onto the table where his performance coach usually massages him, his tongue slipping into my mouth.

“Gabriel,” I half-say, half-moan. “You have to go talk to your team,” I manage to tell him, but he doesn’t stop kissing me.

“No, I don’t, I don’t have to—” He cuts off, moaning when his groin rubs against my clit. It was a bad idea to wear a skirt today. Well, good because what he is doing feels amazing, but bad because this is not the time or place. “I need you,” he repeats, and I lean back on the table.

I’m trying to focus on the right thing to do, but I’m unable to get into the proper mindset. Instead, I roll my hips, my clit rubbing against his erection. Gabriel’s hand wraps around my neck in a tender, sensual way. I moan in response, and when I open my eyes again, I find him smiling.

“I knew you’d like that.” I bite my lip involuntarily, close my eyes, and my head falls back on the table again. “God,” he moans, and I know I have to stop this. We can’t have sex with his team waiting for him. It’s not right.

“Gabriel, stop.” Without questioning my request, he lets go of my neck and steps back, concern on his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I put both of my hands on his cheeks. My body is aching, and I wish I hadn’t told him to stop.

“You need to go out there. They are waiting for you,” I remind him, and he pulls on the strap of my bra, making my heart jump.

“Fuck that. I need to feel you, be inside of you…” He trails off but then looks away with a thoughtful expression. I force him to look at me again.

“But not here, not like this.” He nods and lets out a deep breath.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Gabriel steps back and guides me off the table. I straighten out my clothes and wipe my lip gloss off his face.

“Don’t be. I’m sorry about your race. I know you were fighting really hard, but you know what, mon amour?” He smiles at me when I call him that, like he always does. “I’m so proud of you, no matter if you win or lose. You are an incredible man, an amazing driver, and I know in the next race you are going to be on top again. I have absolutely no doubt.”

“My pitstop,” he mumbles, and I grin at him.

“Go and talk to your race engineer, look over the data and footage.” His green eyes are focused on my face, and his hands are on my hips.

“This bossy side of you turns me on,” he says, and I step on my tiptoes to press my lips to his.

“Go,” I command, and he smirks at me.

His hands leave my skin, and, as he walks past me, I smack his ass. He turns around again, looks me up and down, and then disappears out of the room with the biggest grin on his face.

Before I leave, I adjust my skirt and tank top, reapply my lip gloss, and then retie my ponytail. I don’t need anyone to know we were making out in here, if they don’t already notice by the way Gabriel’s erection is pressing against his race suit. It was quite tight in the front when he walked out of the room. My smile reveals my feelings, but luckily, there is no one around to see my wicked expression.

I stroll back out just in time to see Adrian overtake Eduardo and finish in third place. I clutch my hands together in excitement and jump up and down.

“Yes,” I whisper when I see James is in second place. He must have overtaken Adrian sometime during the race again, and Cameron is in fifth.

My happiness soon fades when I see Kyle didn’t even get a penalty.

“What the fuck?” I say more to myself, but Gabriel’s arms wrap around me from behind, and he answers my unspoken question.

“I know, apparently it was a racing incident and nothing to investigate any further. Trust me, I’m just as angry as you. Well, probably not as angry. I mean there is steam coming out of your ears.” I turn around and nudge his arm. “Hey, ouchie,” he playfully complains but then smiles at me. “I’m going to go and be interviewed, but I’ll see you later, ma chérie.” He kisses my cheek, and I make my way outside to give my big brother a hug and celebrate with him.

Adrian, James, and Kyle get out of their cars, and, unsurprisingly, while Kyle is being interviewed, James and Adrian hold up their pinkies to each other. They’re laughing and talking until it is their turn.

Before they go up to the podium, James and Adrian come to hug their team and me. They are both sweaty, but, yet again, I don’t mind. They are my family and I love them, even when they’re sweaty, smelly, and all.

After the celebrations, Tomasso and Hector do their best to give me a few more lessons on what a driver is meant to do after a race. I take notes, unwilling to forget even the smallest detail I’ve learned this weekend.

“Valentina,” a familiar voice fills my ears, but I can’t identify who it belongs to until I turn around.

Lorenzo Mattia, the boss of the Ferrari team, approaches me, an approving smile on his face.

“How are you?” he asks and offers his hand for me to shake.

“Very well. Thank you so much for this opportunity, sir,” I reply in Italian because I spent all weekend memorizing this sentence to impress him, which he seems to be.

“You’re welcome,” he states before switching back to English. “I must say, I am very impressed with you. There has hardly been a trainee as determined to learn as you. You’ve shown nothing but kindness to my team, and I will let Andrea know how well you’ve done,” he says and squeezes my shoulder.

I’m about to respond when he starts a conversation with Tomasso instead.

“Come on,” I hear Adrian say from beside me, taking my hand to lead me away from the team I don’t ever want to leave.

I belong here, this has become more than clear to me over the past four days. There is nothing I won’t do to get back here.