“But if I remember correctly,” Tate spoke up again as conversations around us halted and people started listening, “Jared did say he wanted to race, didn’t he?” she asked the crowd, looking around and egging them on.

They cheered and laughed, clearly liking where she was going with this.

“Tate?” I gritted out, warning her, but she ignored me.

“Yes, yes, he did say that, didn’t he?” she shouted, now having everyone’s attention. “He said he wanted a race, and I think Zack and Jax would be more than happy to adjust the schedule for such a prestigious Loop alumnus.”

I shot a hard look up to the stand, seeing my brother leaning down on the railing grinning his ass off.

I took a deep breath, crossing my arms over my chest. “I said I wanted one race,” I clarified to Tate. “One race with one driver in particular.”

She knew what I wanted. What was she doing?

She turned around, looking into the crowd. “Derek! Derek Roman, where are you?”

“What?” I heard his deep voice from off to my right.

Cocking my head, I saw Roman coming through the crowd, using a shop cloth to clean off his fingers. He must’ve been under the hood of a car.

After all this time, he hadn’t changed much. Still looked like a fifties greaser reject with his slicked black hair and plain T-shirts. We used to run into each other a lot at the Loop when I was in high school, and I knew he worked the Loop with Jax now, helping out and such, but I hadn’t talked to him. We didn’t get along, and Tate knew that.

“You and Jared have unfinished business,” Tate reminded him, and I immediately felt the irritation pool under my skin when I realized what she was doing.

“Your last race together was a tie, wasn’t it?” Tate knew the answer. She was merely reminding everyone.

“No.” Roman shook his head. “I won that race.”

“Like hell you did,” I blurted out, feeling my rival’s challenge like a hot poker in my side.

He laughed, sounding condescending, and I looked over to see Tate’s lips curl in mischief as she held my eyes.

“Derek,” she said softly. “How about a rematch? Your Trans Am against Jared’s bike?”

“That’s a dumb race,” Roman shot back.

“I agree.” I hooded my eyes in boredom. “He has no chance.”

“Fuck you,” he growled.

“Fuck you,” I mumbled, barely meeting his eyes.

“Tensions are hot, everyone.” Tate looked to the crowd, holding up her hands. “What do you say?”

I shifted in irritation as the noise became deafening. Shouts, howls, and cheers rang out in the hot, night air, and I really wanted to shut her up. Like really shut her up.

“I’m not taking this race!” I heard Roman shout. “A sport bike against my car? That’s not fair!”

“Exactly.” I nodded, inching toward Tate and ignoring Ben’s rigid stance beside her. “And I have nothing to prove, so why would I do this?” I asked her.

“Because if you win,” she replied, “you can race me.” And then she looked to Ben. “You okay with that?”

He cocked an eyebrow, his hard stare turning amused. She didn’t need his permission to race, but she was asking him out of respect. Racing her ex-boyfriend—or engaging in any activity with an ex-boyfriend—was crossing a line.

“I’m not worried,” Ben replied, meeting my stare head to head as he spoke to her. “He’ll choke on your dust, babe.”

Ohhs filled the air, and I inhaled a deep breath, just about done tolerating him.

“Well, what about me?” Roman whined. “What do I get?”

Tate walked past me, and I watched as she leaned in close, covering her lips with her hands as she whispered something to him. His eyebrows dug deep and then shot up in surprise, and I immediately knew she had sold him.

I could race him and win, getting what I wanted from her—a little more interaction—but what the hell did she promise him?

He smiled and shrugged. “Okay,” he called out. “Clear the track, everyone!” And he raced off to get his car, I would assume.

Cheers rang out as everyone scurried off the track and huddled to the sides, making room for his car and my bike.

And I just stood there, wondering what the hell had just happened. I ate guys like Roman for breakfast. This wasn’t a race. The maneuverability of my bike alone was an unfair advantage against him.

“What did you promise him?” I asked as Tate walked by.

“I promised him he would win,” she called over her shoulder, following Ben off the track.

I followed. “On no planet would he ever win against a sport bike. Or me.” I added.

She reached over, grabbing my helmet off my bike handle and tossing it to me. “Get it on, get on the starting line, and prove it.”

She stood there, seeming so sure about herself. So calm and unaffected, and I didn’t like this. Any of it.

I missed my Tate. The wildcat who fought back and smiled because she was happy, not because she was planning something to make me squirm. This new cool and calculated woman was a little scary, and I couldn’t keep up.

She walked away, and I swung my leg over my bike, starting it and revving the engine, the high-pitched whir loud enough to drown out any other noise here tonight. I pulled up onto the track and lined myself up next to Roman’s 2002 Pontiac Trans Am.

I loved to race, and even though this didn’t even compare to my usual venues, my heart still pounded like a two ton hammer.

Jax came over, affixing two Go Pros to my handlebars, one facing the track and another facing me. “She’s changed,” I commented to him, slipping on my black helmet.

He nodded, keeping his eyes focused on his task. “She’s definitely harder to impress now, so step up your game.”

I didn’t want to step up my game. I didn’t want to play any game period. I just wanted to take her somewhere. Cry, fight, even let her hit me, but at the end of it all, she’d be in my arms, her storm blue eyes looking up at me and desperate for only what I could give her. That was my Tate.

I jerked, feeling a hand squeeze my shoulder, and I looked behind me to see Tate climbing on the bike in back of me.

What the . . . ?

“What are you doing?” I barked, noticing her clasp Fallon’s half-helmet to her head.

“Riding,” she chirped. “It’s part of the deal.”

“Oh, hell no!” I growled, twisting my head farther around to scowl at her. “It’s too dangerous. Get off!”

“If I don’t go with you, then you don’t get your prize if you win,” she explained, her voice calm and even. “And if you back out of the race now, everyone will think you’re scared.” She shrugged. “Or too stuck-up to indulge us.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, look,” she interrupted, jerking her chin in a cheery voice. “Here we go.”

I darted my gaze to Zack coming off the announcer’s stand and back at her as she adjusted herself on the rear seat.

I breathed in and out, not knowing what to do. Shit!

“Derek Roman,” Zack boomed through the megaphone, “and Jared Trent last raced five years ago this fall! It was one of the most memorable nights we had here . . .”

“Get off!” I whispered over my shoulder to Tate.

“Not happening,” she shot back. “Can’t make this too easy for you, can we?”

My eyes nearly bugged out as realization hit. Fuck. I twisted around to say more, but Zack spoke up again.

“Because it was also the first time we ever saw Tatum Brandt race!” he continued. “To solve the tie between Jared and Derek, we had their girlfriends race. However, the score never really felt settled, and now, five years later, we can give everyone a chance to see who the real winner is!”

Cheers and excited laughter rang out, and I looked over my shoulder, growling low at Tate.

“Get off now,” I ordered. “I can’t race with you hanging on to me!”

I heard her snort as she wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned down into my back. “It’s just a little pond, Jared,” she taunted, throwing my words back at me.