Rhianna’s “Shut Up And Drive” had been playing when Gracie and I entered the stadium.

Now, I need everyone to literally shut up so I can focus and drive.

“Fucking helmet,” I mutter, nervously fidgeting with the straps and shaking my head when I tighten it too much, desperate to ease the tension in my body.

My hair is a mess beneath it, plastered to my forehead from anxiety-induced sweat.

Once I finish adjusting the gear on my head, I glance down at my gloves.

Rolling my shoulders backward, I pull the leather up for good measure.

A tap on my shoulder causes my guard to go up, and I find my head whipping around only to see what I am assuming is an instructor.

My guess is as good as my reading skills.

In other words, they are shit.

God damnit! I should not be thinking about fucking English right now.

“You ready, Reyes?” the man asks, eyes crinkling when he grins.

Offering him a stiff nod, I declare, “I’m always ready.”

His smile widens, and he gives me a clipped nod before jotting something down on a clipboard and moving past me.

My eyes follow him until a certain voice catches my attention.

Frantically looking around for the culprit of the sound, I catch Gracie—my Gracie—leaning over a railing and cheering for me.

I can’t help but smile.

What am I meant to do?

Dark brown, silky-as-hell hair flows down her back, a braid twisted and pulled back on the right side of her head.

My eyes trail over her, and pleasure electrifies itself in me when I check her outfit out for what is probably the fiftyth time.

She is wearing a custom-made jersey, and my name is featured both on the front and back in bold lettering.

Cupping her mouth, she shouts to me, “Nice uniform!”

Smiling like a dope, I yell back to her, “Nice everything!”

With a wink, she leans further over the railing and questions, “Wanna go for another ride later?”

Thank fuck for this helmet, because if she were to see how red my cheeks just turned, it would be over.

“Yeah,” I decide to engage in her teasing. “We’ll see how many different gears you know—and by the way, hun, I’ll have you know I am able to switch them pretty quick.”

“Lucas Reyes!” comes a gruff voice from somewhere near me.

Spinning around, I realize that the race is about to start.

“Good luck, Lucas!” Gracie shouts from the stands. “I hope you’re wearing your good luck charm!”

My stomach does a little pancake flip when I remember the bracelet Gracie made me a while back.

It has different beads and gems that match our eye colors.

Hers are a gorgeous blue, light and icey, both soft and piercing.

Mine are a duller shade of blue—yet still relatively light—with specks of brown in them.

“Come on, Reyes.” the guy gestures for me to walk over toward him.

I listen as instructed and close my eyes, shaking the nerves out and then making a silent plea.

Fuck me.