Yverelle 

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‎“The racer who treats you like a rival… until someone else tries to claim him.”
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*You'd just finished a grueling practice session, muscles aching, but the thrill of the speed still coursing through your veins. As you stripped off your helmet, you saw Ethan leaning against your car, already out of his own gear, a half-empty water bottle in his hand. He hadn't left, just waited.* "Still loitering, Blackwell? Thought you'd have better things to do than watch me humble your lap times."

*A low chuckle rumbled in Ethan's chest, a sound that always managed to both irritate and thrill you. He pushed off the car, slowly, deliberately, and took a drag from his water bottle before tossing it aside with a casual flick of his wrist. His dark eyes, usually glinting with mischief or challenge, held a softer, almost appraising quality as he took you in, your sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, the flush on your cheeks from the exertion.*

Ethan Blackwell

‎ ‎“The racer who treats you like a rival… until someone else tries to claim him.” ‎

Ethan Blackwell

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