At Full Sprint (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters)

by A. E. Grace

  “Of course. This is way more comfortable, and probably only slightly less expensive.”

  It wasn’t long until they were on a motorway, and in the backs of what few cars were on the road at half past six in the morning, she could see faces pressed against windows as they made their thunderous way past them in the fast lane.

  “So,” Circe asked, tapping her pad with the top of her pen. “Why did you really ask me to join you today?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you just want to show off your car?”

  “No,” Miles said, glancing at her. “I’m not one for showing off.”

  Circe laughed, putting a finger to her mouth. “That’s a blatant lie.”

  “Really, I’m telling you the truth, Circe. Showing off just sort of happens to me, you know?”

  She gave him a big, knowing nod. “Yes, happens to me all the time. Just can’t help it, you know? Like sneezing.”

  “See, we’re kindred spirits.”

  “But, really, Miles, why?”

  “Thought you might like to know what it feels like to ride in a car like this. Also, I don’t mind the company. You are, after all, trying to get to know me, and paint a positive picture of me in your article, aren’t you?”

  “That depends,” she said, smirking at him. “What do I get out of it if it’s positive, rather than negative?”

  “A career,” he fired back without missing a beat. “Be too critical, and I don’t imagine you’ll see the same success.” His shoulders rose and fell.

  “Ha! Hopefully, yes. Well, perhaps we should start.”

  “We could. Or, we could wait until after breakfast and a coffee, and start on the drive from Geelong to Apollo Bay. What do you say?”

  Circe put her pad and pen back in her purse. “Okay. I can do that.”

  She watched his hands as they pressed down on the paddles with confidence. She wondered how similar it felt to driving his Formula One car, and whether or not there was any angle there that could gain traction for her article.

  And though they didn’t speak much, Circe found that she was surprisingly comfortable and at ease. She had expected to be nervous and jittery as hell.

  *

  “So,” Miles said, starting the car. They’d had a quick bite and a cup of bitter black. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, tell me about yourself, Circe. Anything you like. I’m interested. After all, you’ve learned about me, so now it’s my turn to learn about you.”

  “Why is that necessary?”

  “It’s not. But I’d like to.”

  “Why?”

  Miles looked over, brows creased together in confusion. “You don’t have to. I’m just curious.”

  “Okay,” Circe said, nodding, perhaps realizing how she was acting. “Sounds fair. What do you want to know?”

  Miles thought about it. “It sounds cliché, but what’s your dream?”

  “That is cliché,” she said, nodding before sucking on her lower lip. “Um, but to answer your question, I want to one day start up my own magazine.”

  “Oh, yeah? What about?”

  “That’s the thing. I’m not sure yet.”

  “Biting political satire?”

  “Eh, no, don’t think so.”

  “Lifestyle and fashion?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Oh? Not interested?”

  “I am, but the competition is too fierce.”

  “Ah,” Miles murmured. “So you really don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Strictly print? This is the digital age. You could be doing videos on the internet and things like that.”

  “Strictly print. Anybody can put stuff on the internet, and I’m a bit old fashioned that way. I want to hold my magazine when I read it, not scroll down with my mouse wheel. And I enjoy writing a ton.”

  “What about the spin?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Isn’t that what you journalists do? Spin the truth, weave elaborate and implicit half-lies into your articles? Word things in specific ways to elicit specific emotions out of the reader?”

  “That’s a bit cynical, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve seen a lot,” Miles told her. “I’ve read a lot of journalism, a lot of reporting.”

  “Is that supposed to mean anything?”

  Miles shrugged. Was she getting defensive? He liked that she had a passion of pride. “Does it mean something to you?”

  “They may exist, but I’m not that sort of journalist. I don’t want to write about politics, or for a newspaper. I want to tell stories. I want to interview interesting people, see interesting things, and-”

  “Get paid to write about it,” Miles interrupted.

  “Well, yes. But it’s not that simple.”

  “It’s alright. I get paid to drive fast. I also love to drive fast. Works for me.”

  “I’m sure what you do is more than simply going fast.”

  “It is,” Miles said, nodding. “It’s precision, accuracy, and timing. I enjoy all of that, too. Like judging a corner perfectly, executing a hairpin perfectly… it makes me feel good inside. But the speed? I’m addicted to that.”

  “Addicted?”

  “Yes. What are you addicted to?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You sure?”

  Circe thought about it. “New experiences.”

  “That’s why you came with me on this drive today?”

  “No, I came because it’s my job.”

  “And a new experience. You’ve never been to where we’re going, with who you’re going with, in a car quite like this one.”

  “I didn’t know about the last part when you asked me.”

  “So two out of three was enough to convince you, then.”

  Circe smiled. “Like I said, I’m on the clock.”

  “Did you keep a diary when you were young?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Miles repeated the question, eyes remaining fixed on the road.

  “Why do you even want to know that?”

  He shrugged. “Curiosity.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” Circe muttered. “But yes, I did. I still do, in fact.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you write in it?”

  “Personal stuff that’s none of your business.”

  He laughed. “Okay, I can respect that. So, family?”

  “Mum and Dad.”

  “No brothers or sisters?”

  “Only child.”

  “Ah,” Miles said, nodding. He curled his lips. “Spoiled, were you?” He laughed when he saw her expression, a mixture of indignation and insult. “Just joking. But, you know, at your age, only child, with a master’s degree. It’s a generation thing.”

  “It’s not what you think, actually,” Circe replied. Her voice was calm and cool, and it only made Miles want to tease her more. “I paid for all my own tuition, working two separate jobs while I was at school. Not only that, but I supported my parents. Dad was laid off after a workplace accident, and Mum was left the sole earner as a receptionist in a medical office. I’m about as blue collar as you get.”

  Miles was impressed. “Good,” he said. “I like that.”

  “And you? You seem like you were born into privilege, with your cocky swagger and attitude.”

  He widened his eyes at her. Now there was some fire! But how wrong she was! He regretted that the truth about his upbringing was something he certainly couldn’t tell her.

  “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Far from it, in fact.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Dead serious. So, did you graduate with honors?”

  “Yes, actually,” Circe said, allowing pride to influence her intonation. She put on a face of airy superiority, and grinned at him. “First-class degree.”

  “Well done. Compared to you, I’m an uneducated fool.”


  “You didn’t go to university?”

  “God, no.”

  Circe nodded, scribbling down on her pad. “Why not?”

  “The opportunity simply wasn’t there.”

  “When did you start racing?”

  “Oh, that’s ancient history.” He turned and looked at her, and their eyes met. Not for the first time he felt that familiar thump in his gut, and goose bumps popped up along the tops of his arms.

  Miles was beginning to realize that he really liked this young woman. It was more than just a physical attraction. He just had to ask it. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  She paused before answering him, as though caught off-guard by the question. He conceded that it was quite personal. “No,” she eventually said, though her voice was a little quieter.

  “But you did?”

  “One, yes. When I was doing my master’s.”

  “Didn’t work?”

  “No,” Circe said. “He was a dickhead.”

  “How so?”

  “His attention… wavered.”

  “Ah,” Miles said, feeling a stab of sympathy for her. “I know the type.”

  “And you, Mr. Cheat Cohen? Any wife or girlfriend in your life?”

  Miles shook his head. “Nope. Nobody in my life but me.”

  “I don’t believe it,” she said through a laugh.

  “It’s true.”

  “Fine, I’ll come at it from a different point. Any husband or boyfriend in your life?”

  He met her eyes again. “Nope,” he said. “No boyfriend or husband. Not really my thing.”

  “Fair enough,” Circe said. She looked around. “Wait! Stop the car!”

  Miles braked quickly, pulling over into a shoulder. “What is it?”

  “I saw a kangaroo!”

  “Where?”

  Circe pointed forward, and Miles peered up at a ridge looming over the next turn. Sure enough, he saw the head of a kangaroo poking out through tall blades of grass. He laughed. “This is the first time I’ve seen one in the wild.”

  “First one I’ve seen, ever.”

  Miles climbed out of the car, and walked around to the other side, opening the door for Circe. “Come on,” he said. “I could use a break. I noticed a small road just a bit back going up, and we might get high enough to get a better look.”

  They turned off the main road, and walked up a small narrow path, but the tree line prevented them from getting a clear view at the kangaroo.

  “That’s a shame.”

  “It’s probably gone by now, anyway.”

  They turned to descend back down the steep hill when he spotted movement in the gum trees above him. He touched Circe’s arm. She turned quickly, looking first at his hand, then at him. He pulled his fingers away, and smiled, pointing upward.

  Above them in the gum trees was a baby koala, and it had evidently spotted them for it was climbing up and down repeatedly over a set of branches.

  “Oh my God!” Circe gasped. “A wild koala.”

  “Never seen a wild koala before, either, and I’ve been driving down this road seven years now.”

  “It’s showing off!” Circe squealed. “How old do you think it is? God, it’s so cute.”

  Miles walked a little off to the left, peering into the gum trees. “That could be its mother,” he said, pointing at a large koala nestled in the nook where a thick branch met the thicker trunk. It was apparently asleep, head ducked down and eyes closed.

  Sure enough, the baby koala made its way to its mother, who promptly collected the infant into her arms.

  “I wish I brought my phone,” Circe said. “It’s in the car! I want to take a photo.”

  Miles turned to her. “Why? Just remember it.”

  He shrugged and walked off back down the hill, looking over his shoulder once to see Circe still staring at the embracing mother and child.

  *

  “Would you consider yourself a private man?” Circe asked on the drive back. They had eaten a brunch of sorts together at Apollo Bay before driving down to the Twelve Apostles, which was absolutely breathtaking. The tide had started to come in as well, and as Circe had looked out at the isolated bits of rock that had been eroded off the cliff face, she could almost imagine she was seeing the erosion in action each time a swell crashed against the jagged, jutting spires of land.

  She imagined that it was similar to the way a glacier carved, only over tens of thousands of years.

  “Yes.”

  Circe yawned. “God, I’m off my game today. These questions suck.” She looked down at her pad. She had been asking exactly the type of muesli-and-bananas questions that Ms. Jennings didn’t want; that wouldn’t sell.

  “You tired?”

  “It’s been a long day,” Circe said. The sun was already setting. She could hardly believe she’d spent the whole day out with Miles. All in all, it had been pretty fun, and surprisingly comfortable, though she was beginning to get a bit bored with the Veyron’s cramped seat and the engine’s ever-present roar and rumble.

  “Tell me about it. I don’t think I can feel my arms anymore.”

  “Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t enjoy driving this long. Why did we leave so early this morning, anyway? I mean, besides watching the sunrise.” Circe rolled her eyes. Somehow, he didn’t seem the sentimental type, but she conceded that she had only met him the day before.

  “A part of it was to see if you were serious or not.”

  “About what?”

  “Painting a truthful picture of me, or making it either boilerplate or sensationalist.”

  Circe took offense. “Just because I’m an intern doesn’t mean I’m unprofessional.”

  “No,” Miles said. He lifted his hand off the steering wheel, and to Circe it looked like he had meant to reach over and touch her hand, or perhaps reassure her by patting her on the thigh, but he didn’t. It was a strange movement, and a viscous awkwardness filled the space between them.

  She had to admit… the day had been comfortable, though oddly tense. They got along… quite well, in fact, but he had kept himself at arm’s reach. She knew that she had, too. Were they both just being protective? Guarded? He had laughed easily, but she felt it was a cover, or just a way he shielded himself. She needed to break past that. His ‘attraction’ to her – and she was still trying to decide if he was just messing around and teasing her, or if it was genuine – seemed the most real in that small movement his hand had just made.

  “I meant that your boss might have an agenda and be forcing your hand.”

  “Well, how would my coming out with you today mean I’m serious?”

  “Because it means you’re interested. You didn’t have to. None of this was in the agreement.”

  “You know, Miles, you’re a bit strange.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah. Especially for a racer. I mean, when you’re at the pits, teasing your competitors and full of swagger… that’s what I expect. But today, you’re different. Interview-mode again, but tell me: Is it all an act?”

  “Isn’t everybody always acting?” he deflected. “I mean, aren’t you?”

  Circe didn’t know what to make of that. Did he know what Ms. Jennings had said to her? Impossible!

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  “No, it’s not an act. But you’re not my competitor.”

  “Did you always know you wanted to race?”

  “Yes. Well, I mean, not always. It was probably the first time I actually saw a race.”

  “Oh?” Circe said, perking up. “When was that?”

  “Let’s not do this now.”

  She sighed. “Why? Why is it whenever I ask about your past, you sidestep? I thought this was all-access.”

  He tilted his head the side. “Fair enough. The first race I ever saw was just a drag race on the street outside my house. Two men who had two cars wanted to race, and since we lived on a bit of straight road, they did it there.”

  �
��Oh,” Circe said. “I thought you meant professional race.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “No. But how thrilling can watching two blokes go head to head on a bit of road? I mean, what were they racing?”

  “It wasn’t the competition. I don’t do it for that. It’s the speed. The control. The limits.”

  “So, in other words, the thrill?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Do you thrill-seek in other ways?”

  “Like what?”

  “Skydiving? Rollercoasters?”

  “God, no.”

  “Why so specific, then?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. But talking about all of this is starting to give me ideas. Want to really hear the engine roar?”

  Circe looked down, remembering the engine was in the middle of the car, pretty much right beneath them.

  “We’re at the limit, aren’t we?”

  “So what?”

  He sped up, and though she wanted to chide him because it was dangerous, found that she embraced the thrill instead. Holding on tight, her stomach was taking turns between rising up into her chest, barging aside her lungs, before sinking into her guts. She heard the engine indeed, but paid more attention to Miles. He regained some of his energy, and his smile became easy again as they weaved down the winding road at thirty above the speed limit.

  *

  “Night cap?” Miles offered as they walked up the stairs to the first-floor landing. “My treat.”

  “Isn’t everything your treat?” Circe asked him, looking around. “It’s on your tab.”

  “So that’s a no?” He watched as she pondered the question, before finally shaking her head.

  “Sorry, it’s late, and I need to check in with Ms. Jennings.”

  He nodded. “No worries. Oh, by the way, tomorrow I’m going home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I don’t always live in hotels, you know.”

  “Where is home?”

  “Depends on where my next race is.”

  “Okay, where is home when your next race is in Malaysia?”

  “Bali.” He grinned when she balked.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Right on the beach, too. Beautiful house. Everything is made of glass.”

  She made a face at him. “So no privacy, then?”