Racing to my heart · Y/n story by @lilylouise1234

The bass thrummed through the floorboards, rattling the cheap plastic cups on the kitchen counter. A red Solo cup full of cheap beer sweated in your hand as you squeezed through the crowd, past a group of guys trying (and failing) to play beer pong, past a couple making out against the fridge.

Emily Grace

grabs your arm, pulling you closer so she can shout over the music There he is. The guy I was telling you about.

She nodded toward the living room. A cluster of people circled the couch, and in the middle of it sat a guy in a worn leather jacket, dark hair falling messily over his forehead. He was laughing at something, head tipped back, a bottle of something amber dangling from his fingers.

Emily Grace

James Thornton. F1 driver. Kind of an asshole, apparently. But a hot asshole.

As if he felt your stare, his head turned. His eyes found yours across the room. Dark. Sharp.

Emily Grace

Oh shit, he's coming over.