Read Racing to You: Racing Love, Book 1 for Free Online

you. And you won’t sit next to me?”
    I look down at my twisting hands. He’s been so nice to me, but he’s also made suggestive comments. There’s nothing he can say to get me to sit closer to him.
    The street lamp casts a muted circle of light on the tracks inlaid amongst the cobbles.
    He lies back on the sidewalk, placing his hands under his head. “My coach would kill me for being out here with you.”
    “Why?”
    “Walking. Uphill. At night. Feet up after six p.m. Got to recover from the day’s ride. You?”
    “Huh?”
    “What’s your curfew, book girl?”
    “Oh—um—I don’t know. Nine?” That’s when I’m usually in bed, reading.
    “Any good late-night reading in those books of yours?”
    “Not in the way you think.”
    He turns on his side, his long legs stretching those tight jeans. “And what way am I thinking?” he purrs.
    “Oh my God, stop insinuating.”
    He smirks and his dimple pops out. “Oh, Frenchie, you’re sweet as pie. It’s adorable.”
    “That makes no sense. Pie isn’t adorable.”
    He laughs.
    “Where are you from, anyway?” I ask tightly. His speech has a simple feel to it. It’s very rural, not southern, but he’s definitely not city-born.
    “Pennsylvania,” he says, lying back with his head on his hands again. He stares at the sky. “You?”
    I’m surprised. I expected him to say the Midwest. “I grew up outside of D.C., but I went to undergrad in Philadelphia.”
    “Oh yeah?” He lifts his head to see me. “I grew up less than two hours from Philly.”
    “Really?”
    “Really.” He lays his head back, sighing with fatigue.
    He doesn’t say anything for a while. I wonder if he really is so tired that he should be in bed. “Thanks for sitting with me.”
    “You’re welcome.” He says it like he’s been waiting for it, and now he’s satisfied.
    He lies there with his eyes closed, his face quiet. I brave a look at his jeans again. His thighs stretch wide and tight beneath the denim, and his hips are so lean—I gulp and remind myself to keep breathing. He’s wearing a jacket, hiding his chest, but the hem is pulled up so I can see his belt. His pants ride low on his hips. Very low. He must need the belt to keep them from falling down. Though they’d probably catch on his thighs, the muscles there are so huge.
    “I’d be happy to help with your problem.”
    My gaze shifts to his face. “What problem?” His eyes are still closed. I take a deep breath in relief.
    “You need to get laid, Frenchie.”
    My heart. Stops. Beating.
    “I could help out with that.”
    He did not just say that to me.
    “I’m serious.” He lies there like he’s talking to the sky. “Think about it. It’s the perfect situation. You’ll only be here through, what, June? From now till then, guilt-free sex with this banging hot bod. Then you go home and never see me again, back to your uptight prissy self. No one will ever know.”
    My heart leaps from full stop to full speed, and my lungs pump like bellows. “I—uh—no. That’s not happening.” But my voice is so terrifyingly breathless, I don’t believe myself.
    Chills run my spine and my gut fires to boiling. I need to pinch myself. This can’t be real.
    His lips curve in a lazy grin. Tilting back his chin, he adjusts his hips on the sidewalk. My gaze glues back to the waistband of those jeans.
    And lower.
    I clench my eyes shut. I did not just look at his crotch in those super-tight pants and eye his package and—
    I want to cup him there.
    Ah!
    I cover my ears. Maybe if I can stop hearing things, it will block my thoughts, too.
    The ground rumbles with an approaching tram, but it’s from the wrong direction. It pulls through the intersection without stopping.
    His breath on my neck hits me like whiplash.
    I jounce on the curb. He grips my arm to keep me from pulling away. I didn’t notice him get so close. I take my hands from my ears.
    “What’s wrong?” he whispers against my skin. “Don’t you