I rolled my eyes, knowing how wrong she was. I loved the Loop and my home, and I never let any success I gained go to my head. Anything I said or did to give that impression was simply to get under her skin.

I heard a throat clearing behind me and looked over my shoulder to see Fallon and Juliet smiling in support of their girl. I was kind of alone. Jax was up in the announcer’s stand and Madoc was off to the side, clearly not picking a side and just enjoying the show as his eyes shot between Tate and me.

“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.