Collided (Dirty Air, #2)

by Lauren Asher

Do you know what happens when you race cars at two hundred plus miles an hour? Adrenaline. I crave a cold beer and a good fuck after a race, except I can’t do anything like that until my recent headlines blow over.

My car zooms past his before I cut in front of him, the dirty air messing with his speed, pushing him into third place.

His tire clips mine at one of the turns, nearly causing me to spin out. Fucking bastard. I pull my car back as I flip him off with a gloved finger.

People underestimate the physical exhaustion that comes with driving these cars, with drivers sweating worse than a billionaire filing for a divorce without a prenup.

Podium ceremonies include a few of my favorite things: winners, popping champagne bottles, and fans. Music booms from the stage speakers, drowning out screams from the crowd.

“Did you buy a vibrator yet? If not, I thought about having a company create a copy of my dick for you. I googled it and found a website that seems legit. You can even pick the color, although I’m partial to Caribbean blue.”

“See, Sophie, I drive like I fuck. Slow, then fast, then slow again until you’re all out of gas. I treat my car like a lover, stroking her before I enter her, only offering the best kind of foreplay for my girl. I don’t recklessly race because I prefer to be attentive. I fuck like I do everything else, with precision and strength—control and care.”

Oh, Liam. So unaware of my conflicting decision between jumping your bones and keeping you as a forever friend.

“I was talking to the champagne bottle, so get your head out of the pit lane. You and I are destined for hell.”