“You’re cute and all, but you’re young.” Royce nudged Ethan out of the way and stood. “You’re what…twenty-three? I’ve got almost ten years on you.” He patted Ethan’s shoulder. “Better luck next time.”

Before Ethan could form a coherent response, Royce left the motor coach. The door clicked shut and realization struck. Of all the guys to wander in and out of his life, this one, Royce Darden, the guy who looked good without trying, didn’t want any piece of him.

So why did he seem to stick fast in Ethan’s mind?  Who knew? Ethan replayed the post race interview over and over in his head. Your fenders are bent all to hell and you’ve managed to upset three-quarters of the field. Despite that, you finish well. You’re booed.  How do you like being the bad guy?

When the perky woman asking him the questions stopped talking, he stared at her. He knew what he’d wanted to say, but the words didn’t come right away.

“Just doing my job,” he’d said. “The boos spur me on. Who doesn’t want to be the bad ass? Guys know not to try stuff with me because I’ll put the stomp on them. Besides, you’re talking to me, not them. Score one for me.”

What an ass. He sounded confident to the point of being cocky. He rolled his eyes at himself and plopped onto the couch. Being the jerk sucked. All those race machines torn up for what? So he could look cool? Good finishes meant more attention. Might even score him a date with Royce for that matter. Royce probably wanted a mature guy, a guy who raced like a pro… not a dumb kid.

Screw it. He wanted Royce and wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He’d prove he wasn’t a kid—just as soon as he found the man he wanted.