Dressed in the same gray suit I wore at the gala in Barcelona, I pace at the foot of the bed. Tugging on my cuff, I look at my wristwatch. Five minutes until seven. I should get going. Whatever is going to happen—or not happen—at the final team dinner, there's no need for me to be late. As I leave the room and wait for the lift, I recall the note I'd written hours earlier. Tucked into a bouquet of pink and white flowers, I had it sent to Lauren's room two floors up.

At midnight, we are no longer teammates. If I can come over to say what I can't before, pin one of these on Marcus' jacket. -S

Maybe it was stupid. Hell, I sounded completely desperate. I should have just written congratulations and left it at that. But the thing is, I am desperate. Desperate to let her know how I feel, ready to accept rejection if she doesn't want me back. Closure, I think they call it.

Downstairs, a couple of the guys are already getting the party started. Scotty and Enzo are halfway done with their beers, while Tomas has just downed a shot when I sit down. Two long tables have been pushed together and the rest of our dozen-strong group is slowly trickling into Meat Street, the hotel's signature steakhouse. Of course Lauren and her father have to be last, arriving with Nigel twenty minutes late. I nearly choke on my water when Marcus steps out from behind the team manager, an off-white rose pinned to his lapel. So that's a definite yes.

I wave at Lauren, gorgeous—as always—in a strappy, camisole top and slacks that make her legs seem like they go on forever. She smiles back before sitting on the other end, dashing my hopes of staring at her all evening. That would probably be creepy, anyway.

"Ahem. If I could get everyone's attention, please." Nigel stands at the head of the table, knocking his fork against his glass. A waiter had already passed out champagne to everyone but us riders, the only underage members of the group. I squint at my glass of ice water. Stupid American laws.

"I promise I'll make this quick, but I wanted to say a few words before this season officially ends," Nigel says as all eyes turn to him. "First of all," he continues, taking a plastic shopping bag out from under the table. "Does anyone know where I could sell a thousand of these? One hundred percent cotton and half-off." He pulls out a white T-shirt with the Cadmium Racing logo, a huge number "1" and "Bianchi x2" on it.

The table waits for my reaction, but when I laugh—what else am I going to do—everyone joins in.

"Seriously, though." Nigel turns to me and tips his glass. "We've been lucky to have ya with us for the past three years, mate, and it hurts us just as much that you're not going out on the high note ya deserve."

I have to hold my breath for a second before clearing my throat, the looks of genuine sympathy from my crew around the table almost making me tear up. Maybe I should've just taken a comfortable fourth place finish instead of battling Martin for third. These guys worked so hard all season for me to be world champion again, and now I've let all of them down.

But I just couldn't get that bastard's face out of my mind as he taunted me after the Italian race. I thought I had him, too, but after overtaking on the inside of turn six, I drifted wide and left myself open. By the time we got to the Corkscrew, it was personal. Riding out of passion is one thing, but riding out of anger usually ends badly. Today was no exception.

Imitating Lauren's form on the infamous combination that drops twelve percent in elevation between elements, my confidence outpaced my skill. Only by aggressively decelerating and running into the gravel did I manage to avoid serious injury. But it also meant my race was effectively over, and Diego Martin secured third place while I could only rejoin in fifth.

"With that said, it's off to bigger and better now ain't it?" Nigel waves for me to stand.

I hate speeches, so I had practiced something short and to the point. Pushing my chair back, I steady myself against the table. From this height, I finally get a peek at Lauren again, and the way she's looking at me—with an impossible blend of affection in her smile and sadness in her eyes—makes me blank on what I wanted to say. Lowering my gaze, I shake my head and clear my throat. When I look up, I make sure to avoid the girl's face or I'd never get through this.

"Thank you, Nigel, and everyone. Cadmium has become like my family and you helped me be a better person, not only a better racer. But after four years and one championship," I say, pausing to grimace and making everyone laugh again. "It is time for me to challenge myself. So that is why I have joined the Team Castello Ducati in 2Prix for next year. Thank you all for everything." I sit back down and take a sip of water. Finally saying it out loud is a relief. It means there is no going back. I just wish I had the courage to observe Lauren's reaction to the news first-hand. I'll now have to wait until later to find out what she thinks of my decision.

"That's right," Nigel says. "With Andrea Moretti retiring from PrixMoto and Elia Giacona moving up to take his place, Seb was a natural fit to join the Castello team. Again, we're sorry to see you go, but ya couldn't have made a better choice." He smiles before looking around the table. "But don't you worry gents and ladies, because in addition to Austin returning to Cadmium in January, we'll also have some new blood on the team."

Murmurs spread through the group; the team manager must have been keeping his plans from the others too, not just me. Does it also mean Lauren isn't staying with Cadmium? I honestly wasn't expecting Nigel to have two Americans riding for an Italian brand, but it would have been a nice surprise if he did. So now I'm not the only one who'll be facing a change.

"The official announcement will come tomorrow morning, but I'm pleased to confirm that we've signed Ana-Maria Perez who just took second in the Spanish national 3Prix series," Nigel says.

Another girl in 3Prix. Good for Cadmium. Having Lauren on the team this year seems to have worked out well enough to not mess with the formula. I wonder if anything else affected the decision besides her nationality. Or maybe it wasn't their decision. What if she turned them down for an even better opportunity?

Leaning forward, I try to sneak another glance at Lauren. I can't tell what she thinks of the news; she's drinking, hidden behind her water glass. We can talk about this later, too, but do I really have to wait until midnight? I thought it would be all romantic and stuff, but now I totally regret picking such a late time. Of course, I honestly don't want to be doing too much talking even then, if she's cool with it.

"I thought the news of Dai Mura moving to Superbike was a surprise, but this is something else. Congratulations, mate," Scotty says, slapping me on the back.

"Thank you." I turn to shake the burly Aussie's hand. He's a good engineer, and I'll miss working with him. Well, it's not like we'll be too far apart. Just a few pit boxes, probably. "See you in the paddock?"

"Damn straight." He grins before taking a sip of his champagne.

Nigel continues, "And obviously this means that we have to also say goodbye to our Persephone."

I wipe my palms on my trousers. This is the end. It's really happening.

"Lauren, it has been a pleasure working with ya. Things have been interesting to say the least, but what you achieved today was truly special and we're proud you did it with Cadmium." Nigel raises his glass again. "You have big things ahead of you, wherever you go next. Cheers."

She graciously nods, but there's no big announcement from her. This better not mean what I think it means, but apart from the post twenty-one crowd getting a little—okay, some very—tipsy, the rest of dinner is uneventful. I exchange a few private words with pretty much everyone, but I'm not in the mood for proper thank you's. I'll see most of them on the plane back to Rome tomorrow, anyway.

I wish Nando could have joined us, but this was a closed team dinner, plus he's probably having more fun with some Cali girl anyway. I linger in the restaurant longer than I really want just to make the time pass, but when I return to my room, it's still only ten. After spending another fifteen minutes internally debating whether to stay in my formalwear, I change into sweats and a long-sleeve shirt. Hopefully Lauren isn't expecting Prince Charming on her doorstep; even Cinderella turned back into her normal self at the stroke of midnight.

Late-night American television isn't much of a distraction. The local news is plain depressing, and the talk-shows just try to spin the same thing with humor. I snap the TV off. No thanks. By now, there's only an hour left. Should I just go? Would Lauren send me away if I were an hour early? I'm so goddamned antsy, I get up from the bed and pace. No, I said twelve, and I'm sticking to it. But that wouldn't happen for—I check my wristwatch again—another fifty-three minutes.

I ball my fists and grunt. What the hell am I doing? Is a girl worth this much frustration? I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, recalling a particular moment in the garage just hours ago. Lauren had just made 3Prix history, but she headed straight for me. In spite of her happiness, she still cared about my disappointment. All the other girls I've known before her were never like that. I may have been treated like a king during times of victory, but it was a proverbial drought when the wins stopped.

I open my eyes and grin. Hell yeah, she's worth it.

Grabbing my laptop, I find a stream of the race. I usually wait a few days to analyze the would've, should've, could haves, but this time I'm less interested in my own performance. Luckily the broadcast director also knew that Lauren was worth watching, and much of the coverage is focused on her. She fell back a few spots at the start, but she maintained her position and held off some pretty solid attempts at being overtaken for the next twenty-five laps.

I fast-forward through the part where I advanced on Diego. It literally just happened, so I don't need to relive how everything went to shit. Two laps later, the checkered flag comes down on Butler. Stopping the feed, I minimize the window and glance at the computer's clock. Oh, shit. It's two minutes past twelve.

I jump out of bed, tap my pocket for the room key and am almost out the door when I turn. Damn, almost forgot something. Running into the bathroom, I rummage around in my toiletries bag and pull out a box. I take out a foil-packed condom and search for the expiration date. It would be just my luck if it had expired. Phew. Still good. Sticking it into my pocket, I look at the box again. What the hell. I pull out two more and put those away, too. Better prepared than not, right?

Leaving the room, I head for the lift, but even after I press the call button, the light is stuck five floors up for what feels like forever. Growing impatient, I look for an exit sign.

Bounding up the steps, the sound of my sports shoes echoes in the stairwell. When I get to Lauren's floor, I have to stop to catch my breath. I'm a premiere athlete. I shouldn't have trouble with two flights of stairs. Is it nerves? Chill out, I tell myself. You've done this before. Then why am I so excited as if it was the first time?

Heading down the hall, I mentally read the numbers on the doors I pass. 315 on the right. 316 on the left. 317 on the right. And finally, 318 on the left. I stop. Raising my fist, I knock three times. At least ten seconds pass with no answer. Maybe she didn't hear? I knock again.

Nothing.

Well, fuck. Did I just get stood up? Sticking my hands in my pockets, I turn and walk toward the lift. It's closer than the stairs, anyway.

Maybe her tears in the garage this afternoon were just out of pity. Maybe she remembered she was still mad at me for something. Maybe she decided that what could very well be a one-night stand wasn't worth it. As I round the corner, I nearly get run over.

"Lauren?" I look down at the girl who bumped straight into me. Barefoot and wearing nothing but a t-shirt and tiny shorts, she looks just as surprised to see me as I her. "What are you doing out here?" I ask the obvious for the lack of a better question.

"Oh my god. It wasn't you," she says with relief, rubbing her forehead. "I accidentally fell asleep then I thought I heard knocking, but by the time I opened the door no one was there. I thought I missed you so I ran to the elevator, but everything was empty so I went all the way to the other end of the floor—"

"It is okay," I cut off her rambling and smile. Maybe she does want me here. "Do you want to go back now?" I ask, nodding to her room.

"Oh, of course," she says, turning her keycard between her fingers.

My heart is beating out of my chest as I follow her to the door and wait for her to go inside. "May I come too?" I ask, just in case she'd changed her mind, praying to every deity imaginable—hell, I'll throw in Father Christmas, djinns and the Easter bunny too, if that'll help—that she hasn't.

Lauren pushes the door open wider and steps aside. "Absolutely."

I can't get in the room fast enough, yanking the 'do not disturb' sign off the handle so hard it almost rips before sticking it outside. Letting the door click shut, I also secure the extra latch lock. If things go well, I don't need an over-eager housekeeper walking in on us tomorrow.

Lauren is standing by the bed, and I go to her. When she puts her hands on my arms, I gently grab her by the waist and pull her close.

"So . . . you had something you wanted to tell me?" she whispers as her eyes dart between mine.

Right. The note with the flowers. I don't know if she remembers all—or even any—of our conversation back in her room in Germany, but there's an admission I've been waiting to make ever since. "I like you," I say.

She giggles and tilts her head to the side. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

I guess she does remember, and for a brief moment, we stand and just stare at each other. I finally brush a lock of silky, brown hair over her shoulder. She rarely has it down like this, and I'm tempted to run my fingers through it.

"Sei bellissima," I whisper, complimenting on her beauty.

She self-consciously wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, and it's the sexiest thing I've ever fucking seen. Leaning my head down, I barely graze the base of her neck with my lips. She smells amazing: a mix of strawberries and vanilla. Leaving a soft trail of kisses on her skin, I work my way up until stopping below her ear. Lauren gasps, tugging at the bottom of my shirt with one hand while toying with the waistband of my sweatpants with the other.

"Wait." I pull away. No matter how much I want to jump into this, there's something I need to know first. I guess Mamma raised me right, after all.

"Oh." Confusion washes over her face as she drops her hands to her side. "I just thought that with the boutonniere, which was hella romantic by the way—"

Shit. She has it all wrong. "No, that's not it. This is what I want." I lightly touch her face. "It really is. But what if we wake tomorrow and never see each other again? I do not want to do that. Not any more."

Her expression relaxes. "Of course I know that. And neither do I, but . . . but if you've been worried about getting into something that may not have a future, then why the note?" She motions toward the flowers on the dresser.

I shrug as guilt momentarily replaces arousal. If we are going to back off, this is pretty much the last second to do it. However it plays out, I'm going to follow her lead. "I hoped you would have an announcement like me at dinner," I say, stroking her jawline with my thumb. What I wouldn't give to know we could spend at least the next year together.

Lauren sighs. "That makes two of us," she whispers before touching her lips gently against mine, and it takes all my energy to hold back. I still don't know how she wants to proceed—or not—but I won't pressure her. Barely pulling away, she continues just as quietly, "Can I ask you something, too?"

I nod, my nose grazing hers and sending a chill through my body. This is so much harder than I thought it would be.

"Why the sudden pictures with all those girls after the race in Mugello?" she asks. "Were you trying to make me jealous or what?"

I was wondering when this would come up. "No," I say with a smile. "It was just to confuse the media. You know, so they have something new to talk about instead of us."

She looks at me the way kids look at puppies. "You did that for me?"

"Yes. I know it was stupid—"

"No." She cuts me off, the single syllable followed by another quick kiss. "Well, a little bit. But I understand your reasoning." Her eyes lock on mine, and she smiles. "You know this chivalry is just making me like you even more."

The words make my insides flip in a good way, and I give her a lopsided grin. "You like me, huh?" I ask, even though I've had zero doubts for a while. The kisses were a big giveaway.

She scrunches her nose. "A little bit." When I strengthen my hold on her waist and tip my face down, she giggles. "I have to warn you, I'm a kisser. Like, I really, really like kissing."

Our lips are almost touching, but I can't help but laugh. Something about her acting just as nervous as I feel is comforting. "Maybe you could stop talking and we can see how much you like kissing me?" I ask, only halfway joking.

"Well, in the Coliseum—"

I press my mouth against hers as I move my hand behind her head. Digging my fingers into her hair, I kiss her for real the way I've secretly wished I could for weeks. Her mouth opens as I slip my tongue inside. She tastes just as sweet as she smells. When her cool fingers travel up under my shirt and touch my warm abs, I flinch.

"Are you ticklish?" she asks mischievously, barely lifting her lips from mine.

I shake my head. "No. Do it again." My voice is ragged. I hadn't even noticed how hard I've been breathing.

To my disappointment, she steps back. But when she grabs the bottom of my shirt and cocks a perfectly-shaped brow in a silent request, I nod. Hell yeah, you can undress me. Lauren pulls the soft fabric over my head, and I wriggle my arms out of the sleeves, but she freezes.

"What?" I ask, looking down at my bare torso. I don't see anything wrong. I actually think I look kind of good. The last few months of training have accentuated my pecs and gave me a sweet six-pack. "You have seen me like this before, no?"

"Yes, but now it's different." She lifts her head and stares into my eyes. "You're here. You're . . . mine."

I cup her face with one hand while pulling her closer with the other. "I belong to you from the moment we first meet."

She presses her palms against my chest and the corners of her lips slowly curve upward. "The press room in Sepang?"

I shake my head, sure she'd also noticed. "Before the race. In the garage."

"That was only for a second." Her eyes widen as she confirms my hunch. "You remember that?"

"Of course." I stroke her back with my fingertips, a soft tingle racing up my arm.

Lauren giggles. "Now you're making me nervous."

"Why?" I ask. The last thing I want is for her to be uncomfortable.

"Because I want this to be perfect," she whispers as her face nears mine.

I sigh in relief. No worries then. "It already is," I say before kissing her again.