Burn For You (Boys of the South) by Marquita Valentine Page B

people who are stuck living there.”
    “Oh.” I bit down my on bottom lip, unsure of what to say next. With each answer, Beau’s completely turning all the gossip I’ve heard about him on its head. Shouldn’t there be some grain of truth, like where there’s smoke, there’s fire? 
    “Are you okay with this speed?” he asks.
    “How fast are we going?”
    “Check for yourself.”
    I glance at the speedometer and nearly pass out when I see that the orange line is practically on the two hundred mark. “Oh. My. God.” I squeeze Beau’s thigh harder. His long legs are so muscular that I doubt he can feel it.
    Once more, Beau’s voice fills the interior of my helmet. “How did NASCAR get its start?”
    “Bootlegging. Moonshine.” I can barely say the words, without my teeth chattering, but I’ll be damned if I ask him to slow down. “They souped up their cars’ engines and raced the cops to avoid arrest.”
    “Damn right they did.”
    “How did you get into racing?”
    “Remington. He used to come around and bring me racing stuff when I was little. I was instantly hooked, and he thought it was great.”
    Without seeing his face, I can’t be sure, but he doesn’t sound very happy admitting this to me.
    “After that, I have to give Carter Ambrose all the credit. He was the one to take me under his wing when I was a snotty seventeen-year-old kid and teach me everything about keeping my temper, how to find the sweet spot... stuff like that. Even after I moved back to Forrestville, he kept an eye on me from Holland Springs. Now, he’s retired and married with two little girls... I don’t see or talk to him as often as I’d like,” he adds.
    “What about your mom?” I don’t know much about his mom, only that she had an affair with Remington while he was married and that she passed away when he was a teenager
    “She’s dead.”
    “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I think she would be proud of you.”
    “For driving around in circles?”
    My heart aches for him, for the pain he obviously still feels. “For being a good dad to Mia. Most guys our age wouldn’t bother. A lot of women have to do everything on their own. It’s really tough.”
    “Because you have so much experience with that, right?”
    I let go of his thigh, hurt by his sharp tone and sarcastic words. “You know I don’t.” I want to cry, and it’s stupid and ridiculous, but it’s there. “I can’t help that I have support, or that I don’t have it hard, not beyond student loan bills.”
    He mutters a curse, then slows the car down, pulling into the pit and parking. I feel his hand on my neck, and then my helmet is gone. He captures my chin between his fingers, “Look at me, Landry.”
    Miserable and confused, I do. His helmet is gone as well. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
    His thumb rubs my jaw. “You didn’t. That was all me. And you’re right, you can’t help that people love and support you. You can’t help that both of your parents are alive and well, and you didn’t have to move from place to place growing up. That’s my experience and my former life—my problem, not yours. ”
    His confession makes me feel better and worse all at once. “I really am sorry,” I whisper, tears falling.
    “Stop crying, baby. I’m sorry for being such an asshole.” He presses his forehead against mine. “I can’t stand hurting you. I hate the pain in your voice, the tears in your eyes... It’s killing me and scaring me, all at the same time. I should not feel this way about you. I barely know you... I haven’t even kissed you, tasted you.”
    “I feel the same way about you,” I admit shakily, bringing my hands to his face. The rough stubble of his barely-there beard tickles my fingers. “I want to kiss you. I want to taste you. I want to touch you everywhere.”
    He presses his lips against my skin, right above my eyebrow. His breath his hot, and I have to close my eyes.  “ Christ . Don’t fucking