Lola POV
“Go, go, go!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, my hands cupped around my mouth, heart pounding like I was the one on the bike. Jace was flying down the far end of the track, dust trailing behind him, helmet low, body tilted just right. It was like watching lightning wrapped in leather.
Beside me sat Danny—his best friend, or… I guess his coach? Manager? I didn’t know what it was called in motocross, but from how intense he looked while watching, this guy knew Jace. Probably better than anyone else.
Danny side-eyed me with a grin tugging at his lips. “You don’t look like his volleyball rival.”
I blinked and glanced at him. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged, still looking out at the track. “You know. All that rivalry drama I heard about? You don’t look like it. You look like someone rooting for her boyfriend to win.”
I scoffed, heat rising to my cheeks. “We’re not—he’s not—I mean… On the court we’re rivals, sure. But off the court…”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “Off the court, you’re what, exactly?”
“Not lovers,” I blurted out.
He laughed. “Didn’t say that. You did.”
I rolled my eyes, but then he leaned in a little closer.
“Look,” he said. “Reyes has never brought a girl to the tracks. Ever. He barely even lets people in this world of his. But he brought you. Twice. And then he invited you to watch him at this competition? That says enough.”
My heart did a little somersault. I didn’t have a reply. Not a real one. So instead, I looked back at the track.
People were screaming now. Everyone around us is on their feet. Some standing on benches. Cameras flashing. Voices rising.
And then I saw him.
Jace.
One lap left.
And he was in the lead.
I jumped up, yelling with the rest of the crowd. “Come on, Reyes! You got this!”
He zoomed past the corner and into the final stretch, faster than I’d ever seen him ride. His bike leaned into the turn, dust exploding beneath his tires, engine roaring. It wasn’t just riding—it was art. Controlled chaos. Pure focus.
And when he crossed the finish line—first—my throat caught.
He did it.
He won.
The crowd erupted.
“Holy shit,” Danny muttered, clapping hard. “He actually pulled it off.”
I barely heard him. I was already running.
Jace slowed to a stop near the sidelines where we’d been sitting. He pulled his bike off the track and killed the engine. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped from his neck. And yet—his face…
He was glowing.
Not just from winning. But from being here. This was his place.
Danny handed him a towel and a bottle of water, and Jace ripped his helmet off, shaking out his hair.
I didn’t wait. I ran straight up to him and threw my arms around his neck. He stumbled back a step, laughing. “Lola! I’m sweaty as hell!”
“I don’t care!” I said, burying my face in his neck. “You were incredible.”
He dropped his helmet to the ground and hugged me tighter. His hands settled on my waist, and for a second, it felt like the whole world paused around us.
Then a loudspeaker crackled to life.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a man’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Gather around for the final results of today’s competition!”
I pulled back and looked at Jace. “Let’s go.”
We made our way to the front of the stage, surrounded by dozens of bikers, girls with signs, and people chanting names. Jace kept his hand on the small of my back the whole time, like he needed to remind himself I was there.
“And in third place,” the announcer called, “we have Marco Serrano!”
Applause.
“Second place, give it up for Elijah Greene!”
More applause. Some boos.
“And in first place…”
I held my breath.
“Taking home the gold, with the fastest lap time of the day, Jace Reyes!”
The crowd went wild.
Jace grinned and jogged up to the podium. I screamed like a total lunatic, clapping my hands until they hurt.
They handed him the trophy—a sleek silver design with fire motifs—and the second they let him off the stage, I bolted toward him.
Without even thinking, I leapt into his arms.
He caught me effortlessly, spinning me once before I wrapped my legs around his waist and crashed my lips into his.
The crowd lost their minds.
I kissed him like I didn’t care who was watching. Like we weren’t rivals. Like none of it mattered. Because at that moment—it didn’t.
“Congratulations, Reyes,” I whispered against his mouth, breathless.
He grinned, chest rising. “Thank you, Sinclair.”