Collided (Dirty Air Series Book 2)

TWO YEARS LATER

I always thought F1 was it for me, the idea of being with someone an impossibility. But I ended up finding love in the very place that was supposed to be my everything.

Sophie single-handedly turned me into an emotional fucker over the years. Ever since she came to spend her summer with Bandini years ago, she scratched away at my rough exterior until nothing was left to protect me from her. Her list captured my attention, but her essence stole everything else. Sophie accepted my secrets. She saw past the man on the stage, not taking my fake display of happiness as anything more than a show.

Sophie upgraded her laminated list to Post-its scattered around the house, the colors switching between neon shades depending on the task or mood. It’s a game we’ve played together for years. Pink Post-its have sexy stuff, blue are happy notes, green includes need to-do or buy items, and yellow has sweet messages she finds on Pinterest.

We still keep our famous list hidden away, only marking off items when we complete them. I didn’t pick easy-to-knock-off items for a reason. It looks like Sophie’s stuck with me forever because she can’t resist a good list.

Every time we plan for something, it usually goes wrong before going absolutely right. The day I planned on proposing, I left the ring at home, unable to pop the question on the Monaco cliff where Sophie stepped out of her comfort zone and took a chance on my crazy idea of testing her control. Since home was hundreds of miles away, I couldn’t hop in a car and grab it.

I changed the idea at the last minute and proposed smack dab in the middle of our bed. Note to the poor schmucks out there: popping the question in bed is wildly underrated because the sex after that type of commitment will blow anyone’s mind.

It stormed on our wedding day, but Sophie insisted we get married outside anyway. We danced in the rain like some old-school movie under the string lights of our backyard. It was one of the most memorable nights of my life, dancing around with my wife, her glitter Vans hidden beneath her wedding gown.

Despite our romantic night under the rainy sky, Sophie got sick after. So, we rescheduled our honeymoon, which was another plan gone amuck in the best way. The doting husband in me tended to her before I caught whatever she had, with her dressing up like a nurse. I can safely say I got the better end of the deal.

I love living in perfect disharmony with her because the best things happen when we’re busy focusing on everything else.

Switching to Vitus opened up a whole new F1 journey for me, my career growing as I help a team rise from the “best of the rest” to a top contender with Bandini and McCoy.

McCoy’s betrayal was a blessing in disguise. It granted me the ability to move on in so many ways, including becoming a better brother, uncle, and lover.

Sophie typically spends the entire F1 season with me, but she left the Prix schedule two weeks ago when she got sick with a bad flu. Her dad and I thought it wouldn’t be a good idea for her to travel while throwing up every time she smelled coffee or cigarettes. She pouted all the way home, but I promised to FaceTime her every day until I could come home for summer break to make up for my betrayal as she puts it.

I brought her a special present I had custom made to cheer her up. Creativity struck and I delivered. The wheels of my car squeal as I park my McCoy Menace car in our driveway, a smile tugging at my lips at the memory of me fucking Sophie against the hood in this very spot.

I unlock our front door quietly, wanting to surprise Sophie. She thinks my plane lands tomorrow instead of today.

She lounges on the couch and scrolls through her phone. I take a moment to get a look at her, the sickly green color she rocked two weeks ago no longer a problem. Her skin has a golden glow that matches her hair cascading around her.

As if she senses me, she looks up from her phone, sending me a breathtaking smile before she bounds off the couch and jumps into my arms. I nearly drop her present on the floor when I grab her.

“You’re back early!” She leaves behind a few kisses on my cheek.

“If this is the welcoming I get, I should stay away longer.”

She pinches my arm when I put her back on her feet. “Next time you should let me know if your flight lands sooner. Imagine if I was in bed with our neighbor.” She looks at the ceiling and catches a breath. What a faker.

“I didn’t think Mrs. Ricci was your type, but grandmas do make good cookies.” I pull her in and give her a quick kiss.

“I know. What do you think I found attractive about her in the first place? God, Liam, not everything is about looks.”

“I think I learned that when you purposefully tried to look bad three years ago and I still wanted to fuck you into next week.”

She smacks me lightly on the shoulder. “It took effort to look that bad. I’m almost disappointed.”

She initiates another kiss, our tongues clashing together after a long time apart. The attraction between us never dulls. Instead, it’s grown stronger over the years, as we’ve learned and appreciated more about each other.

The moment you move in with someone, you learn everything. Like how Sophie needs coffee before all else, including sex. I learned my lesson after one too many grumpy sunrise sex sessions. Now every morning, I bring her coffee in bed. Purely selfish of me, but the smile she gives me every damn day makes walking downstairs with a boner well worth it.

I learned how she enjoys trashy American reality television, resulting in us joining a Bachelor fantasy league, much to my horror. Or how when a storm comes, she likes to lounge in bed all day drawing while I read. She especially loves lying outside and staring up at the night sky, like she told me all those years ago, but now she gets the added bonus of my kisses.

Three years later and I still love her with everything in me.

“I have something for you. You know what they say: happy wife, happy life.” I break away from our kisses.

“That’s the most basic phrase, but damn I love hearing it.”

“Shit. You’re right. Forget happy. I want you to be ecstatic every day of your life, never questioning how you ended up with someone as naughty as I am.”

She lets out a soft laugh. “I’d never question your naughtiness. That’s one of the best parts.”

I grab my present off the couch and place it in her hands. “Well, glad my husband services are working out for you. Here you go.”

“Roses? Out of fabric? You shouldn’t have.”

Even when trying to be nice, she makes the funniest faces. She stares at the present with a confused look, so I help her out with one, grabbing the intricately wrapped rose. I pull it off the detachable stem.

Her smile hits me right in the heart when she reads the words on the shirt.

“What! No way.” She grows excited as she detaches another shirt.

I love the way she laughs, both unabashedly and softly at once. What can I say? She turns me into the sappiest motherfucker on the planet.

She unwraps each shirt, a new slogan tee with a funny or sassy statement staring back at her.

“This is such a great idea!” She holds up a shirt to her chest that says If the love doesn’t feel like 90s R&B I don’t want it.

Sophie throws the shirts on our couch and barrels into me again. She hits me with more kisses and breathless thank-yous, her lips making my body hum and my dick harden.

Have I said I’m a lucky man?

She pulls away after showering me with affection. “Now that you’re here, I couldn’t reach the bin that has all of our spring décor. I wanted to set up the table for dinner with Maya and Noah.”

“My dick’s hard and ready to go and you’re asking me to help you decorate?”

“Yes. Sorry little guy.” She pats my pants, eliciting a groan from me.

“I should fuck you right now to remind you how so not little I am.”

“Sounds like a plan…after you get the bins.” She leaves me with one last kiss before she sits back down on the couch.

“That’s my cue to go.” I step out of our living room and into the kitchen, craving a water bottle before I locate the bins for her. A green Post-it hangs on the front of the stainless-steel fridge next to a photo of us. Buy more snacks. Vague but she knows what she likes. I open up the fridge and find a yellow note dangling near our reusable water bottles, the color standing out against the white interior. Drink more water. We’re all houseplants with more complex emotions. I laugh at that one.

A green Post-it stuck to the edge of the counter catches my attention. Get someone to round out the counter corners. Her clumsiness never ceases to amaze me.

“Getting a little heavy-handed with the Post-its lately. Are you stressed?” My voice carries through the hall.

“Hmm. Maybe,” Sophie says from across the house. I walk through the hall leading to our garage. A yellow Post-it note greets me at the arch, with the saying Twinkle twinkle little star. Weird but I don’t like to judge.

Another green note hangs off a frame of our gallery wall, starkly contrasting against the black and white photos of us over the years. Google if stars come in triplets. I have no clue about that one, but possibly. Maybe I need to call her more and check in if she’s feeling anxious.

A pink note catches my attention on the door that opens to the garage. Save fuel. Ride an F1 racer. I bark out a laugh as I open the garage door. Just another reason I love her because she never stops putting a smile on my face, from her sassy mouth to the way she looks at me like I snatch the stars for her.

I hurl myself over random items scattered around the floor. My feet nearly trip over an old pair of shoes and a discarded scarecrow that scares the shit out of me. Note to self: I really need to clean out the garage. I make it over to the other side where Sophie keeps her seasonal bins. We’re domestic as fuck now, with enough Christmas bins to challenge a small German village.

I look around for the ladder because it isn’t in its usual place. Instead, a tarped object occupies the floor with a blue Post-it taped on top. If you’re reading this, bring my dad a beer. I’m not going to lie; I could totally use a beer right now.

I lift the tarp up to reveal a baby blue kart with a yellow sticky note. Does this kart make me look like my daddy?

I inhale a sharp breath as I run out of the garage, tripping over the same pair of shoes before catching myself. Excitement surges through me because no fucking way. My heart beats against my chest, and my lungs can’t get enough oxygen.

Sophie beams at me from her spot on the couch, blonde hair everywhere, green eyes shining. The best fucking sight in the damn world. She points down at a shirt she wasn’t wearing minutes ago, white block font standing out at me. Pregnant AF.

“Surprise!” She raises her arms in the air.

I lift her off the couch and plant kisses everywhere my lips can reach before I place her carefully back on the cushions. My knees sink down onto the hardwood floor as my fingers lift up the hem of her shirt. I place kisses all over her flat stomach.

“Holy shit, we’re going to be parents?” I can’t believe that question came out of my mouth.

“Turns out the flu wasn’t exactly the flu. More like first trimester tummy troubles, kind of like a bad hangover without alcohol.”

“You know what this means?” I look at her from my spot on the floor, my face no longer kissing her stomach. “You’re protecting the future of F1, the very competitor against Marko Slade.”

She sends me a raised eyebrow. “And if we have a girl?”

“Even better. Nothing like getting your ass handed to you by a badass chick. She’d absolutely wipe the track with him.”

Sophie drops her head back against the couch and laughs with me.

Damn, I love this girl with everything in me. The girl who captured my heart and never let go. The one who wishes on stars, wears sneakers instead of heels, and kisses me senseless every night. The very woman who gave me a happily ever after. Turns out I was the lost prince and she saved me with glitter Vans and a sword crafted from love and selflessness.