Friction: Full Velocity Series - Book 1

by Delaney, Tracie

  “Let’s get a drink,” I said, pointing to a beachside bar with weather-worn stools lined up in front of a bar in the shape of a surfboard.

  Jared checked his watch. “Do we have time? I don’t want to miss these penguins, especially after you’ve gone on and on about how amazing it is for days.”

  I lightly punched him in the arm. “I have not gone on about it for days. And yes, we have time for one.”

  We slid onto two spare stools at the end of the bar and ordered non-alcoholic cocktails. The bartender returned with our drinks, recognition obvious in his expression.

  “You’re Jared Kane,” he said. “Mate, welcome to Australia. Put it there.”

  He stuck out his hand, and Jared good-naturedly shook.

  “How you feeling about the race?” he asked. “Must be different from what you’re used to, huh?”

  “Not so different,” Jared said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  The bartender grabbed a napkin. “Mate, would you sign this for me?” he said excitedly. “Wait until I tell the missus that the great Jared Kane turned up at my bar. She won’t believe it unless I have evidence.”

  “Sure. Got a pen?”

  Jared scrawled his signature and posed for a picture with the guy—further evidence he explained—who wandered off to serve another customer wearing a grin the size of Ayers Rock.

  “Handled like a pro,” I said. “You’ve made his day.”

  A faint smile appeared on his lips. “Glad to do it. Goes with the territory.”

  A sudden flush of pride swept through me. “You’re a good man, Jared Kane.”

  He pressed his finger to his lips. “Shhh. It’ll be our secret.” He clinked his glass against mine. “Thank you for being my tour guide. I wouldn’t have discovered half the places if you hadn’t been with me. I really appreciate it, Ley.”

  I clasped a hand to my chest. “Is that a… No, it can’t be… Did you just compliment me?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah. Make the most of it. Once the season kicks off, I’ll probably spend most of my time yelling at you.”

  “As long as you’re prepared for me to yell back,” I said, drawing a laugh from him.

  “I expect nothing less.”

  We finished our cocktails. Jared made a point of seeking out the bartender to say goodbye. Handsome, sexy, funny, and good manners. Jared’s list of positive attributes grew and grew.

  As we set off for Summerland Beach where we’d watch penguins in their hundreds waddle from the water, Jared unexpectedly took my hand. My stomach twisted with desire. I stole a glance at him, waiting, hoping he’d pause, put his arms around me. Kiss me.

  My hopes were dashed when he let go of me and said, “Race you,” then sprinted down the beach, kicking sand up behind him, his long legs easily ate up the distance.

  I ran after him, smiling, hiding my disappointment. For a brief moment, I’d sensed a shift in our relationship. Looked like I’d been wrong.

  Dusk fell, and we settled into our seats to watch the Parade. Jared slung an arm over the back of my seat, his intention casual, but I couldn’t help leaning back until the hairs on his arm tickled the back of my neck. I shuddered.

  “Cold?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

  More like boiling hot. “No, I’m good.”

  We spent the next hour watching hundreds, if not thousands, of penguins make their way from the sea onto the beach, a nightly occurrence that brought tourists flocking to this part of Australia. But as amazing and beautiful as it was, I only half paid attention because of my overheating body from being in such close proximity to Jared. His thigh pressed against mine in the too-small seats, his arm brushing the bare skin of my shoulder, the scent of his cologne tingling my nostrils.

  By the time we stood to leave, every nerve ending in my entire body burned with desire, the hairs on my arms and the nape of my neck standing to attention, my stomach tied in knots.

  I fell quiet on the trip back to the hotel, feigning tiredness when Jared enquired if I was okay. The truth was, I didn’t trust myself to speak. I was so close to throwing myself at him, taking the initiative and praying he wouldn’t resist because, yeah, rejection sucked. The only way I could maintain control was to remain silent.

  We arrived back at the hotel just after eleven. I stopped outside my room, keycard in hand, all too aware that tomorrow we’d transfer to the team hotel and our time together would be over. Despondency swamped me. I’d loved spending time getting to know Jared. I might not have got him into bed—yet—but I’d definitely made a new friend.

  “Night, Ley,” he said, taking the card from me and opening my hotel room door.

  I hesitated, caught in two minds. Should I go for it? Or say goodnight and lie awake tossing and turning, frustrated as hell?

  Oh, screw it.

  I curved my hands around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a goodnight kiss. I must’ve taken him by surprise, because instead of wrenching away, as I anticipated he would, a groan spilled from his throat. He buried his hands in my hair and, angling my head, kissed me back. He swept the tip of his tongue over my bottom lip, but just as I dared to hope I’d won him over, he released me.

  Stepped back.

  Way way back.

  Breathing fast, he raked a hand through his hair. “No, Paisley.”

  I reached for him. “Jared, I—”

  “I gotta go.” He spun around so fast I expected him to lose his balance.

  Shit.

  * * *

  The pungent smell of engine oil and grease tickled my nostrils, and the buzz around the stadium had my senses on high alert. Every race day was exciting, but the first race of the season always carried a heightened sense of urgency, of thrill.

  My fingers and toes tingled, and my blood raced with excitement; I couldn’t wait to watch Jared race. I’d seen enough of his skill during winter testing to know he had talent in spades, but racing was a whole different beast. And Formula One was a very different beast to IndyCar.

  No matter, though. My instincts were telling me that Jared was going to be a huge success. In a private bet with myself, I’d give it one, maybe two races before the crowds were shouting his name.

  Since our impromptu kiss on Wednesday night, he’d kept a polite, professional distance. Several times, I tried to engineer a few moments to talk privately, but Jared had expertly swerved me every single time. Perhaps after the race had finished, he’d be more willing to talk. I couldn’t blame the guy for wanting to focus, especially considering this was his very first race.

  He walked into the garage with Devon, their heads close, deliberating race strategy, no doubt. Jared had his game face on. He didn’t even glance in my direction. Me? I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I tracked his every movement with a ravenous gaze, and my insides churned as I relived the feeling of his lips, his tongue, his firm, hard body.

  Someone cleared their throat beside me. I turned to find Lewis, dressed in his fire vest but with the top half of his race suit tied around his waist. He clearly wanted a serious conversation. His face adopting that brotherly expression gave him away.

  “What?” I prompted when he remained silent.

  “Not him.”

  I frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “I see the way you look at him, Paise, and I’m telling you, he’s not the man for you.”

  Ah. He must have copped me gawking at Jared. I narrowed my eyes.

  “You know, I’m sure I’m an only child. Yup, pretty damn certain Mum and Dad didn’t have any more children, so unless there’s something Dad isn’t telling me and you’re his secret kid, I don’t have a big brother who thinks he can boss me around.”

  I walked away.

  Lewis grabbed my arm, hauling me back. “Stay away from Jared Kane, Paise, or I’ll be having a word in Jack’s ear.”

  I planted my hands on my hips. “Back off, Lewis. You’re overstepping the mark. Now, don’t you have a race
to get ready for?”

  I didn’t give him the chance to reply. I stomped off and went to watch Angus making a few last-minute adjustments to Jared’s car. Fortunately, I knew Lewis well enough to know he wouldn’t make a scene around the others, not yet, anyway. But I’d need to watch him. If anything happened between Jared and me, it was up to me to tell Dad, not Lewis.

  “Watch and learn today, Paise, okay, sweet pea,” Angus said. “Suck in all the knowledge you can. You’ve been around long enough to know things are gonna get crazy around here.”

  “I’ll stick to you like glue, Angus,” I said, giving him a beaming smile.

  “That’s my girl.”

  Jared lowered himself into his car and eased his fingers into his gloves. Devon leaned over and affixed the steering wheel. Jared nodded at something Devon must have said through the comms system. As the car moved forward, Jared turned his head in my direction. Even though he had his visor down and I couldn’t see his eyes, electricity fizzed between us. A shiver of pleasure crept down my spine, and I fidgeted on the spot. And then he was gone.

  A few minutes later, we all piled out onto the grid, so packed with people it gave Trafalgar Square on New Year’s Eve a run for its money, with pit crews, race engineers, mechanics, team principals, TV presenters, cameramen, as well as celebrities and even the odd royal or two wandering up and down. Formula One was a glamorous sport, and it attracted a lot of attention from the rich and famous.

  I dodged the crowds, sticking close to Angus as he wheeled his toolkit to grid position three where Jared had qualified. Not a bad position at all for a rookie driver, and as overtaking was possible at the Australian Grand Prix, Dad had high hopes that Jared might secure a podium spot.

  Jared, no doubt, would settle for nothing less than a win.

  As the time edged closer to the parade lap, the heavens opened, and large raindrops blobbed down. In minutes, the track was soaked.

  “Gonna be starting under the safety car at this rate,” Angus said.

  I nodded, hoping that didn’t happen. Racing drivers like to race. No one on the grid would want to start behind the safety car.

  We were given the one-minute warning, and everyone cleared the track. The cars set off on the parade lap, engines roaring, rain lights blinking to warn the driver behind how close the car in front was. It could get pretty hairy driving around a racetrack in heavy rain. The spray from the car in front played havoc with visibility, so the lights were a safety feature for the car following.

  Once all cars had left the grid, the teams hurried back to the pits, trailing their gear and tools behind them. I stood next to Angus, nibbling on my thumbnail. Dad had taken up his position on the pit wall with Devon and Steve, Lewis’s race engineer, staring at a computer screen. The cars’ computers constantly sent information back to the team, and it was Dad’s, Devon’s, and Steve’s job to adapt the race strategy depending on the data.

  One by one the drivers lined up on their grid spot. My heart rate increased, the fragile muscle thudding against my ribcage. Excitement curled in the pit of my stomach as the five red lights slowly came on, one at a time. The engines roared, the noise level drowning out the cheers from the crowd.

  The lights went out, and twenty cars lurched forward. Jared made a fantastic start, and by the first corner, he’d overtaken Tate Flynn, a driver for one of our main rivals. The rain battered down, bouncing off the tarmac, but so far we’d avoided a safety car.

  By the end of the first lap, Jared had settled into second place. The crew took their seats in front of the TV screens—they wouldn’t be needed until it was time for a pit stop—their eyes glued to Jared’s car hurtling around the track. God, he was one hell of a driver. No wonder Dad had been so keen to sign him.

  Angus gave the signal for us to get ready for Jared’s first pit stop. If my heart had thundered when the race began, now I swore it thumped at over two hundred beats a minute. I’d been given the task of front wing adjuster which meant I was responsible for moving the wing of the car up or down, depending on how it had been performing, feedback from the driver, and our strategy for the second half of the race. The hair on the back of my neck lifted, and my scalp prickled. If I messed up, I could cost Jared a podium finish. Races were not just won and lost on the track but also during the pit stops. We practiced them over and over, but still, nerves swarmed in my stomach. I prayed my hand remained steady; I did not need to drop the adjuster tool.

  Jared’s car slowed to a stop. Having no time to think, I reacted on instinct. I performed my task, as did the rest of the team. Done. I jumped back. The lights on Jared’s steering wheel turned green, sending the signal he was free to go. He floored the accelerator and sped down the pit lane.

  “Two-point-two-four seconds,” Angus’s voice sounded in my ear. “Well done, everyone, but we need to shave that at the second pit stop.”

  I grinned. Like all lead mechanics, Angus was a perfectionist, always searching for the minutest improvement, even though two-point-two-four was a bloody fantastic time.

  With our part over, we could relax until the next pit stop. I took a seat beside Mark, a guy who had been with Dad’s team for about five years. After the first round of pit stops, Lewis still led the race with a four second advantage. Jared was holding his own in second which, for his first time out, was super impressive and showcased his raw talent and genius.

  As the race progressed, the lead drivers began to catch the back markers, those slower cars that simply couldn’t keep up with the front runners. Jared scythed through the pack like a pro, and pride swelled my chest. I felt certain I was witnessing the first race of a future world champion. The only question up for debate was how long it would take him to achieve. My guess? Not very long at all.

  The rain continued to fall in huge droplets, causing puddles to form on the track. I caught murmurings of an imminent safety car. The visibility was horrendous, and I had no idea how any of the drivers could see where they were going.

  Tate Flynn, originally running in third position, had a disastrous pit stop that caused him to fall down the pack. Now racing in eighteenth place, Tate was desperately trying to cut through the slower cars and back into a points-scoring position. Lewis, still in first place, caught up to Tate, overtaking him without any trouble, but as Jared went to make the same maneuver, Tate appeared to lift off. Either Jared didn’t see Tate through the spray, or he couldn’t react in time. Regardless of the reason, Jared smashed into the back of Tate’s car. The right wheel sheared off, and Jared’s car lurched to the left. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him struggle to regain control of his vehicle.

  “Fuck,” Angus cursed in my ear, leaping to his feet.

  My attention cut to Dad on the pit wall. He slammed his fist into the side of his leg then said something to Devon who jumped down from his stool and hurried over to the garage.

  Tate’s car had also been damaged, and the two drivers made their way back to the pits, Jared driving his car on three wheels. I had no idea how he’d take this disastrous ending to his first Grand Prix. Drivers were volatile at the best of times, let alone after suffering such a heavy disappointment, and getting caught up in a serious and, frankly, terrifying accident.

  Angus ran outside along with Mark, to direct Jared into the garage. He pulled up, ripped off the steering wheel, threw it on the ground, and launched out of the car.

  Okay, disappointed wasn’t the right description. Fucking furious was much more appropriate, and although he still wore his helmet which hid his face, his body language screamed pure rage.

  I expected him to march out the back of the garage and straight into the team motorhome. Instead, he spun on his heel and stormed down the pit lane.

  Where the hell is he going?

  Jared dragged off his helmet and tugged out his earplugs. I caught sight of him on the TV screens, the cameras eagerly following the ensuing drama.

  I’d never seen a man so angry, his face beet red, his eyes locked straig
ht ahead. Angus sprinted after him, and he wrestled a hold of Jared’s arm, but Jared launched his shoulder in the air and shook him off. I spotted Devon running, too, and then realization hit me.

  Shit.

  Jared was going to confront Tate.

  I ran down the pit lane toward Tate’s garage. Getting involved meant overstepping the mark. Angus and Devon would have the matter in hand, but somehow, I hoped that, if I could get Jared’s attention, my presence might calm him down.

  By the time I reached Tate’s garage, he and Jared were standing inches apart, yelling at each other. Both of them had adopted an aggressive stance, with a lot of finger poking going on. TV cameras and reporters jostled for position. Two drivers having a full-on row was a juicy piece of gossip. The rookie American going up against England’s prince.

  “Are you trying to fucking kill me?” I caught Jared hollering as I skidded inside.

  Tate spread his arms wide. “No, man. Jeez, it was an accident. I got the message one of the leader cars were approaching so I lifted off the gas pedal.”

  Jared scowled, his fisted hands shaking with rage. “You were on the fucking racing line, you dick. In a fucking monsoon. What the hell did you think was gonna happen, huh? Or is this some kind of sick joke for rookie drivers?”

  Tate’s mouth formed into a flat line, and he poked Jared in the chest. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re insinuating, mate, but don’t come onto my patch and accuse me of unprofessionalism.”

  Jared smacked Tate’s hand away. “I’m not your goddamn mate.”

  Dad chose that moment to appear. Just as well, really, because with the amount of testosterone flying around, anything could happen. He shoved in between both drivers, one of his hands on each of their chests, keeping them from coming to blows. He switched his focus to Jared. “That’s enough. Both of you. Back to the garage, Jared.” When Jared held his ground, Dad barked, “Now!”