“Wait, wait,” I said, grabbing my phone out of my bag in the backseat. “I have to get a selfie of me in a Lamborghini.”

“I’ll take the pic.” He wrestled my phone from me. I posed and he snapped the shot. “You’re a strange chick,” he said, returning the phone to me. I dropped it in my bag.

“You’ve been with me nearly two weeks now and not once have you snapped a pic of me, or you with me, like every other normal red-blooded girl would do. Instead you snap a pic of a car. You’ve got too much of the X-chromosome,” he said.

“So, let’s see how she handles.” I put my foot down and Lucas freaked out.

“For fuck’s safe, slow down,” he yelled.

“Why? You don’t,” I called over the sound of the stereo.

He turned the stereo off.

“Watch the corner,” he pointed out.

“It’s way over there,” I said, speeding by it.

“The turn is next right,” he directed, his foot flat to the floor trying to brake from the wrong side of the car.

“I know, I’ve got it,” I said, and spun the Lamborghini around the corner. Ten minutes later I pulled up in the parking lot of his club’s training facility. Several members of the team were outside.

Lucas leapt from the car, fell to the footpath and kissed the grass. I heard an uproar of laughter from the club.

I got out and grabbed my bag. He staggered to his feet, took his sports bag from the back luggage space and made a big show of taking the keys from me. Men.

Team Lucas by Ally Adams