Fueled(book two)(196)

I look over at her as she shoves her arms through her T-shirt and I shake my head. What a f*cking shame to cover those perfect tits up. But I have to admit, I kind of like the idea of a T-shirt with my name emblazoned on it pressed against them. Staking a claim.

A sharp knock sounds on the door and before either of us can respond the door is shoved open. “You guys decent?”

Beckett walks in, fire suit on but the sleeves are tied around his waist.

“And if we weren’t?” I ask a little miffed. What the f*ck if Ry wasn’t dressed yet? Or even worse, laid out beneath me naked and moaning. So not f*cking cool. It’s not like Becks and I haven’t been drunk and f*cking women in the same room before—but f*ck—this is Rylee we’re talking about here. My spark.

“How the f*ck did you get in here?” I ask and he knows I’m pissed at the intrusion. And of course being f*cking Becks, he smirks a little knowing smile to let me know he’s just testing the waters. That he’s pushing my buttons to see where she and I stand.

Beckett looks back and forth between Rylee and myself before tossing the key card on the bed. “From last night,” he says in explanation to his room access. “You guys good now?” He looks over at Rylee, eyes holding hers for a beat, and I can see him searching her face to make sure that she is in fact okay. That we worked our shit out. Fucking Becks. He may be a cocksucker but he’s the best f*cking wing man a guy could ever have.

“Yeah, we’re good now,” she answers him and the soft little smile she gives him has me shaking my head. Could she be any more perfect?

“Good,” he states glancing over at me with a cat ate the canary grin, eyes telling me it’s about f*cking time. “Don’t let it happen again.”

I just shake my head at him as I rise from the bed and start buttoning up my jeans. I glance over to Rylee and notice her eyes watching my fingers trail over the ridged lines of my bare abdomen. The look in her eyes has me wanting to lock Beckett out and drag Rylee to the floor—or shove her up against the wall—I’m not picky and frankly beggars can’t be choosers—until I get my fill of her.

Then again, that might take a long-ass time. I don’t think I’ll ever get my fill of her.

“No time for that lover-boy.” Becks snorts when he sees the look Ry and I exchange. I have half a mind to tell him to get the f*ck out so that I can get one more taste to last me through the race. Especially when I look over and see her cheeks flushed at being caught thinking naughty thoughts.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes before we leave. Make the most of your time.” He winks at Rylee and I know she’s dying of embarrassment right now.

Oh I f*cking plan on it.





The air vibrates with anticipation around me as we walk through the pits. The guys are checking and making sure that everything is in order and ready for the green flag, but let’s face it, they’re just busying their hands to keep from looking nervous. And I f*cking love that my crew gets nervous about a race. Lets me know they care about it as much as I do.

I should be nervous, but I’m not. I look over at Rylee beside me and squeeze her fingers that are laced with mine. She's the reason that I’m not. Fucking Rylee—the balm to soothe all problems: nerves, nightmares, broken souls, and healing hearts.

My new superstition number one—her beside me.

She smiles at me, eyes hidden behind her sunglasses, and the sexiest f*cking smile on those lips.

Out of habit I walk over to the car where it’s parked in front of my pit row designation and rap my knuckles on the hood four times. Superstition number two down. Rylee looks over at me and quirks an eyebrow. I just shrug in response.