2. Carson

I sign on the dotted line in one of the executive offices at the stadium, surrounded by lawyers, Jenny, and Brayden goddamn Beckett.

He's here.

I can't believe I'm officially signing onto the same team as Brayden Beckett. The man is a legend. And he may only be ten years older than me, but that doesn't mean I haven't followed his career since I was in grade school.

Haven't fantasized about being on the track next to him—and okay, maybe I've fantasized about some other things as well, but right now is so not the time to think about that. The man is gorgeous though. He has that brooding, angry, sexy thing down. With piercing blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and a little bit of scruff on his chiseled jaw—yeah, he's a gay dude's wet dream.

And he's, for sure, this gay dude's greatest fantasy come to life. But getting a boner while signing in this stuffy room with a bunch of lawyers and my new boss just isn't a good look. So I force myself to not look in Brayden's direction.

The man just does something to me. I swear. He's standing in the corner, his face set in a stern, angry mode and trying to look bored. But I know it bugs the shit out of him that I'm now on his team.

Why? I have no idea. I think we'd make the perfect pair.

His experience and skill and my fearlessness and eagerness to win. That's a recipe for success if I've ever seen one.

"Welcome to the team." Miles Tanner slaps my shoulder happily and lights up a cigar, offering me one.

I take it, but I don't light it up. And no–not because I'm actually a minor like Brayden implied. I'm twenty-one, thank you very much. I could even have a beer to celebrate.

Hmm.I wonder if Brayden would go out with me to celebrate.

I look over in his direction, making it almost a full minute before doing so. He's glowering at me from his spot in the corner, and it takes everything inside me not to shrink back.

I won't be a withering little flower around the Ace. I don't shrivel up and grovel at his feet like most do either. Hell, I swear even Axel Lennon kisses his ass. Perhaps that's why he can't stand me. Maybe he needs his big bad ego stroked, but it's not happening.

Sure, I respect him for what he is, but I'm not kneeling to anyone. Well I mean, I would kneel if he'd let me suck his dick, I suppose. But again, can't let my mind go there—no-boner zone— and I'm still not praising his racing skills.

He's good. But so am I.

And I'm going to prove it to him.

We finish up, and soon, everyone else leaves except Brayden and me. I swear it makes me stupid when I'm near him. I can't quite think.

"You really think you've made it, don't you?" he asks coolly, still standing by the door. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, cloaking that arrogant air around him.

"I know I did," I say cockily because I can. Because I know I belong here. I've worked really damn hard to be here, and no one is taking that away from me.

He walks toward me, placing his hands on the table I'm seated at and meeting my eyes. "This is playing with the big boys now. You really think you're cut out for that, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," I say, standing up to my full height, which is only about an inch taller than him, but it counts.

"Yes." He steps closer to me, his chest nearly bumping mine now. "You are."

I hate that he sees me that way. Like I don't belong here. Like I'm a damn child, when I'm not. "I'm not," I restate. "Not even close. What are you afraid of, Ace? You really afraid to share that track with little ole me?"

His eyes roam over my body, his expression giving nothing away, but shit, I feel it. It's like his eyes are stroking me, his fire licking at my skin. "I'm not afraid of anything. If anyone should be scared, it's you."

I stand up a little taller and try like hell not to show how he's affecting me, or mainly my dick at the moment—fucker wants to perk right up in his presence. It wants to escape the confines of my jeans and introduce itself to Brayden, but I can't let him have that satisfaction.

"I'm not scared. I'm excited. You remember what that's like, right, old man?"

He growls—and I mean full-on growls—and it does things to me. And now, I have no control over my dick any more. It's at full mast, seeking him out and trying to punch through my damn zipper. "You'll be shaking in your damn boots the first time you're out there with the real pros." He leans into me, and holy hell, I might pass out from the rapid blood flow going from my head to my dick. "Watch yourself, rookie."

His shoulder bumps mine as he walks past me and out the door. Not saying another word and not needing to.

An excited shiver goes through me as I think over the day's events.

Nah, I'm not scared.

I am fucking ready.