Kendall's story. Description to come.
Tropes: strangers to friends to lovers, new adult, good girl/bad boy, ballerina, street racer, Formula One, diabetes awareness, she saves him
"Did you see that guy on the plane?" I ask, tossing my bag into the trunk. "He was cutting his toenails. How did he get the nail clippers past security?"
River sets his suitcase beside mine, closes the hatch, and leans against the glossy muscle car. When his eyes meet mine, he's amused. "You've never flown coach, have you?"
My cheeks heat, and it has nothing to do with the balmy weather in Las Vegas. "Is it obvious?"
River reaches for me, skating his thumb across my cheekbone. He wants to feel my blush for himself. His gaze dips to my mouth, he swallows, and then he refocuses. "Have you ever been in a passenger jet, or just private?"
Despite being dazed by his overt affection, I manage to keep my attitude with an eye roll. "My parents aren't that rich. My dad's a glorified lumberjack." I ponder that, adding, "My uncle is a billionaire, though. His company has its own airline."
River spins the keys on one finger. "What does he do for work?"
"Mischief, primarily," I jest, furrowing my brow at our rental. We're in a garage beneath Harry Reid International Airport. We took an early flight, but with the time change, it's barely noon in Nevada. "Why did we need to rent a car?"
"There isn't a subway system in Vegas, doll," he drawls, removing something from the back pocket of his jeans.
It's an elongated billfold, with a single dose of insulin inside. I try not to ogle as he tugs his t-shirt up, revealing ridged abdominals and smooth, unmarked skin. River bites the hem of his shirt, securing it there, and concentrates on injecting his medication. Administering insulin has never been so sexy. River should be the posterchild for type 1 diabetes.
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I clear my throat, scratching my hairline. "I know there isn't a subway, but we could Uber to the hotel and racetrack."
"Absolutely not," River huffs, affronted. He caps the syringe, returning it to the billfold. "I don't get in a car unless I'm behind the wheel."
I chuckle at the sign of his distaste. "So, you'd never let me drive?"
"Do you want to?" he offers, his demeanor changing to surprise.
"No. I'm terrible."
"You can't be that bad."
"Would you like to see for yourself?" I challenge, holding my hand out.
River smirks, setting the keys in the center of my palm.
Ten seconds later, I'm behind the wheel of a Dodge Hellcat, adjusting the seat to my specifications. River waits patiently on the passenger side, rapping his knuckles on his knee. I tilt the mirrors back and forth, making sure I have the perfect angle. He watches me with a twinkle in his multicolored eyes, but doesn't interrupt the process.
