“Oh, you know, just doing my job. I’ve been posting photos and short videos all day of the booths, drivers, and cars. Those event hashtags are totally working in our favor and getting lots of new followers, likes, and shares. Even some of the other teams and drivers I have been showing have commented. It’s pretty cool how this sport has totally taken off, but everyone involved seems to be so down to earth.”
“Hey, motherfuckers, you can bow to your upcoming drift king. This competition is mine. Cole and I watched a few tandem rounds and those suckers look like shit. I’ll be cleaning house and taking home a podium win today, for sure.”
And just like that, I eat my words about people being down to earth. Griffin is peacocking around our booth, the top half of his black fire suit pushed down to his hips, exposing the tight black T-shirt he’s wearing beneath. His colorful sleeve of tattoos draw my eyes as usual as I watch him raise his hands in early victory. He’s getting worse with each advancement. I think he will be back to his unsportsmanlike conduct to follow his future wins. We are trying to keep him from ruining the work we are doing to establish S&M as a mature, well-behaved team. It seems like he can’t even help himself.
I worry when he finally heads back to the pit for his next round. He’s a good driver, so it’s not that I think he will lose, even though it’s any man’s race. I worry most that when I call the rep for Forden later, they will pretend to not remember me, or Smoke and Mirrors, because of what I expect from Griffin.
I’m busy signing hero cards and handing out flyers at our booth when Wyatt gets the call from Cole. Griffin had a “one more time” round because the judges couldn’t decide who had won from the first two runs. On his third run, he was the lead car, and his opponent, Charlie Sweeten, clipped his bumper and sent him into a spin that landed the Supra nose-first into a wall right at the start.
Cold dread pools in my stomach as Wyatt rushes out of the booth with Paul. “Wait, what can I do?” I call to their retreating backs.
Paul slows and turns but doesn’t stop. “Just stay here and watch the booth. We’ll be back when we know what’s going on,” Paul says to me before he sprints after Wyatt.
I hope Griffin is okay. Oh my God, I totally hope the Supra is in drivable condition. We only have five minutes to fix any damage if Paul calls a competition timeout, otherwise no vehicle servicing can be made during the tandem runs. No wonder Wyatt took off so fast. They will all need to assess the mess and do any repairs they can in the shortest amount of time possible.
I wait around for an hour, much longer than I had expected, before anyone makes it back to the booth. Wyatt returns first with a noticeable slump in his shoulders.
“Please tell me what’s going on. I’ve been dying to know if everything is all right.” I grab Wyatt’s shoulders to make him tell me and he smiles sadly, his dimples remaining hidden.
“The Supra is toast. We called a comp timeout and tried to fix the damage from the crash, but the intercooler was pushed into the engine. There’s some major damage and nothing we can do to fix it here. We had to forfeit, even though we are sure Griff would have taken the one more time round. It sucks so bad.” Wyatt pushes his glasses up with his hand to rub his eyes. The black frames settle back on his nose and he eyes me with a stare that causes me to feel the heavy disappointment right along with him.
“We can fix it and try again next week at Sonoma. I’m sure we can find parts and get everything perfect in a few days, right?”
I’m grasping, hoping they have the spares and the time to fix something like this. I know Dad and Henry would be giving a month-long service estimate to a client with that kind of damage, but maybe S&M can do better.
“No, we can’t. It’s going to take weeks that we don’t have to fix it. There’s no way we can get it to Sonoma in a week, and we’ll probably miss Sacramento the week after that, too. Griff won’t be able to compete until the Supra is fixed, and I feel bad that I still have the opportunity. He’s going to be so pissy and not happy to have to tag along and not race. Fuck. This is why we need backup cars. Even if they are just some basic cars with nice modded upgrades, he could have a chance. Hell, Griffin could drive a boat of a Cadillac and make it perform like the most built up S14 Silvia.”
“I have an idea. I have no clue if it will pan out, but I have to follow it. Hang here and watch the booth for me, I have a call to make.”
Wyatt stares at me like I’m crazy, but nods and heads back to our table while I grab my phone from my purse and run off to find a quiet area—easier said than done when every few seconds I hear burnouts and the braaap-braap of a revved engine.
I dial quickly, my fingers shaking with possibilities. If this works, we might have a chance of having both our drivers competing until the Supra is repaired.
My heart pounds loudly in my ears as the call is picked up. “Henry? Is Project Black Sheep ready to be track tested? I need some help.”
Chapter Nine
Dinner is a sober affair. The whole team is bummed about Griffin’s crash. None more so than him. He mopes and pushes food around his plate and every few minutes curses Charlie’s intentional bump.
“Quit sulking, man. We’re going to get the car repaired quickly. Paul will call in orders for parts that will be in by the end of the week. Ezra is working for free to help me install everything and we should be ready to tune and test in a week or two.” Ryan has been doing his best to cheer Griffin up, but even the thought of someone working for free on the car can’t kick Griffin out of his mood.
I figure I can drop some good news on the team now. “Actually, a few people at the track have already offered to send over parts to help. I was talking to Garrett Chang of Kustom Fab here in Long Beach, and he offered to do custom piping for the new intercooler when it comes in. For free. We just have to get some graphics for the car to represent this new sponsor.” Six sets of eyes whip my way as I finish speaking.
“For free? You shitting us? We’ve seen his work before, it’s good. I can’t believe he offered that. When did you see him?” Paul asks.
“While I was waiting for you guys to get the Supra loaded on the trailer at the track. He came by the booth and said he saw what happened and felt bad. He said Charlie shouldn’t have taken that line that clipped Griffin. Apparently he hates when racers get irresponsible under pressure. He sent Jack Durbin of JDT over afterward, who offered a new set of turbos and an email tune by one of his shop guys, Jordan. I’m not sure if you have let anyone else tune before, but I checked him out and he’s fucking incredible. His work is on a lot of the pros’ cars in the ADL, and it’s solid.”
“Shelby, just keep talking, sweet thing, because everything coming out of your mouth is pure heaven. What other presents do you have for us?” Wyatt asks, his blue eyes sparkling behind his matte black frames and the dimples I like so much on full display.
“You guys just have to promise to always be on your best behavior on and off the track, so these new sponsors don’t retract their love and support, okay? Oh, and I got Sky Candy Media Printing to agree to do wraps for the cars and create custom graphics for us once the Supra is fixed. Wyatt, The Beast will get a wrap, so your baby will be all shiny and pretty, too.”
“Shelby, how the hell did you get all of this done today?” Paul asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I talked to Sky Candy yesterday when I was filming the booths in our area. We started talking about custom team designs, and they liked the ideas I was giving them so much, Aaron said he would send over some mock-up designs for you to check out. If you liked them, he’d get them ready for the cars. I hope you guys don’t mind.”
“No, not at all! I’ve been wanting to get the cars looking uniform for a while, but custom wraps just weren’t in the budget when power mods were on the chopping block. This will give us a unified team look so everyone will know the Supra and 350Z are Smoke and Mirrors’ cars.”
“Thank you. It means a lot.”
I look up when I hear that s
imple and softly cracking rumble to find Griffin just looking away. It took so much for him to say, he can’t even meet my eyes. But it’s all I need to feel lighter than air and the butterflies in my stomach to be set free.
I feel my cheeks heat and I look down at my salad. I’m happy the chatter around the table picks up and is much more positive. I knew they would love the new sponsors I brought in, but I didn’t realize it would give them the hope that buoys them now in the wake of the devastating crash earlier.
“I say we head to the hotel and regroup to head to Club Bounty. Everyone in?” Cole is waiting on our replies, so I hold my breath to see who will go.
“Sorry, guys, I have to get the Supra back to the garage to start pulling the motor apart tonight. It needs to be ready to go when the parts come in.” Paul has been tapping into his phone but pauses to look around the table.
“I’m coming back with you. I hate to see Saffira all bashed up, so I’m gonna help you get it pulled apart and cleaned to see where we need the most work. I’ll pull the Z home, too,” Ryan says, folding his napkin.
Paul nods. “I want the rest of you to stay and have a good time. We’ll take both cars home and come back in the morning to pick you up.” I guess that leaves Griffin, Wyatt, Cole, and Ezra. And little old me.
Chapter Ten
Thumping bass resonates in my chest, a slick of sweat coating my skin as I move to the beat, my hands in the air. Bodies writhe around me, many of them people I recognize from the Streets of Long Beach competition. A few promo models, like me, are wearing our respective colors or logos. I have my S&M tank tied under my boobs, my midriff bare and a black miniskirt riding up my thighs. I have worked my ass off to get my body in this shape, I might as well flaunt it while I can. I’ve had three shots of Patron and lost count of the vodka-Mas Boost cocktails I’ve been downing, so I’m feeling warm and floaty and perfectly at ease here in the throng. I lost track of the team, but I’ve seen Cole and Ezra at the bar the few times I went for a drink, which they happily supplied for me.
Hands touch and grope, and crotches grind as people come and go around me. I don’t care about anyone else, I just want to dance and move to the rhythm of music and the sponsor successes that flutters my heart. Every few minutes, a new set of hands will take my hips and dance with me until I move away from the offending boner or wandering fingers. I’m not afraid of strangers touching me, but I draw a line when it gets too sexy.
Hands once again grip my hips, pulling me back against a solid chest and immediately we are rocking perfectly in time with the beat. I’ll let Mr. Grabby have a go bumping and grinding against my ass for a minute before I push away the inevitable erection that starts to dig into my ass. I look down at the hands and notice colorful tattoos decorating the skin of the toned forearm that peeks out of the rolled sleeve. My heart hammers faster than the pulsing beat and I worry I’m about to face a familiar wrath. I straighten up and make to move away, but Wyatt steps in front of me.
“Relax, it’s just me and Griff,” he says, coming in close to shout in my ear. His breath smells like booze, but I’m sure mine does, too. He places my hands on his shoulders, his fingers tracing a delicate path down the length of my arms.
I blow out a breath and do as he says, leaning back hesitantly against what I now know is Griffin’s solid mass. I don’t want to think too much about this delightfully strange change in Griffin. I never would have imagined we would be dancing together a few days after we were verbally sparring. I let them sandwich me as we move to the beat of whatever electronica the DJ is spinning. Even in my floaty drunk state, I know how good I have it right now. I have two of the hottest guys in the club making me the cream of this drift racer Oreo. The thought alone puts me at ease enough to let Griffin fully move me the way he wants.
Wyatt’s hands come to rest above Griffin’s, sliding along the bare skin of my waist, making me shiver. His thigh splits my legs, making my skirt ride higher as I grind on him, while Griffin keeps my ass pressed firmly against his crotch. Six legs manage to entwine and still we move together in the most erotic dance I’ve ever been a part of. I hold on to Wyatt’s shoulders for dear life. I’m not sure if this is real life, or some kind of sexy wet dream that will wake me, panting and throbbing as the echo of an orgasm mists away into consciousness.
Four big, strong hands touch my skin, sending jet trails of hunger and longing through me. I am on fire. Griffin’s fingers span the length of my skirt, which barely covers my goodies now. His thumbs hook into the stretchy waistband and the tips of his fingers trace along the skin of my thighs. Wyatt’s fingers span my ribs, his thumbs sliding under the material at the edge of my tank top.
It feels so fucking good to be at their mercy, to finally get a chance to touch and be touched by the object of my desire.
I tip my head back, resting against Griffin’s shoulder as my eyes close and my mouth opens in a silent moan. Wyatt pulls me forward a bit, his face inching toward mine when I open my eyes. One of Griffin’s hands leaves my hip to skate up my back and tangle in my hair.
I close my eyes and wait for the kiss I know is coming from Wyatt, but suddenly, Griffin grips my hair and pulls my head away from Wyatt. I open my eyes and Wyatt is smiling, but the look he sends over my shoulder at Griffin is just short of friendly. Griffin’s grip in my hair eases, but he leaves his hand on the back of my neck, his thumb tracing a path through the sweaty curls that reside at my nape.
The song changes and so does the rhythm, slowing down enough to disrupt our movements. Griffin uses his hold on my hip to redirect us. Instead of a sideways swing, his hips now roll mine up and forward. Wyatt catches on, his hips pushing me back along his thigh into Griffin. The new friction, coupled with the amazing feeling of these two men playing their hands over my skin, is sending me higher. I let go of one of Wyatt’s shoulders, my arm snaking behind Griffin’s neck, pulling him closer. His face nuzzles into my neck, his breath puffing hotly against my scorching skin.
I have no clue if my skirt is covering my ass anymore or if I’m flashing my barely there thong. I guess it doesn’t really matter since I have the guys doing a nice job of covering me completely. I bare down on Wyatt’s thigh just a tiny bit harder as Griffin angles my hips, and my hood piercing finished the job these guys started, sending me into an orgasm that I do my best to hide. I breathe quietly through my open mouth, my eyes rolling back and tremors shaking my legs. If they weren’t holding me up, I don’t think I would still be standing.
Griffin groans into my hair and Wyatt is staring at me with rapt attention when I finally manage to open my eyes. My face is so hot it burns, but they feel so good I can’t even find it in me to be embarrassed. Much. Maybe they didn’t notice I just came on them.
“Are you pierced?” Wyatt asks loud enough to be heard over the sultry club beats. I close my eyes tightly and nod my head. “That was so fucking sexy. I might nut my pants if you do it again. Think we can make her come one more time?” he asks over my shoulder. Griffin stills, stopping our momentum and pulls me off of Wyatt’s thigh.
“That’s enough. She’s drunk, and so are you.”
He keeps an arm around my waist and tugs me over to a booth where Cole and Ezra are entertaining a few girls of their own. He pushes me into the booth and stalks away, leaving me disoriented. Ezra looks over and passes me a drink. I take it without knowing what it is, the burn of whiskey making me cough when I swallow a sip.
“Looks like you finally made friends with Griff,” he says over the loud music, his eyes laughing but kind.
“I’m not sure he wants to be my friend. He’s probably thinking of derogatory things to call me now. He hates me,” I manage, my throat burning from the alcohol.
Maybe we’re not friends, but he was definitely into me. I felt the hard bulge of his interest pressed into my ass the entire time we were dancing, but he did just dump me here and leave after they got me off. Hah. I just got off, sandwiched between two guys on a crowded dance floor. I guess that
piercing really does work. I got it on a whim about six months ago and haven’t had the pleasure of trying it out until now. I’ll say the return on investment is a good one.
“Nah, you’ve just seen the bad side of him,” Ezra says, taking the nearly-full glass back and taking a swallow. Aww, he’s sharing his booze with me. He wipes his mouth on his hand and sets the glass down. “He likes you, but he has no idea how to handle you. You’re not just dumb eye candy, and you are too pretty for him to see as an equal on the team. You confuse him.”
“Well, he confuses me,” I admit, taking a swig of the whiskey. “Why do I have to fit into a single box? Why can’t I be pretty and car smart? That’s so dumb and closed-minded.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t be both. Hell, we know you are.” He indicates himself and Cole, who now has the attention of both the girls that are in the booth, since Ezra is talking to me. “I think Griff had you pegged in the dumb and pretty box, but you have revealed there’s more to you, which is throwing him off. And you’re really good at doing your job, every aspect of it. Maybe losing some of that attention to you made him a little weary at first, but seeing you bring in parts and sponsors when we desperately need it is wearing him down.”
I shrug my shoulders and sip more whiskey, excusing Ezra back to whatever it was he was doing before Griffin plopped me in this booth. The whiskey doesn’t burn nearly as much now. I scan the crowded club, but can’t find Griffin or Wyatt, so I trace circles in the condensation on the glass. I can understand Griffin not wanting to hang out, but Wyatt actually likes me. Why he would stay away is a mystery.
Maybe because you shouldn’t get involved with teammates.
I sneer at the unwelcome, but true, thought. It’s for the best that they stay away. I totally would have let Wyatt kiss me if Griffin hadn’t stopped it, and where would that have gotten me? Probably into his bed and regretting my drunken decision in the morning.
Drift Heat Page 9
