Racer (Real Book 7)

Racer

She stayed in my room. Hell if I got any sleep at all. I counted her damn freckles.

Stroked my hand down her back feeling every bump of her spine. Savored her smell like nobody’s business. Fucking ready for the next round when she shifts against me.

She stirs awake, the sheets tangled at our feet, both of us bare fuck naked and my cock is quick to remind me. She starts upright and seems to panic, glancing around the room. “What time is it?”

“It’s an off day,” I rasp out, taking in her tangled hair and her kiss-swollen lips with pure male pride.

“I probably need to get my dad some breakfast,” she says, rolling to the edge of the bed to dial his room.

“Daddy!” she says when he picks up. “Good morning. Have you had breakfast?”

I head over to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth while I listen to her telling her dad she’s going to rest for a bit. As I brush my teeth, I take in her reflection in the mirror while she sits on the bed, the sheets at her waist with her tits poking out, her eyes trailing over my ass and admiring the tattoo of my initials with pure feminine lust because she thinks I’m not looking.

Her eyes widen when our eyes connect in the mirror, and I feel my lips pull up as I wash off my toothbrush, spit out the rest of my toothpaste, and head back into the room feeling very, very hungry and damn possessive of her.

She is, after all, the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with.

Also, and this must be said: she’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.

She shudders on the bed as if she can feel the heat inside me already, pulling the sheet up to her tits.

Her eyes drift down my chest, along my pecs, my ab muscles, down to my very hard cock.

She licks her lips. “Do we have more condoms?” She sounds breathless as she speaks, flushing head to toe as if my mouth hadn’t sucked on those pretty little nipples of hers all night long.

“Nightstand. Or maybe my duffel.” I lean over to check the nightstand while Lana wraps the sheets around her and leaps off the bed to search my duffel. “What are these for?” I hear her ask a moment later.

Glancing past my shoulder as I shut the drawer, I raise my brows and stare at the orange bottle in her hand.

My goddamned lithium pills.

For a moment, I just stare at her, my voice gruff and low. “Emergencies.”

“What kind of emergencies?”

Silence.

I grab them and toss them back into the duffel.

“Come on. Tell me. What are they for? Nothing came out in your physical,” she says.

She frowns at me as she comes back to bed, clutching the sheets to her chest.

I sit down on the side of the bed and drag a hand over the back of my neck, shifting to look at her.

“Racer!” she says.

Yeah, this isn’t how I planned to break it to her.

“I’m manic-depressive,” I husk out.

For a fraction of a second, she doesn’t move.

It feels like it takes a moment for her to piece it together. She stares in puzzlement, and for a second, I dread the look in her eyes changing.

It doesn’t.

They shine in concern. I’m used to lust, but concern from a girl other than my mother and sister? No.

“Manic depressive is …”

“Bipolar,” I say, softly.

“But your physical …”

“It’s not active right now.” I shake my head, clenching my hands at my sides in frustration. This is definitely not how I planned to do this. Fuck me.

“When is it active?”

“I don’t know. Randomly. I haven’t figured out my triggers yet.” I watch her look at me, those gorgeous eyes showing every emotion on her face. Concern, puzzlement, worry.

“So, what is it like? How do you feel when …” She trails off, staring at me.

“Sometimes on top of the world. Sometimes at the bottom, scraping to get up,” I admit.

Those eyes of hers?

Fuck, they’re killing me.

The concern there, the genuine shock and emotion there. I stroke a hand down the back of her head. “I’m okay,” I husk.

“Are you?”

“Fuck yes.” I grin.

But those eyes start to water now. She drops her face and swallows.

I curse softly and reach out to pull her closer to me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. The hurt in her voice nearly cuts me open.

I rake my hands through my hair, shaking my head as a shit-ton of frustration hits me where it damn hurts. “Come on, Lana. Why do you think?”

She looks away, and I can’t fucking have that. I curse under my breath and seize her shoulders.

“Lana,” I say, low but firm. “Look at me.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and presses her cheek to my hand as if she needs my touch for balance. But it fucking unbalances me. Never felt pity for me. Too many good things in my life. I leave that for an episode when it all comes flooding me. But seeing her pain for me cuts me deep, and for a second, I wonder if I’m fucking selfish to want her.

If she wouldn’t be better off without me.

No, she wouldn’t, because I would walk on water, part oceans, and fucking turn green and three times my size for this girl.

I kiss her eyelids.

‘I’m fucking okay. All right?’

She raises her eyes, and bites down on her lip, her eyebrows still joined in a frown of bewildered confusion.

“When were you going to tell me?”

I drink in her features and run my thumb gently down her jawline. “After we won the Grand Prix.” I hold her gaze and will her to know how damn much she means to me. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

“How were you going to do it?”

I smile and almost fucking laugh, ‘cause that’s how fucked up this is. “Hell, I don’t know. Wine you, dine you, ease you into it. Make you wet for it.” I smirk at my own words, but she doesn’t, and my smile fades.

“I told you about David, Racer,” she says, still disappointed and fuck, I know she opened up. I know she wants me to trust her but this isn’t something you just tell a girl like that. Not the one you want to fall for you.

“This is different, Lana.”

“Why?”

“This is my fucking life,” I growl, seizing her face in one hand and drinking in those bewildered green eyes. “And I want you to be a part of it.”

Those eyes seem to flicker at my words.

“I didn’t want to scare you away,” I tell her, resting my head on hers as I inhale and grit out the rest. “Yes, I have it. I can hurt you, Lana. But I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.” I fist her hair in my hand and urge her to keep her eyes on mine. “I want you for real, and I know you want me too. It’s all there, Lana. In your eyes. It’s all there for me to see. I’m going to be okay. I’m going to fight to be okay. I’m the son of one of the world’s greatest fighters, I know how to put up a fight, and I’ll never stop putting it up against this.”

A shudder wracks her body, and when she exhales a deep breath, I do too.

She bites down on her lip and looks at me.

“Tell me about it.”

Hell, I don’t like getting into details. This is my Achilles heel after all. I don’t like remembering it’s there and live my life like it’s not.

But she wants to know. And I want to tell her. Be as real as possible with her.

“Some switch goes off in my head—and I’m either feeling immortal or like I want to die that day.”

“Racer,” she breathes, and I want to punch myself for admitting it so blatantly.

I stop her from turning her face away. “Hey,” I command, looking into her eyes. “Yes, I have it, and it can’t be easy to be with me when I do, but I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life the way I want you, crasher.” I fist my hand in her hair and force her to look up at me. “I want you like nothing in my whole goddamned life, and I’d kill myself before I ever deliberately hurt you. Do you understand?”

She nods, her eyes still shining with emotion. “How did you find out?” she asks, lying down on her side on the bed.

I stretch out on my side and look at her, stroking a hand down her bare arm.

We stroke each other for a couple of minutes, and there’s something about feeling her touch me that relaxes me. That calms the worry of her not taking this well.

“My whole life my parents were concerned about me or Iris having it because of my dad. But I was okay; 19 years, and nothing. Then at 20, something happened. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus or listen. I felt wired, like I was pounding Red Bulls. The next week, I didn’t come out of my room for days; nothing mattered. Nothing seemed important. Even shit I loved. Even music or food. Hate it most when I feel like that. At 21, I was diagnosed, put on Lithium.”

She’s still stroking my shoulder with the same arm I’m caressing, drinking in my every word.

I clench my jaw and stare up at the ceiling as I roll to my back and force myself to continue. “My dad … it was hard for me to deal. Looking at him.”

“Why? Your dad loves you,” she says, confused as she sits up to look into my eyes.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t what he wanted for me. He has it too.” I sit up and twist my mouth, remembering the day my father learned about me. Worst day of my fucking life and I’m only too happy to never remember it again. “It triggered him. I couldn’t fucking deal with the fact that I was a huge disappointment to my father. That his perfect son turned out to have the one thing he didn’t want him to have.”

She swallows, and I push the memory away.

“It’s hard to live up to your dad’s worst fear. It took me some time on meds to stabilize. To look him in the eye and say I don’t want to be this, but I’ll take it.” I smile at her and tweak her nose, gruffly say, “I’ll make it my bitch.”

She laughs. “Racer!”

I chuckle too, grab her skull and pull her closer. “Hey. Don’t ever worry about me. This bitch is mine.”

“And when it’s not?”

“And when it’s not … I’ve got it. That’s what my meds are for,” I tell her, stroking her cheek.

“Is there any way I can know when you’ve been … triggered?”

“I’ll tell you,” I assure her.

“Promise me?”

I look at her, into her eyes, and see my own worst fear reflected back at me. That one day, someone I love won’t understand this, won’t be able to live with this, bear with me through this, and leave. “It’s not going to be pretty,” I rasp.

She shakes her head, a twinkle in her eye. “I’m used to you not being pretty—have you seen your ugly face, Mr. Tate?”

I smile. Then clench my jaw and cover her cheek with my palm, staring down at her. “If I say or do anything to hurt you, Lana …” I rasp, my eyes narrowed.

“You won’t.”

I hope so. Fucking pray so. No, I’ll make it so. “Don’t ever feel sorry for me.”

“Never.”

I peck her lips, rewarding her with my tongue. “Come here,” I quietly summon.

She drops the sheets and slides beneath them, her bare skin flush against mine, getting me all riled up and then some.

“How did your mom take it when she found out about your dad?” she asks.

“She was already too in love with him to care,” he says.

“I can relate,” she mutters. She absently kisses my nipple as she speaks, looking up at me innocently as if she doesn’t realize what she just did or fucking said.

Damn me, it does shit to me.

Makes my balls hurt, my cock swell even more, and my chest feel like it’s doubled in width.

I take in her features as she waits for my reply, and she’ll never fucking know how much I want that. How I’d never thought I’d want that until she crashed my goddamned cherry mustang.

I thought I’d best be a loner, race my heart out, live the single life, not make loving me become anyone’s curse.

Then she happened, and all I can think of is this one girl and how much I want to take care of her.

Fuck, this girl, my girl, takes care of everybody—and I want to be the one taking care of her for a change.

I press my mouth to hers and open her lips with mine, smoothing my hands down her body, my cock continuing to stir hungrily as she moans softly under my kiss.

I’m kissing her raw and fierce because I feel all damn bare, bared my soul right here.

I’ve never been so fucking real with a girl in my life.

For the first time in my life. Bare as fuck before the girl I want. Wanting her to want me back. Letting her glimpse every facet of what makes me up.

And this girl presses her lips back to mine, her body closer against mine, pressing a hot kiss to my dimple. Of all things.

“You’re wonderful, Racer Tate,” she says as she slides her hands around my neck and presses me closer like she needs me like air.

Like she needs me like I fucking need her and need to be inside her right now.

“I know,” I rasp, just to tease her, but maybe I’m lying because nothing has ever felt as wonderful—not even me at my goddamned best—as this green-eyed girl, taking me at my real value, and still wanting more.