Off the Grid (Full Throttle, #1)

by K. Bromberg

“I have another confession,” I murmur. “The one where you tell us you’re falling for Riggs?” Gia asks. “Yeah, that part.” The words come out smoothly.

They both pull off their helmets. Grins wide. Hair disheveled. Sweat beading on their skin. But it’s only one racer I’m staring at from behind the darkness of my sunglasses. There’s only one person I want to run and hug fiercely. There’s only one man I’m slowly falling for. And that was never supposed to happen.

“You want to talk about it?” “No.” “Well, tough shit.”

“There’s nothing I can say to make it better and as a man, that’s a hard pill to swallow. We’re supposed to fix things. We’re supposed to make them better. I can’t do any of those things for you, but I can tell you it wasn’t your fault. I can tell you I understand your reasoning, but I disagree with it. And I can tell you all of that is probably the wrong thing to say, but I don’t know what the right thing to say is.”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever told the whole story to, besides my therapist.” “Thank you for trusting me.”

She made me look forward to something other than racing—her. Sure I’ve dated people on and off, but there’s never been someone I wanted to pick up the phone and call to tell something. She did and I do.

“And the ego returns.” “And the ego made you laugh.”

“You snore in your sleep. It’s cute.” “What? I do not.”

Hey, Riggs. Am I the arsehole for lying to my mates about having to go to a work function when all I want to do is hang with the girl I’ve been seeing?” And when he grins and looks into the camera. I swear he’s looking straight at me and the goofy grin I have on my lips.

He tugs on my hand and when I turn back to look at him with the sunset at his back and his storm-cloud gray eyes staring at me, I know I’ve fallen for this man. I’m in love with him.

“No.” He shakes his head with the ghost of a smile. “You made yourself see it. You may have put your trust in me, but you did the work to make yourself feel comfortable to wear this tonight. You did this.” “You’re the one who made me feel safe enough.” My voice wavers and his smile widens. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

And for the first time in my life, I may be racing for Team Moretti, but I race for me and me only. I race for Spencer Riggs. For my future. Not to outrun ghosts I can’t outrun.

And I smile because I have one piece of blue zucchero filato—or as Riggs calls it, candy floss—left.

What I want is to jump into his arms and kiss him senseless. What I do instead is hold the remaining piece of blue cotton candy out for him. Time slows. It’s just him. It’s just me.

He stares at it with the most bittersweet of smiles and then whispers, “Victory is sweet.”

So I do the only thing I can. I mouth to her, “He can’t hurt you again,” seconds before I’m pushed into the garage by my team.

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Even knowing the consequences. Just—don’t follow me. Respect that I need . . . to figure my own shit out. But just know, Cam, I’d do it again.”

You’re it for me, Camilla. The kind of it I never expected, I never wanted. I thought love was for weak men and saps. I’ll be the first to admit I was wrong. Hands down. Head over heels wrong. You drive me crazy but fuck if that madness doesn’t make me love you more. You challenge me. You make me the kind of man who would give up his dream because it’s the right thing to do. And that’s fucking saying a lot. Because I would. I did. And I’d do it a million times over if that’s what you needed, because I’m in fucking love with you.”

“When did you know?” I ask. “Know what?” He plays dumb. “That you love me.” “It was my drunk night in your flat.

“Seriously? I can’t pinpoint one specific event. It’s like one minute you were kissing me in a bar and the next minute you were everywhere.

And I liked that you were. You won me over. Heart by colored heart on the calendar.”

“Victory is sweet,” he whispers, emotion thick in his voice. “It is. I love you Riggs. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.” He chuckles and the sound makes my heart swell. “It is. Good thing we have all the time in the world to figure it out.” He presses another kiss to my lips, the taste of sugar on his tongue. “Victory is most definitely sweet.”

“Okay. You’re ready. So here goes. Am I the Arsehole for falling in love with this incredibly intelligent, beautiful, kind woman and for planning our engagement party before I even ask her to marry me because I’m that desperate for her to be my wife?”

“I’m really here, on my knee, asking the woman I love to marry me. I’m really here, telling her that life hasn’t been the same since my massive fuck up at a bar where I almost lost her before I even knew I wanted her. I’m really here, asking her to take the dare card this time. To marry me. To do this life together with me. To break into private parks for picnics and have a ludicrous, whimsical life together where we never know what comes next but are excited for it because we’ll face it together. Marry me, Gasket. Please.”

“Ludicrous whimsical, huh?” “Not my term.” He laughs. “It’s my wife’s.” Wife.

Let the ludicrous, whimsical adventures begin.