Racing Home (Bryant Brothers Book 1)

maybe, just maybe, you’ll warm up enough to give me your opinion.”
“You really want my opinion?”
He shrugged. “Since I started motocross racing, about the only decisions I’ve made on my own are what kind of toothpaste and toilet paper to buy. I’m used to asking for other people’s input.”
“Why is it so important to you to get other people’s input?”
“It’s not that so much as, when it comes to racing, you want to be fast and safe. I can make judgments while I’m on the bike, but those decisions are based solely on what I’m doing, feeling at the moment. I rely on my team to watch from the sidelines and tell me from their perspective what I could improve, what might shave a few milliseconds off my time while making my form look slightly better, and of course, keeping me on the bike and in one piece.”
“I had no idea so much thought went into racing motorcycles.”
“If you’re really interested, I’d bore you with the details, except I’m on vacation, so I don’t want to talk about work right now. Let’s pick out sofas instead.”
They wandered aimlessly for a while, until Tommy said, “See anything you like?”
Yeah, a lot. Camila had an insane urge to start house shopping. This was the first time in her life she’d had any sort of domestic desires beyond wishing for a large kitchen. It was weird, that was for certain. Not to mention, how was it a womanizing, always on the road, professional motorcycle racer gave her such longings?
Instead of acknowledging his question, she asked, “What did you want to talk about?”
He dropped onto a brown leather sectional situated in front of a wall of windows and patted the cushion next to him. Camila hesitantly sat, and he draped his arm across the back of the couch while propping his feet on the rustic-looking coffee table.
A salesman hurried over. Tommy pulled his cap lower over his brow and told the guy they were just window shopping. The older employee pushed a bit more, Tommy shut him down, and he finally wandered away.
“You know that image you have in your head?” Tommy asked after the guy left.
“Which one?”
“The one of me. The sleazy, partying, sleep-with-a-different-woman-every-night celebrity.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes?”
“You’re right.”
“That’s who you are?”
“That’s who I was.”

Chapter Seven
Why was he telling her any of this? He’d not admitted these feelings to anyone—not a single brother or his dad, the one he usually bounced life-changing ideas off of—not his manager, his PR director, his closest friend.
Yet he sat here on a display model couch in a busy furniture store with a woman he’d known for all of twenty-four hours and he was confessing his deepest, darkest secrets?
That was some psychological shit.
“When you say ‘all of it,’ are you referring to racing too?”
That’s why he was telling her. Because for whatever bizarre reason, this woman who was practically a stranger got him. She understood. And she probably didn’t even realize she did.
He nodded while staring at his running shoes. “All of it,” he repeated. “And I don’t think I’m burned out. I just…I don’t know. It’s getting harder and harder to keep up with the younger guys joining the circuit. They’re more aggressive, have more heart. That makes them marginally better, no matter how I look at it.”
“You’ve been doing this since you were five, and you think the new guys have more heart?”
He patted her knee. “They haven’t won yet. They haven’t hit the top of their game yet. I have. I’m one of the best racers in the country. I’ve broken records. I’ve won practically everything there is to win. I’m not saying all this because I’m conceited,” he added, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
“I know.”
See? She got him. It wasn’t even about sexual attraction, although he wasn’t kidding himself that he was practically salivating over the idea of slipping his hand under that tempting casual dress she wore. But this, whatever it was—emotional connection, maybe? This was pretty freaking cool.
“What I’m trying to say is that I’ve already done it all. There’s nothing left to strive for, other than protecting the reputation I already have. But the reality is, I’m going to keep getting older, and, eventually, I’m going to start slipping, falling in the rankings, until everyone on my team is telling me to hang it up and retire.”
“And you want to get out while you’re still on top?”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “That’s probably…no, definitely part of it. But, honestly, I think I’m just ready for the next phase of my life.”
“Which is to play golf and drink beer and live off your earnings?”
He chuckled and gave her knee a squeeze. “Do you have dreams, Camila?”
She didn’t like him turning the tables on her. He could tell by her frown, by the way her lips puckered and tiny lines formed between her eyebrows.
“Everybody has dreams,” she finally said.
“What are yours?”
She shrugged. “My dreams are probably pretty small compared to yours.”
“Try me.”
She stared straight ahead until her eyes lost focus. He tensed, willing her to open up, to let him in.
“I want a big kitchen. Remember I told you I love to cook? Well, I don’t get to do it nearly often enough, since I live in a tiny apartment with a pitiful excuse for a kitchen. Plus, I don’t have anyone to cook for.”
“Or with.”
She gave him the side-eye. “Or with,” she conceded.
He grinned.
“I want a house. On a lake. And I want the kitchen to overlook that lake. Kind of like your parents’ house, except instead of a pool, there’s crystal clear blue water lapping at the beach that’s at the end of the deck.”
I want to marry this