A Shot at Love

Racing Hearts

I slide into the Bugatti Chiron, the black leather cool against my skin. Vibrant blue accents trace the interior, and above me, the windows stretch wide, sunlight pouring in and setting the whole car aglow.

Noah shuts my door with a solid thud and strides to the driver's side, billionaire confidence dripping off him.

"First person to the house wins fifty grand," he calls out with a wickedly charming grin.

Engines rumble in response, the others lighting up with anticipation as they scramble into their cars. The energy flips—sharp, competitive, ready to explode.

Noah eases behind the wheel, his hands gliding over the smooth leather, fingers flexing around the grip. He turns to me, eyes locked, "Safety first, baby."

He leans in, that fresh, clean scent making it impossible to focus on anything but him. His hand skims my collarbone before he pulls the seatbelt across me, clicking it into place. But he doesn't move back. He lingers. His thumb grazes my jaw, tilting my face toward him—and before I can catch my breath, his mouth is on mine.

When I finally pull back, I'm smiling, a little breathless. "Did my boyfriend really bet fifty grand on a race?"

His blue eyes sparkle with mischief as his thumb drags slowly over my bottom lip. "Just having a little birthday fun, baby." He settles back in his seat, pressing the engine start button on the wheel. The Chiron purrs to life, sending a jolt through me. His smirk deepens. "Let's roll."

Noah drops his iPhone onto the phone pad, the Bluetooth connection kicking in instantly. Right on cue, "Big Dawgs" by Hanumankind and Kalmi blasts through the speakers, the bass pulsing through the seats as engines growl, sports cars lining up shoulder to shoulder.

Darcy pops out of the cherry-red Ferrari's window beside us, her torso and head rising above the door as Huggy clutches the wheel tight. She's rocking the oversized sunglasses from the Halloween grid girl costume we gave her earlier, looking every bit the part.

With the checkered flag in one hand and zero hesitation, she throws her arms up and shouts at the top of her lungs, "Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines! Ready, set—GO! Let's ride!"

Noah hits the gas with flawless control, launching us from zero to a hundred in mere seconds. A squeal escapes my lips as I grip the hand rest, my pulse racing with the sheer exhilaration of speed. The roar of the engine vibrates through me as he shifts gears, pushing us faster, blazing past the other sports cars. Despite the speed, the ride is impossibly smooth—and dangerously intoxicating.

I steal a glance at Noah, his profile sharp with focus, his hands steady, completely in his element. Then, as if sensing my gaze, his eyes flick to mine, a dark, devastating smirk curling at the corner of his lips—the one I've come to crave.

He shifts gears again, his hand sliding onto my thigh, his touch deliberate, possessive. A slow caress sends a shiver down my spine before he turns back to the wheel, commanding both the road... and me.

The road narrows into a two-lane stretch as we weave through Napa Valley, vineyards streaking by in flashes of green and gold. With no cars in sight, Priya seizes the moment—her emerald-hued Lamborghini surges forward, slipping into the opposite lane and cutting past us at lightning speed.

Damn, girl.

Behind us, Huggy clings close in the candy apple-red Ferrari, right on our tail. Kimba lags in last with her sleek amethyst McLaren, but something tells me she's just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Up ahead, Priya holds the lead, the Lamborghini flying ahead, but Noah isn't about to let her keep it. With a sharp, calculated move, he takes it back—fast, clean, effortless. My breath catches. For a second, it feels like he's got this locked down—until Kimba comes out of nowhere, gunning it in the McLaren.