Revved

by Samantha Towle

  “So, are we staying here all night or moving on?” Carrick asks.

  “Moving on!” says Petra and Ben at the same time.

  We’ve worked our way down a few of the bars, and I’m starting to feel a little tipsy and tired and ready for my bed.

  Petra looks nowhere near done. She and Ben are at the bar, getting some more drinks.

  I wait for her to come back to our table, and then she takes her seat next to me.

  “Petra, I’m gonna head back to the hotel. I’m knackered. You don’t have to come,” I say at the disappointed look in her eyes.

  “Nah, I’ll come. I don’t want you walking back on your own.”

  “I’m ready to go, so I’ll walk you back.” That’s Carrick.

  I see Petra’s eyes swing to him.

  “Um…okay. As long as you don’t mind,” I say to him.

  “We are staying in the same hotel, so it’s not a massive chore.” He grins.

  “Of course. Yeah,” I reply, feeling a little stupid.

  He gets up from his chair. Getting his phone from the table, he slips it into his pocket. I grab my handbag from the floor before hanging it on my shoulder.

  “I’ll see you back at the hotel,” I say to Petra.

  “You sure you’re okay with going back with Carrick?” she says quietly.

  “I’m fine.” I laugh a little awkwardly, knowing what she’s thinking. “I’ll catch you later.”

  I give a wave to the table and walk around to Carrick.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I follow him out of the pub and onto the street.

  It’s late, but the temperature is still high, not that I’m not used to it. Living in Brazil, the weather can get a little heated.

  For a while, we walk side by side in silence until Carrick breaks it. “Whereabouts in Brazil do you live? Or did live until you moved to the UK.”

  “Santos. It’s in São Paulo, on the coast.”

  “Yeah, I know Santos. Beautiful beaches.”

  “I spent a lot of time on those beaches.” I smile fondly at the memory of spending time at the beach with my mum. “I lived in central São Paulo for a while, too.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “I went to the university, lived on campus, saved traveling back and forth. My mum wasn’t so keen on me living away from home though.” I laugh lightly, remembering how stressed she was about me moving out that first time.

  “You ever go to watch the Prix back home?”

  “A few times. Uncle John got me tickets.”

  “You saw me race?”

  “I did.” I smile. “And you were awesome, especially that year when you beat Leandro Silva taking that corner on the Bico de Pato. It was outstanding.”

  Staring at me, he blinks. “How did I never meet you before a few weeks ago?”

  “Because Uncle John probably didn’t trust you around me.” I give him a knowing grin.

  “Yeah, good point—not that I can be trusted much nowadays either. Kidding.” He holds his hands up, laughing. “We’re best friends, and I don’t shag my best friend.”

  “You really need to stop saying that.”

  “What? That we’re best friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it makes you sound weird, like you’re a five-year-old boy.”

  “I’m definitely no boy. And I was going more for charming than weird. Clearly, that’s not working.”

  I laugh at the mirth in his eyes.

  “So, John’s not your real uncle, right? But you call him Uncle John?”

  I instantly tense at the question, worried about the direction it might take. “Yeah.” I swallow down. “He’s a close family friend. He’s known me since I was a baby. He’s my godfather.”

  I think Carrick senses my discomfort because he changes course. “So, what did you study at university?”

  “Mechanical engineering.”

  “Figures.” He smiles warmly. “I never went to university.”

  “Too busy racing?”

  “Yeah. I think I would have liked it though.”

  “Hmm…yeah, the student life would definitely have suited you,” I tease. “Parties, women, and booze.”

  He laughs lightly. “I’m not as bad as the press makes me out to be, you know.”

  “But you’re not far off…”

  He gives me a sobering look. “Not too far, no.”

  Looking up, I see that we’ve reached the hotel.

  Carrick holds the door open for me, letting me in first. We walk through the lobby and get into a waiting elevator. I press the button for my floor, noticing that Carrick doesn’t press the button to his floor.

  “Which floor?” I ask him.

  “Penthouse.”

  Figures.

  I press the button for the penthouse and then move back to stand beside him.

  We’re silent as the lift starts to ascend, the tinny elevator music playing in the background.

  Carrick shifts his stance and pushes his hands in his pockets, his arm knocking against mine. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

  “It’s okay,” I reply. God knows how I managed to get the words out because I’m feeling all kinds of weird and wired due to this intense blaze of heat now licking its way across my skin from where his arm just touched mine.

  The space in here suddenly feels a hell of a lot smaller.

  I take a deep breath, trying to be unaffected, but it doesn’t work.

  I’m totally aware of him next to me. All I can smell is his sexy-as-sin aftershave, and it’s making my head feel dizzy. I’m starting to burn up.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I fix my eyes on the digits, watching the numbers climb. I need to get out of this elevator and soon, but the counter seems to be slowing down to a snail’s pace.

  Goddamn it!

  Carrick exhales. It’s a soft sound, but I feel like he’s blowing in my ear.

  I shudder. I actually fucking shudder.

  I wrap my arms around myself, trying to take control of my raging hormones, but I somehow manage to knock my arm with his this time.

  Well done, Andi.

  Now, all I’ve succeeded in doing is to set off the lick of heat again, and it’s quickly heading south.

  I can feel Carrick’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare look at him. And I definitely don’t dare to speak, for fear of saying something stupid, so I pretend not to notice that I just touched his arm.

  Instead, I press my thighs together and beg to the gods to get me out of this elevator fast.

  What the hell is going on with me? And is this elevator ever going to reach my fucking floor?

  Come on…come on…

  Finally!

  It reaches my floor with a ping, like the timer on an oven, and like the chicken, I’m done.

  “This is me.” My voice sounds unnaturally high. I slip out the door before it even has a chance to fully open. “Thanks for walking with me,” I say, backing away.

  He steps outside the elevator, hand holding the door. “Anytime. Good night, Andressa.” His voice sounds different—deeper, husky.

  “Good night, Carrick.” I turn on the spot and walk as fast as I can to my room. My heart is beating up a storm in my chest while my head is wondering what the hell that was all about.

  TODAY IS RACE DAY. The garage is a hub of activity. And I’m beyond excited. I’ve been on countless tracks for races, especially when I was working in stock cars back home. But being here, being part of the Prix, is amazing.

  The noise of the engines revving, the smell of the cars, and people all around prepping for the race, it carries like a buzz of energy in the air. There’s nothing quite like race day.

  It’s electric, and I feel privileged to be a part of it.

  I’m slingshotted back to when I was a kid, and I would come to watch my dad race.

  I did wonder if this first race would feel strange for me. I guess it does a little, but
I’m more focused on the excitement of Carrick’s upcoming race, and all the work that needs to be done beforehand is keeping me busy. And it’s not like I haven’t been to the Prix since my dad died.

  But being here in the midst of it all…totally different feeling from standing on the sidelines watching. It’s amazing.

  I spy Nico Tresler coming into the garage. I haven’t seen him at all during practice sessions. If he’s been here, it’s when I haven’t been.

  Right, this is it. I’m going to stop being a wimp, and I’m going to go over and introduce myself.

  I cross the small distance over to Nico’s side of the garage. Coming up behind him, I shift to the side, so he can see me in his peripheral.

  He’s currently talking to Damon, his chief mechanic. When Nico notices me, he stops his conversation and turns his head to me. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, Mr. Tresler. Sorry to interrupt. My name is Andi Amaro. I’m Carrick’s new mechanic, and I just wanted to come over and introduce myself. I’m a huge fan.” It’s not a total lie. I prefer other drivers over Tresler, but buttering up a driver is always the best way to go.

  He turns to face me, so he’s giving me his full attention. “Oh, yes. Ryan’s new mechanic. I’ve heard all about you.” His eyes rake over me in a less than comfortable way.

  I shift on the spot.

  “Not surprising that he gave you the job.”

  He didn’t actually. “I was hired by John, not Carrick.” I keep my tone even, professional, and definitely nonconfrontational.

  Drivers can be difficult at times, especially on race day. They’re tense and stressed, so it’s best not to stoke the fire. Keep it courteous. He might be acting like a bit of a tool, but he’s a driver, and I need to respect that.

  “Of course you were,” he says dismissively. Then, he leans in close. “You might be naive enough to think that Ryan hired you based on your skill set. He didn’t. He hired you because of your bra size. The guy has no class and treats this profession like a joke. He’s a selfish bastard who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself.”

  Wow. Okay.

  I flicker a glance at Damon, who gives me a look of sympathy before turning away.

  “I wouldn’t say that—” I start to defend Carrick.

  “Everything okay here?” Carrick cuts me off.

  I spin around to him. His stare is on Nico. Carrick’s face is perfectly blank, but in his eyes is a world of anger.

  “Everything’s fine.” Nico smiles, baring teeth at Carrick. “I was just letting Andi know what she’s gotten herself into, working for you.”

  Carrick lets out a sardonic laugh. “I’m sure you were. Andressa, do you have a minute?” His fingers press against my upper arm.

  Even through my coveralls, I feel his touch, like it was on my bare skin.

  “Yes, of course.” Feeling a little deflated, I follow Carrick as Nico turns away from us.

  When we’ve reached Carrick’s side of the garage, I stop and ask, “So, what do you need me for?”

  “Nothing. Just getting you away from Nico. He’s a pompous prick with a massive chip on his shoulder.”

  I cover a laugh.

  I want to agree, but I don’t want to be seen dissing a driver, especially of Nico’s caliber. It would be unprofessional of me.

  “He’s definitely interesting,” I say, choosing my words carefully.

  “He’s a twat. And I can guarantee whatever he said about me was probably only about sixty percent true. He just hates me because I won more races in my first two years than he has in his whole career. Fucking tosser.”

  I laugh. I can’t stop this one.

  I’ve noticed that Carrick does that a lot—makes me laugh.

  I like it.

  “My advice, don’t talk to Nico unless you absolutely have to.”

  “Okay. Got it, boss.” Grinning cheekily, I give him a salute.

  I see a light flicker in his eyes. “Boss? Hmm…I like that.”

  “Carrick?”

  He turns at the sound of his dad’s voice, who looks a little less than pleased when he sees Carrick is talking to me.

  “Coming.” He lifts a hand to Owen. Looking back at me, Carrick says, “Catch you before the race, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  He gives me one of his heart-stopping smiles, leaving me feeling a little breathless, and then he turns to go with his dad.

  I don’t really get a chance to talk to Carrick when he comes back down as we’re all busy as hell getting his car ready, and he goes straight outside, having photos taken, meeting people—sponsors most likely—and doing interviews. I notice how he laps up the attention of the grid girls and brolly dollies.

  But I’m…whatever. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

  When Carrick finally comes back in, it’s time for him to get in his car. I have my helmet on as do all the mechanics since we’re in the pit. But somehow, he manages to lock eyes with me.

  He gives me a cheeky wink and then grabs his helmet, pulling it on over his fireproof balaclava. He climbs in the cockpit and gets strapped in. Ben fits his steering wheel, and Carrick’s good to go.

  We all head back into the garage. I pull my helmet off, so I can watch the race on the screens.

  I cast a glance at Uncle John, who is sitting at the control desk with Pierce and Owen.

  Then, my eyes go back to the screens, and I watch as Carrick sets off on his warm-up lap. The roar of the engines vibrates through me.

  God, I love this.

  I watch as the cars zigzag from side to side along the straights, warming up their tires. But my eyes are mainly focused on Carrick’s car. The bright blue of his helmet glints in the sun.

  Finally, all the cars file around the pit straight and take positions on the grid. Carrick is in pole position as he qualified first yesterday. It’s a great start to the season, and I know Carrick is happy with it.

  Then, the atmosphere heightens, and I find myself holding my breath as the five traffic lights above the starting line glow red, red, red, red, red. Then, they go out…and it’s GO!

  Carrick has a great start, taking the first corner like the pro he is.

  As the laps go on, he starts to pull away from the pack, taking a good lead.

  When he comes in for a tire change, the vibe is good all around. The pit crew gets to work on changing his tires.

  Carrick stays in his car, watching the race on the screens above his head. When the tires are done, he’s heading back out onto the track.

  He picks up his position in no time.

  There are a few tense moments in the race, like when he drops down to second as Leandro Silva, a Brazilian driver, passes him.

  I would never say this to Carrick—as it’s well known that Leandro and Carrick have a serious rivalry going on—but I love Leandro. Not in a creepy way, but in a hero-worship way. He’s an amazing driver. He’s not better than Carrick. He’s just different.

  I hold my breath as Carrick nips up on the inside of a corner and takes his place back from Leandro.

  Yes!

  The race is pretty much that way the whole time. It’s edgy and thrilling with Carrick fighting Leandro for pole position.

  We’re on the final lap, and Carrick’s now in the lead, but there’s still that nervousness that he could lose his place in that last moment as Leandro is not one for giving up easily.

  Carrick needs to win this. It’ll set his whole course for the rest of the season.

  Crossing my fingers, I will him on.

  Come on, Carrick. You can do it. Come on…

  I’m counting down the last seconds, my heart pumping in my chest and my veins alive with adrenaline.

  Then, he crosses the finish line, the checkered flag dropping.

  He won! Yes!

  I let out the breath I wasn’t even aware I had been holding and do a little happy jig on the spot.

  I’m beaming from ear to ear—not just for Carrick, but also for the whol
e team and myself, too. I didn’t just get to watch, but I got to aid and be part of a Carrick Ryan win. This is only the beginning. There’s more to come. I feel an overwhelming sense of privilege right now.

  I’m watching everyone in the garage, all clapping and cheering. The atmosphere is electric.

  And I’m catapulted back to all the times I was with my dad when he won and how we would all celebrate in his garage.

  I feel a pang in my heart, a painful ache for things long gone.

  Dragging myself from the past to the present, I see Carrick climbing out of his car. Removing his helmet and fireproof balaclava, his hair is all stuck to his head, but he still looks amazing, beautiful.

  He’s being congratulated by all our team, his dad, Uncle John, and Pierce. Carrick’s grinning and laughing.

  Just watching him makes my heart swell, my chest filling with happiness.

  Then, Carrick’s face tilts my way, his stare finding mine, and the look he gives me—the depth in his eyes, the smile on his face—leaves me feeling breathlessly staggered, and exhilarated.

  In this moment, I realize that I’m massively screwed.

  Because I fancy him. Big time.

  And now, I have to find a way to deal with that.

  Trust me to get a crush on the one man I can’t have.

  Pulling in a deep breath, covering my feelings for him, I smile and make my way over to congratulate him.

  “I’M BORED.” Carrick drops down into the chair in front of me.

  He’s looking as gorgeous as ever, dressed in khaki shorts and a white polo shirt, which shows off the deep golden tan of his skin.

  I’m trying really hard not to stare at his arms. They’re just really good arms. Unblemished smooth skin, muscular, sexy veins running along them—they’re the kind of arms you want to lick.

  As you can see, my crush is going extremely well. The stopping-it part? Not so well.

  We’re in Kuala Lumpur for the second leg of the season. It’s my first time in this country, and I’ve got to say, it’s amazing.

  “How can you be bored? It’s only nine thirty in the morning.” I take a bite of my toast.

  I’m eating breakfast alone as Petra is still in bed, sleeping off last night’s hangover. Surprisingly, I’m feeling bright this morning, considering how much I drank last night. Carrick came out last night, but he didn’t stay long as he had an early morning training session.