1—"Sweetheart"

Elmer Reese

“Neville, your brake pressure is dropping. We need you to box this lap.” I pressed the radio button, my eyes fixed on the telemetry screen.

“Negative. The car feels fine.” A very familiar, smooth, deep voice came through. His voice sounded too casual for someone who could crash at any moment.

If I had known that taking on this job two months ago would increase my BP rate, I wouldn't have taken it.

Things that increase my BP rate:

One: Neville Evans.

Two: Neville Evans.

Three: Neville Evans’ arrogance and cockiness.

Four: How he makes me flustered without doing much.

Five: Neville Evans.

I let out a frustrated sigh. How did he and my brother manage to be friends for so long?

I hate Neville Evans.

“Evans, your front brakes are overheating, and the pressure is inconsistent. You need to pit now,” I said firmly, hoping the idiot would listen.

“I heard you the first time, sweetheart,” Neville said with a short chuckle.

My jaw tightened.

Even though my heart skipped at the sound of his chuckle.

I hated that I felt this way about him.

I hate that he is arrogant, cocky, and a womanizer.

Most of all, I hated that I couldn't avoid him because he is my older brother’s best friend, and now I work for his team.

Phantom GP team.

I shouldn't have taken the job offer!

And I should have buried all these feelings a long time ago. Stupid, stupid, stupid feelings.

“Wonderful. At least we can confirm that your hearing still works. Now, if you’ll kindly put that information to use, enter the pit lane,” I said, trying to calm myself down.

I knew what he was doing, trying to get on my nerves.

He had always managed to do that for years.

“Elmer, brake pressure is dropping further,” Julius Mercer, our performance engineer, said.

“I can see that, Julius,” I answered, trying to resist the urge to scream into the radio at Neville.

I leaned forward, closer to the monitor, reminding myself that I had worked hard to prove myself, and I wouldn't let someone make me look like an idiot at my job.

“Oh boy,” I muttered. Neville was approaching turn seven. “Neville, do not push the car. I repeat, do not push the car.”

Neville was one of the reasons I hated my job on this team, and now he was one of the reasons I would have a heart attack on this circuit.

Then his voice came again. “You're worrying too much, Reese.”

I glanced at the other engineers, who shook their heads, probably trying hard to hold back their laughter.

It wasn't news that Neville and I had never liked each other, even though we had grown up together and he had been my brother’s best friend for more than thirteen years.

“Oh, forgive me for not being less concerned about the possibility of scraping your expensive corpse off the circuit.”

His stupid laughter, low, deep, and rumbling. “Aw, you do care.”

I shut my eyes for a brief second.

Lord, give me strength.

“Box. This. Lap.” I repeated slowly and firmly.

“No,” he refused.

I slowly turned my head to Julius. “Did he just say no?”

“I'm afraid so,” Julius confirmed, his lips pressed together as if he were trying hard not to laugh.

I knew there was only one reason he was here: to watch Neville and me sass each other.

It was ridiculous to people.

But I had reasons to despise that man.

He was a flirt. He was a womanizer. He didn't even remember the people he had been with.

He was cocky and didn't take anything or anyone seriously, and apparently, he barely listened to me on the circuit…

Well, he did sometimes, when I thought he wasn't going to be an asshole. Then he would say something about me being a goody-two-shoes and a judgmental brat.

My eyes were fixed on the screen. Something about his car data was different from what we had before the race. I frowned, snatching the radio.

“Listen, Neville. Your brakes are failing. If you continue at this pace, you may not be able to slow down for the next corner. So, box immediately, and this isn't a request.”

For a moment, there was nothing but a crackle of the radio. Then his infuriating voice came through.

“Can't hear you. Must be the engine.”

“Neville, Neville,” I called into the radio. “He is a lost cause.”

I glanced at the ceiling because if I looked at the screen, my BP rate would go up.

I hoped he wouldn't crash and leave me to explain it to his family.

“He drove past the pit entrance,” one of the other engineers said.

My eyes shot to the screen. I watched him drive past another driver, my heart slamming against my ribs.

“He is going to kill me,” I whispered.

“You mean himself?” Julius glanced at me, and I shot him a look.

On the screen, Neville overtook another car.

The crowd erupted. I didn't enjoy it, just as I wouldn't enjoy explaining why I'd let a grown-ass man drive like a suicidal idiot.

“He is gaining on the leader,” Julius said from beside me.

I clasped my hands together, my teeth clenching.

I swear, I will kill him, resurrect him just to kill him again.

“His laps are incredible,” Julius complimented, and I shot him another glare.

“Evans, the leader is two seconds ahead. You're not going to win anything if you end up embedded in a tyre barrier,” I said into the radio.

“Two seconds?” Neville sounded delighted. “That's practically an invitation.”

“That's not what—”

Then he overtook the leader.

The entire garage erupted into cheers.

Someone behind me shouted his name as the other engineers and I watched him take first place.

“Final lap!” someone shouted again.

I gripped the edge of the desk. This idiot was trying to win a race with failing brakes.

“Neville, don't attempt anything reckless. Keep your distance from the car ahead—”

“There is no car ahead, sweetheart.”

“Then keep yourself away from the bloody wall.”

Neville just laughed.

He laughed when he might end the race with a crash.

F**king idiot. I had never wanted to reach into a radio and strangle someone so badly, but today, I wished I could strangle Neville Evans.

The final sector flashed across the screen.

Neville crossed the finish line.

P1.

And the garage erupted.

I let out a sigh, hoping he would make it back into the pit.

People were cheering, hugging, and celebrating the victory.

The radio crackled.

“Did you see that, sweetheart?” Neville's voice came through.

“Oh, I did, Evans. You attempted suicide.”

“Come on, I won. You should be happy—”

I didn't let him finish before ripping off my headphones.

My racing heart started to calm down, and the instant the idiot pulled up in the out-lap area, people surrounded him.

I would give him a lecture later.

I watched as he grinned. His dark hair was messy and scattered, but he still looked beautiful.

Always beautiful.

There goes the bane of my existence and the source of my obsession.

---

I was going to give Neville a lecture when I headed into the team lounge area.

But now I was standing in the middle of the place with Neville's jacket, which he had left lying around the lounge.

I shouldn't do it here, I knew, but I couldn't help it.

I was clinging to the jacket like some lovesick idiot.

I needed help. I knew it. Maybe an exorcism.

Who could hate and be obsessed with their brother's best friend for five years?

“F**k it,” I cursed, bringing the jacket to my nose.

It smelled like him. That warm, clean scent mixed with his expensive cologne was a personal attack.

I should put it down. I knew that, but I was too greedy, so I brought it to my nose again.

My crotch twitched.

“What the f**k are you doing?”

A familiar voice came from the entrance.

I turned around with Neville's jacket in my hand, and Neville Evans was standing at the entrance.

He was frowning, his gaze dropping to my hand.

No.

No.

He looked confused at first.

Understanding.

Then something else.

Amusement.

A stupid smile spread across those damn lips.

“Interesting.”