“I’m still driving my first car. It’s a Volkswagen GTI turbo diesel. It’s tiny and fast and good on gas, which I have always had to pay for myself. I also have to maintain the German sucker, changing my own oil and spark plugs and everything.”
I leave out any mention of my actual race car, the Black Sheep Mustang, as I am sucked into a memory of one of my dad’s many learning lessons.
I finally meet Cole’s eyes. “I got a flat driving to my winter formal dance when I was a sophomore. My date didn’t know how to change a tire, and when I called my dad for help, he said ‘what the hell are you calling me for, Shelby? I taught you how to do that when you got your license. Man up and get that shit fixed and go to your stupid dance.’ I had to change my own tire in a formal dress and heels. I’m pretty sure I was flashing the entire street whenever a car drove by and the wind picked up my skirt.” I smile. Even though Dad had seemed cruel at the time, I felt incredibly proud of myself for successfully changing my own tire.
“Wow, your dad seems...intense. And it sounds like your date was a pussy. He made you drive and couldn’t even pretend to figure it out?” Cole shifts restlessly next to me. Apparently, that would not have been his style.
I grimace. Kyle had been everything my dad and brother weren’t. He was intellectual, soft spoken, and romantic. I liked him well enough, but eventually I realized I wasn’t in the relationship for the right reasons. I never liked him as much as he liked me, and even though I loved the attention, he couldn’t hold my attraction.
My next boyfriend, Shawn, had been the complete opposite; an older bad boy who was rarely available and made me wonder if he liked me nearly as much as I liked him. I felt like the luckiest girl alive that he had picked me. Two months of dating felt like a roller coaster of the best kind of emotional torture. Until he took my virginity in the backseat of his Chevy Nova, and then two days later, my former best friend Kylee’s. I was so mad that Kylee would sleep with him when she knew we were together. She told me to get my head out of my ass and that any girl would have done the same had Shawn offered. I was shocked and weary of not only asshole guys, but my so-called friends as well at that point. It took me a while to be ready to date again, and kept me from making too many good girlfriends.
My junior year, I finally noticed Brad. He had been in a few of my classes, but we never talked. One day, he started asking about assignments, and it struck me that he was actually cute and funny. Brad was also safe. He was a jock, but not the star player, with enough brains in his head to do well in school. He appreciated me and never pushed me to go further than I wanted. I was holding out after being used by Shawn. Brad was patient and kind, and when I finally said I was ready to try again, he made it special. Or at least he tried to. There is only so much you can do as an inexperienced seventeen-year-old who lives at home, but at least it was in his bedroom and not the backseat of a car. Brad lasted a good six months before I tired of his easy-going nature.
The summer before my senior year, I met Rocco, a lifeguard at the local pool. It sounds cliché, but damn was that a fantasy come to life. We made out in the locker room and even snuck in after hours to skinny dip. Apparently, I wasn’t his only summer fling, and once again I was devastated by a stupid guy who cheated.
I entered my senior year with a vow to not get my heart broken again. That was going well until Noah transferred in, all the way from Connecticut. He was new; punk, bookish, and brooding, giving all of us sunny California girls heart attacks with his cold charm and unsuspecting dry humor. I tried to ignore him, but he was in several of my classes, and when he asked to study together, I couldn’t say no. We did very little studying, but we both managed to pass all of our tests.
That’s about the time I dyed my hair black. I did it so my dad would stop seeing me as the spitting image of my mother, which seemed to break his heart, and to be more like Noah’s ideal of perfection. He wanted a girl who was raven-haired and pale, reading Gaiman and Vonnegut, a Donnie Darko aficionado and lover of post-hardcore bands like Pierce the Veil and A Skylit Drive.
Unfortunately, Henry scared him off. Big brothers do that when they catch a punk kid with his tongue ring down their little sister’s throat on the front porch. Henry went out of his way to chase Noah off, following us on dates, coming to school to “have lunch” with me, and even set up a text campaign to annoy him. Noah ended up ditching me for an easier to date alt girl with purple hair. Henry said it was for my own good, but I didn’t talk to him for over a month.
College was a string of insignificant faces and places and beds. Some lasted longer than others, but nothing was earth-shattering or memorable. I have a habit of getting hurt by a bad boy after growing tired of nice guys. There seems to be no middle ground for me, which is why I haven’t put much thought into dating since graduating and spending the last two years working full-time in the shop.
“Earth to Shelby. Where’d you go?” I blink rapidly and look up at Cole. Looking around, I notice the cars are gone, so they must be at the tech inspection. I was seriously out of it.
“Oh, sorry, just got lost in my thoughts.” I untwist my hair from my bun and comb my fingers through the tangled tresses.
“Yeah, really lost. I was talking to you for a few minutes and I don’t think you heard a thing.”
Cole ruffles my head, sending my hair into my face in a tangled cascade. I slap his hand away and sweep my hair out of my eyes. Boys. They can’t help but touch you when they’re the least bit interested. It’s like elementary school, where they chase you around the playground and steal your toys so you give them attention.
I smile crookedly at his silliness. “Wow, my bad. What were you saying?”
“I said we plan to go out Saturday night after the races. There’s a club here in Long Beach that we hit last year and thought was good. It’s sort of an unofficial season opener party, and a bunch of the race teams go. You’ll definitely want to be there. I’ll point out potential sponsors if you want to work your magic.”
I brighten and think of the opportunities that will be available this weekend. “Yeah, totally. I’m so down to let off a little steam and network.”
“Good. We’ll have a fun time. The team likes to party pretty hard after the races, since the weeks leading up to, and the events themselves, are super stressful. It will be a new side of the team for you to see.”
“Hopefully even better than what you have already shown me.” I smile and gently elbow Cole in the ribs. He bumps me back with his and laughs.
“Oh, Paul has a box of hero cards in the truck for you, want to see them?”
“I have a hero card? I thought those were just for drivers?”
“I haven’t seen them, but now I’m curious. Let’s go see.”
Cole leads me over to the black truck and roots around in the bed until he pulls out a plastic tote with promo written on it in permanent marker. He unclasps the top and opens a few boxes.
“Here we go.” He opens the box labeled Shelby and freezes. “Damn, girl, these are smokin’ hot.”
I reach under his arm and grab the box he’s holding, pulling my promo away from him. Glossy eight by ten sheets have several of my photo shoot images placed on the front, with the Smoke and Mirrors logo and team info artfully splashed along the bottom. I flip the sheet over and am met with a stunning photo of me lying on my stomach on the carbon fiber hood of the Supra. My head is supported by my hand that is gracefully messing up my hair. I have a pouty, pissed look on my face as my ass looks perfectly spankable against the setting sun. This was right before Griffin barged onto the set and we wrapped, but damn, it’s the best one of the group I have seen so far.
Cole whistles. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a total asshole, but this is what you look like all made up? You’re hot in your hoodies and jeans, but that is out of this world. I need one.” He reaches for the box and snags a sheet for himself before I can stop him.
“Don’t you dar
e beat your meat to my pictures. If I hear one comment that leads me to think that has happened, I will cut your balls off myself.” I point my finger at him and work on my best menacing glare. There’s very little I can do to intimidate him, but I try anyway.
Cole places my photo and his hand over his heart, a look of mock sadness playing across his all-American good-looking face. “You would think I’m such a pig? No. I’m going to frame it. Here.” He roots in the box I’m holding and finds a Sharpie. “Sign it for me.”
I laugh, but he looks serious, the marker waving in my face. “Okay, you big dork. But only so I can practice my signature should anyone else want me to autograph something.” I take the Sharpie and the sheet, signing Shelby Elise and adding a little heart on the bumper of the Supra.
“Perfect. The rest of the guys will be so jealous. Oh, looks like Wyatt and Griffin are heading back with the cars. Now that tech and the driver’s meeting are done, we can leave soon.”
I follow Cole to the cars where Ryan, Paul, and Ezra are waiting. Cole triumphantly holds the hero card above his head like a trophy. “I got Shelby’s first signed hero card, suckers.”
Ryan and Ezra both grab for the card, but Cole holds it out of reach, which is easy as he is probably six foot four and his arms reach even higher. I look over at Paul, who is smiling at me.
“You like them?” Paul separates himself from the group and meets me.
“I didn’t know you were going to make those. They’re beautiful.” I squeeze his forearm in thanks.
“We need promo for our favorite promo girl to sign. That backside is sick, right? It was the very last photo of the first shoot. The others I stuck on the front were awesome, but I couldn’t let that one be made any smaller than an entire page. I think they’re eye-catching and will keep Smoke and Mirrors in people’s minds.”
“Shelby, girl...I’m at a loss for words. Is this why Griff has been an asshole to you all week?” I look over and find Wyatt pointing to the backside of the card.
My eyes dart to Griffin, who looks away, his arms crossed over his chest and a mean scowl turning down his full lips. He should really smile more. When he laughed at me earlier, his face took on a completely different shape and made me think he could be even more attractive than I already find him. He has obviously seen the photos. Hell, he was there in person. I nod at Wyatt and shrug, like what can I do?
“You can lie on my car any damn time you want to. In fact, if you have any more photo shoots, you better believe I’m going to be there. To support you, of course,” he tacks on, the dimples popping in his cheeks.
I shake my head, turning back to Paul. “Did you have something you wanted me to wear, or is the shop tank top still good?”
“Oh, thanks for reminding me.”
He reaches into the promo tote and shuffles stuff around until he finds a black plastic bag. It’s not very large, and suddenly, I’m worried about what he has planned. He hands the bag to me and smiles sheepishly.
I reach inside and pull out a shiny, stretchy purple top that looks like it will hit just below my boobs, with a zipper up the front and a big scoop over the chest area. It has stretchy three-quarter sleeves that are connected by a strip of fabric that will rest just below my collarbone. The Smoke and Mirrors logo is splashed across the strip at the top. The second piece I pull out is a black, slinky miniskirt with the shop logo across a purple band at the bottom and vertical purple stripes down one side. At least this will cover my ass better than the bikini bottoms or boyshorts I wore for the photo shoots did.
“It’s way better than some of the outfits I have seen for promo models. Thanks for that.” I smile at Paul, knowing it wasn’t cheap to have this produced specifically for me. “Any swag or promo material you want me to hang out, or info I can rehearse tonight to share with people who come by our booth?”
“Yeah, I’ll have this tote ready for you with key chains, stickers, and flyers. We printed up thousands for the season, so give them to everyone tomorrow. We are on home turf here and could very well get some shop business. Oh, and I got you an umbrella with our logo on it so you can stand with the drivers for photos and at signings. It’s a common practice, and I wanted to make sure the team has access to every possible marketing opportunity.”
“You think of everything, Paul. Now, boots or heels? I’ve seen both at events like this.”
“You’ve got nice legs, show them off in heels.”
“Easy enough. So, what do we do now? Head to the hotel?”
“Yeah, let’s wrangle the team and head out.”
Chapter Eight
Engines purr and rev, thumping deeply like motorboats at idle, while screeching tires lend a cacophonic background to the constant chatter and the emcees announcements. The clouds that massed yesterday made good on their promise of rain, the smell of wet asphalt mixing with burnt rubber and gasoline. Thankfully, the rain didn’t last, and now the sun is breaking through and the preliminary qualifying runs are happening as planned. Ezra and Ryan rushed to adjust the setups for the slick track conditions, but there is really nothing you can do except hope the drivers know how to compensate and control their cars.
Wyatt and Griffin have already had their first runs on the track and received decent scores. They are waiting on their second run to see if they will be part of the top thirty-two drivers to progress to the Tandem events tomorrow. Practice this morning went well, and Paul is happy with both the output from the cars and the driving from the guys. Cole is keeping an eye on the other drivers, taking copious notes in a spiral-bound notebook filled with chicken scratch that he can use for comparison should Wyatt or Griffin come up against these guys tomorrow in the bracket.
And me? I’m bouncing between being a booth bunny, where I’m parroting back shop info and car specs to anyone who visits the booth, to holding the huge umbrella on the grid before the guys had their turn on the course. Later, I’ll return to umbrella girl mode when we have a driver meet and greet for anyone who progresses to the tandem elimination rounds. I guess I’ll be posing with the drivers and cars should our guys make it through.
My promo outfit seems to be a hit and I have had some people recognize me from the videos that Network D and the ADL shared. “Hey, you’re the chick from the 350Z call-out!” has been a familiar conversation starter. Every time someone recognizes me, my spirits soar and I get giddy butterflies. Posing for photos with fans and telling them where to find Paul and Smoke and Mirrors has made everything up to this point worth it.
“Fuck yeah, I dominated that round. It’s too bad my boy Wyatt didn’t. But it’s okay, bro, you can cheer me on tomorrow from the stands.” I spin around to find Griffin and Wyatt back at our booth. Griffin is looking way too pleased with himself, and I’m guessing from his self-congratulatory tone, he made it to the tandem round.
“Hey, sorry you didn’t make it,” I say to Wyatt as he nears me.
He slips his arm around my waist and pulls me against his side. I teeter a little in my tall, spiky heels, but he steadies me. “No sweat. I get to spend more time being a promo model with you now. Can you show me how to pose for photos?” He tries to arch his back and stick both his ass and chest out while wearing his driver’s fire suit. I smack his chest and laugh.
“You’re such a dumbass. You can sit at the booth and educate people on the work that has gone into our cars, convincing them we can make theirs even better.”
I look back toward the booth to see who is hanging out there and catch Griffin’s stare. He looks away, but not quick enough to disguise the look on his face. Is it jealousy? Does he have a problem with Wyatt touching me, or just me in general? I’m distracted when people come up and ask for photos of Wyatt and Griffin, and even a few with me.
***
“How did Griffin do with his first tandem round?” I ask Wyatt when he comes striding back to the booth. I was in the stands passing out promo when he started, but Paul asked me to come back to the booth, so I missed the two races he was in
.
“The first race he was the chase car, but he killed it. He pushed Sergio Torres on every drift, and showed some serious style when they hit the S-turn. He kept his spacing tight, even when shifting corners. He left Sergio in his tire smoke when he was the lead car with some serious speed and the angles were all sick, hitting all of the clipping zones. He won the round and will be advancing up the bracket.”
Wyatt grabs my hand and twirls me in a circle before his hands settle on my hips to still me. He’s grinning, those dimples of his needing to be acknowledged. His Smoke and Mirrors T-shirt fits snugly and his dark jeans hang on his lean hips, drawing my eyes down the length of him before they snap back up to his face.
I step back so his hands fall away. I love the attention and want him to touch me, but I also want to be professional and keep my job from becoming a big clusterfuck of awkward.
“Sounds like a good start to the day. Do we know when his next race is?”
“Probably in an hour or so. He’ll be back up here soon. I’m sure you’ll hear firsthand just how incredible his runs were. At least he didn’t do any crazy celebrating when he advanced. I lost twenty bucks to Ryan because I bet he would do something crazy. He may be turning over a slightly new leaf this season.” Wyatt sounds almost unbelieving of this new side to Griffin, and I can’t blame him.
“We can only hope. I was talking to a rep for Forden Tires and telling them about you guys when I walked back from the track earlier. They knew who both you and Griffin were, and seemed interested to see how this season goes. I got a business card and he said I should follow up with him after the event to talk about possible sponsorship options.”
“No shit? Shelby, you are too good. We have talked to those guys so many times and never gotten a business card or anyone to acknowledge that they could sponsor us. You must have been extra charming.”
Drift Heat Page 8
