Racing to You: Racing Love, Book 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

isn’t serious.
    “No. I’m usually—”
    “Reading?”
    “Yes.”
    “How’s that going? Oh—oops.” He cuts himself off with a hand over his mouth. “Forgot. Not supposed to ask. Stupid jock who can’t read.”
    I can’t tell if he’s joking or hurt. Maybe both.
    “Sorry.” I’m surprised how easily the apology slips out. It doesn’t make me feel vulnerable, it makes me feel relieved.
    He doesn’t respond.
    Maybe he really is mad. “You were right.” The words are slow in my throat, but I force them out. “I’m not very good at—making friends.”
    He shakes his head and chuckles. “We’re in a truce, Frenchie. Stop it.”
    “Stop it?”
    “You. Being all mousey. It’s a crap act. Are you scared or something?”
    “No,” I snap too fast. I don’t want him to know I’m nervous. This is feeling more like a walk in the dark with him than an escort to the tram stop. There’s no one else around. After the carnival, it’s jarring.
    “It’s only two more blocks, okay? I’ll get you there, don’t worry. What are you doing down here alone? You looked scared as shit on the street.”
    “You already figured out I’m not good at making friends. The ones who brought me here, well—I don’t like parties.”
    “So, the wine on your coat and your hair. Somebody spill something on you?”
    I don’t think he’s making fun of me, but I’m not sure. So I keep walking, not responding.
    An awkward quiet settles between us, the noise of the carnival in the distance. He hums for something to say. “You do anything for fun besides read, Frenchie?”
    “My name’s Aurelia.” His nicknames grate on me. “Frenchie” is better than “sweetheart”, I guess.
    “You always so serious?”
    “Reading French is fun.” I flush, remembering how I told him I read Proust for fun. Only two more blocks to go.
    “Right.”
    “You ride bikes for fun.” I speed up next to him. “That’s not exactly my idea of a good time either.”
    “Riding bikes is work. I enjoy it, but it’s not what I do for fun.” His voice floods hot and thick. “I do—other things for fun.”
    My lungs tighten. An embarrassing urge to giggle wrenches my throat. I bite my tongue to keep it down. Did he really just suggest—
    “I’m guessing you don’t do those things either.” His tongue drawls over the words in sensual suggestion.
    My eyes are saucers, and I brave a stare at him. I must be reading too much into his words. But no. The “things” he’s thinking steam from his liquid eyes and wicked, curving mouth.
    His mouth. I wonder what things he does with it.
    I jerk my eyes to the pavement, my feet still moving, my brain addled. He’s shameless. “Asshole,” I whisper.
    “Maybe,” he whispers back.

Chapter Seven
    I should be running from him, dismissing him, saying goodbye. He’s nothing like the kind of guy I’m interested in.
    But not only am I interested, I’m—blood-pumpingly aroused. My breaths are as jagged as my thoughts. I knew I should have stayed home with my books.
    I didn’t, and I’m not home yet. I’m not even to the damn tram stop. He’s here, walking next to me.
    We round a corner, and he points down the block. “It’s there.”
    The tram stop is quiet but well-lit. There’s no one here. I could wait by myself and be perfectly safe.
    I’m breathing fast. It’s just from walking up a steep hill. It’s not because he’s now looking at me.
    “This is it,” he says. The amusement is back in his tone, like I never insulted him. He doesn’t seem to care that I called him an a-hole.
    I could be sitting on this curb until dawn waiting for the next tram to come.
    He plops down on the curb next to a lamp post and stretches his legs. His shoulders hunch, and he massages his thighs.
    I sit at a distance, with the lamp between us.
    “Seriously?” He leans around the post. “I save you from a mob, show you a surreal light show from my awesome place, walk you to the tram, sit to wait with