Chapter 6 Close Enough to Burn
Tasha’s POV
“STOP OVERTHINKING. Just follow my lead.”
Carlos didn’t even look at me when he said it.
He was already adjusting the simulation settings, his focus locked in, fingers moving quickly across the console like he’d done this a thousand times before.
Which, to be fair, he probably had.
I stood a few feet behind him, arms crossed loosely, watching the way he moved.
Precise. Controlled.
Like everything about him had been trained to function exactly the way it was supposed to.
No hesitation. No wasted motion.
No room for error.
I exhaled quietly. “I’m not overthinking,” I said.
He didn’t pause. “You are.”
“I’m not,” I repeated, stepping closer, my eyes scanning the setup. “I’m just making sure everything’s aligned.”
“It is.”
“You didn’t check the secondary calibration.”
“I don’t need to.”
I raised a brow. “Right. Because you’re just that good?”
He finally glanced at me then. Brief and sharp. “Exactly.”
I huffed out a small breath, shaking my head. “I can’t believe you’re saying it.”
“Just stop stalling.”
That made me stop. “I’m not stalling.”
“Then get in position,” he said, nodding toward the simulator.
I stared at him for a second longer than necessary. Then moved. Because arguing with him in circles wasn’t going to get anything done.
Even if part of me kind of wanted to.
The simulator seat felt different today. Tighter. More real. Or maybe that was just me.
Carlos stepped in behind me, reaching past my shoulder to adjust the harness.
“Too loose,” he muttered.
“I had it.”
“Clearly not.”
His fingers brushed against my shoulder as he tightened the strap, firm and efficient, but close enough that I felt it.
That shift. That awareness.
My breath hitched slightly before I could stop it. He didn’t react. At least, not outwardly. But his movements slowed just a fraction.
“You’re tense,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I said I’m fine.”
He leaned in slightly, closer than necessary, his voice lower now. “If you keep lying to yourself, you’re going to mess this up.”
My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m not lying.”
“Then relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
He huffed out a quiet breath, like he didn’t believe me. Which he probably didn’t. “Stop fighting everything,” he added.
“I’m not fighting anything.”
“You’re fighting me.”
That made me turn my head slightly, just enough to look at him. “I’m not fighting you.”
“Then follow my lead.”
His voice dropped just enough to make something shift in my chest. Not softer. But closer and more focused.
Like the rest of the room didn’t exist. Just this. Just us.
I swallowed. “Fine,” I said quietly.
He nodded once, stepping back just enough to give me space. “Good.”
The simulation started.
Engines roaring to life through the speakers, vibrations humming through the seat, everything snapping into motion all at once.
I focused on the track. On the controls. On anything that wasn’t him.
“Too slow,” he said.
“I’m adjusting.”
“Do it faster.”
“I said I’m adjusting.”
“You’re hesitating.”
“I’m not hesitating,” I shot back, tightening my grip as I pushed the speed slightly.
“Then prove it.”
I pressed harder. The system responded instantly. Sharper turns. Faster response. Less margin for error.
“Better,” he said.
I didn’t respond. Because he was right. And I hated that.
“Now hold it,” he continued. “Don’t second guess.”
“I’m not second guessing.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You just corrected your line twice.”
“Because it needed correction.”
“Because you didn’t trust the first move.”
I clenched my jaw. “I trusted it.”
“Then commit and stop over thinking.”
“That’s kind of the point,” I snapped.
“No,” he said, his voice sharper now. “The point is control.”
I scoffed lightly. “Control isn’t the same as shutting your brain off.”
“It is when your brain is slowing you down.”
That hit. More than it should have.
I tightened my grip on the wheel. “I’m not slow.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he replied.
“You implied it.”
“I implied you’re holding back.”
Silence.
The engine roared louder through the simulation. Or maybe that was just the tension building.
I exhaled sharply. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
He stepped closer again. His hand came up, guiding mine slightly on the wheel.
“Turn now,” he said.
I followed. The movement was smoother this time. Cleaner. More direct.
“See?” he added.
I didn’t pull my hand away. Because I couldn’t. Not with him this close. Not with his hand still over mine.
“Again,” he said.
We moved together this time. Not perfectly but closer.
Better.
The tension shifted differently.
He leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing mine as he adjusted my positioning.
“Relax your grip,” he murmured. His breath brushed against my ear. “And stop lying.”
My pulse spiked.
I tightened my grip without meaning to. “See?” he said quietly.
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to loosen my hold. “Better.”
Silence stretched again. But it wasn’t the same. Just… heavy.
“You don’t like losing control,” I said suddenly.
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Then his hand pulled away from mine.
“And you don’t like being seen,” he replied.
I froze.
My breath catching before I could stop it. “That’s not—”
“It is,” he cut in.
I turned my head fully this time, looking at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You hide behind your work,” he said, his voice steady. “You deflect. You avoid anything that puts attention on you.”
I shook my head. “That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“You’re making assumptions.”
“And you’re proving them right.”
Something tightened in my chest. Annoying. Frustrating. Too close to something I didn’t want to deal with.
“You don’t get to analyze me like that,” I said.
“And you don’t get to call me out either,” he countered.
“I wasn’t analyzing you.”
“You were.”
“I said one thing.”
“That was enough.”
Silence again.
“You think you have everything figured out,” I added.
“I don’t think,” he said. “I know.”
“That’s your problem.”
“And what’s yours?”
I hesitated. Just for a second. “I don’t have one.”
He almost smiled. Almost. “That’s a lie.”
I looked away. Because I didn’t have an answer for that.
The simulation continued running in the background, but neither of us was paying attention anymore.
Not really. Everything had shifted. From the work. To this.
Whatever this was.
“You’re good,” he said after a moment.
I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“You’re good,” he repeated, quieter now. “Better than I expected.”
I stared at him. Not sure what to do with that.
“Thanks,” I said slowly.
“But you still hold back.”
There it was.
I let out a breath. “You can’t just give a compliment without adding something, can you?”
“No.”
I almost laughed. “Figures.”
Something in his expression softened. Just slightly. It was barely there. But I saw it.
And for a second, everything else faded. It was just him looking at me. And it felt… dangerous. Because I didn’t know what to do with that version of him.
“Run it again,” he said suddenly, stepping back.
And just like that, it was gone.
I blinked, my chest tightening slightly.
“Right,” I said, turning back to the controls.
We reset. Started again. Worked through the motions. But something had changed.
Even if he was pretending it hadn’t. Even if I was trying to do the same. Because now I was aware of everything.
The space between us.
The way he watched me.
The way I reacted.
And I didn’t like it. I didn’t like how much it mattered.
The session ended without another word. Just quiet adjustments, some short instructions and controlled distance. Like we both agreed not to go back there again.
When I finally stood up, my legs felt slightly heavier than they should have. I stepped out of the simulator, grabbing the edge briefly to steady myself.
“You’re overthinking again,” he said.
I glanced at him. “Or maybe you’re just confusing.”
His brow lifted slightly. “I’m not confusing.”
“You are,” I said. “You say one thing, then act another way.”
“Like what?”
I hesitated. Because I didn’t have a clean answer.
“Exactly,” he said.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“It proves you’re reading into things that don’t exist.”
I held his gaze. Steady and searching.
“Don’t read into things that don’t exist,” he repeated.
I nodded slowly. “Fine.”
But the way he was looking at me? It didn’t match his words. Not even close.
And for some reason… It felt like he was lying.
To me.
Or to himself.
