Drift Heat

by Adrian R. Hale

  I still haven’t unpacked.

  I rub my eyes and yawn as I make my way to the door. I was finally able to hit a deep sleep, and now this. Another knock sounds, that impatient asshole. Unlocking the door, I pull it open a small amount and look out at the softly lit corridor.

  I close the door immediately.

  Griffin is leaning against my doorframe, and he’s fucking drunk as hell. I can smell the alcohol on him even from a foot away.

  “Shelby, open the door,” he says, his voice managing to stay low and quiet, like he understands that this is unusual behavior, no matter how drunk he is.

  “Go home, Griffin. You’re drunk,” I say with bored inflection. I’m completely awake now as my heart hammers in my chest. Why? Why now, why me, why is he doing this?

  “I’m not. Well, I probably am, but I’m not as drunk as you think. Open your fucking door.”

  What the hell? “Are you seriously...” I yank the door open and smack Griffin in the forehead with my palm when he tries to come in.

  “Ouch, what was that for?” He rubs his head like I slugged him, rather than open palmed him.

  “For ordering me around in my own apartment and trying to get in even though I told you to go home.” This exaggerated whispering is ridiculous.

  I cross my arms over my chest when I notice that Griffin is not in any way looking at my face, but staring at my bra-less chest. His eyes move down my body, taking me all in. Fuck, I should have put pants on, too. Standing here in boyshorts and a little tank top is so not appropriate. But neither is waking up a girl in the middle of the night. I start to close the door again, but Griffin stops the door and slips in before I can get it shut all the way.

  “You need to leave, now.” I reach around him for the door handle.

  He grabs my wrist and stops me. His hand is cool and dry, but causes my body to burn like dry tinder in an instant. My lips part as he slides his fingers up to cradle my head. I let him, like this is our usual. Why, Shelby? Because I can’t freaking stop myself when he touches me.

  “No. I need to kiss you.” His hands tangle in my hair, his lips crashing against mine and pulling me into his hard body. I am sucked into his needy kisses, the hungry way he pulls at my lips and swirls my tongue. I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to. I guess I don’t really want to at all, with the clenching in my core and how I rise to meet his mouth harder.

  This. Oh my God, this. His hot mouth leaves mine, traveling along my jaw and biting my earlobe. How he can know what would turn me on so fully is beyond me, but I am on. So on. My hands tangle around his shoulders as he kisses my neck, biting gently and licking the pain away. I moan and it seems to be all the encouragement he needs to haul me up around his hips and back me into the wall.

  Oh no. That’s the wall I share with Wyatt, and if this is going down, I don’t want him to hear, of all people.

  “Not here. Bedroom,” I manage as he rocks his hips into mine and sucks on my neck.

  I hold on to him as he walks us to my room and lays me on the bed I just crawled out of. The bedside lamp casts light on his profile as he studies me, nearly naked beneath him.

  “Griffin, I don’t—”

  He cuts me off with his mouth returning to mine, his hands on my boobs, pinching my nipples through my thin tank top until I forget what I wanted to say and just gasp my pleasure into his mouth. He works the tank up and over my head, finally releasing my mouth. He sinks on top of me, barely holding his weight off me with his elbows, and takes my nipple into his hot, wet mouth. I cry out as the pleasure mixes with the pain of a sharp bite, but pull him closer so he’ll do it again.

  “Oh, Shelby. You’re so sweet. So goddamn sweet. I want to taste all of you. Touch your skin and make you writhe. Fill you with my cock and hear you cry my name. I want you to beg for me, baby. Do you want that?”

  “Don’t push your luck. I don’t beg,” I manage as his hand finds me through my damp panties. His fingers take up a leisurely pace tracing over the material, lightly skimming over my piercing and back down. I might just beg, if he keeps touching me like that.

  “You like that, baby? You like when I touch you?” This cocky asshole sure likes to hear when he does something right.

  “Yes, now touch me like you mean it.”

  He chuckles, pulling my panties over my hips and down my legs. He glides his hand back up my leg, along my inner thigh and so close to the target I’m shaking with anticipation and need. He brushes my piercing and groans along with me.

  This is weeks of build up. A kind of foreplay that, for us, was slinging insults that mean “I want you” instead of “you’re a dick.” It’s the looks we stole. The dances we made do with when we wanted so much more. It’s that one burning hot kiss in a crowded room that made us realize we needed so much more. It’s the forbidden that feels so right.

  “I love this. I love that you have metal in your body, and it’s there for me to make you feel good. You like that?” he says, twisting the tiny metal barbell in his fingers as my hips buck.

  He doesn’t wait for my reply, but slides his fingers down and pushes two into me as his thumb works the barbell pressed tightly to my clit. He works me with precision and power, like his cars. He strokes me hard while my nipples pebble under his deft tongue. He easily turns me into the writhing mess he wants me to be, and as I press toward that breathless, tightly coiled moment right before my release, I’m glad.

  My hands grip his shoulders as he takes me into a freefall, my pleasure spiraling out from his fingers and washing over me in release and ecstasy.

  “Oh my God,” I pant, my chest heaving with the frenzied pace he just pushed my body through.

  “Not God, just me. I want you to say my name the next time I make you come. I’ll give you another chance in a second.” He pulls his shirt over his head and lets it fall behind him as he stands and looks down at me. “You ready for me, baby?”

  My body is begging to be filled by him, my core aching for him already. But two can play this game. I roll onto my side and blink my lashes at him. “Show me what you got, superstar.”

  He’s a stunning specimen of masculine beauty. His ripped body is proof that even though I haven’t tried it, CrossFit works. And man, those tattoos on his arm that draw my attention anytime I see them continue up his arm and onto his shoulder. Both color and intricately shaded black ink decorate him, making him the tastiest man-cake I’ve ever wanted to lick up and down.

  He smiles, all cocky bravado and assuredness. He takes his sweet time as he pushes his pants down his legs and stands before me in his tight boxer briefs a moment before they’re gone, too. I lick my lips as my breathing speeds up. Damn. He’s hung and pointing right at me.

  “Like what you see?” I nod and sit up to get a—fuck. I never intended to be having sex while here in SoCal, so my nightstand is sadly empty of rubbers.

  “I hope you brought a condom. As beautiful as you are, you’re not touching me without protection.”

  Griffin hunts through the pocket of his jeans on the floor and pulls out a foil square. Once it’s on, he returns his molten blue gaze to me.

  “I’ve been thinking about fucking you since the day we met. When you were ass-up on my car and looking like the sweetest sin. I wanted your sassy mouth around my cock as soon as you talked back to me. I’ve come thinking of you riding me more times than I can count. Now I want to bury myself inside you until you scream my name, and then I’ll do it all over again.”

  Words fail me, but it doesn’t matter. He lifts my leg over his arm, positions himself at my entrance, and rocks into me in one quick, hard thrust that takes my breath away as my body fights to fit around him. I gasp at the intrusion, the fullness that feels like I’ll split open. Until he slides out, and I instantly miss it. The next thrust is easier as my body lubricates his path, and soon he’s pulling back and slamming into me like it’s a race he’s intent to win.

  Oh my God. I’m having sex—hot, fast, rough sex—with Griffin. I’m c
aught up in the moment and can’t believe this is finally happening, and it’s just as amazing as I imagined it would be. There’s still a part of me that is hesitant, seeing all of the flaws of this new twist, and wanting to point out just how it could go wrong.

  My brain shuts up when his hand finds my hood piercing, rolling the little metal barbell and making me moan. He presses and circles his fingers right over it. It’s like having a silver easy button for a guy to find your clit—right there, buddy, right there. And he works it just right, his fingers keeping up with his hard thrusts until I’m moaning, my hands gathering a hold of the bed so he doesn’t fuck me right off the other side.

  “I’m close, come with me,” he groans thickly.

  And I do. Wild and hot and coiled so tight. I hold my breath and then expel everything in me with my release. His name bursts from my lips as it tingles and spirals out through my body, arching my back off the bed, and shooting me into a dark place with brilliant flashes of color and sensation. He thrusts erratically through my clenching walls, gasping as he comes, and falls to his forearms with his head resting in the curve of my neck. We’re sweaty and spent, gasping for air, and still very much connected.

  “Jesus Christ, Shelby,” he says into my neck. I hold him to me, my legs hugging his hips while my hands smooth down his spine. He pulls out of my arms, throwing the condom away, and returns to my side. “I’m going to do that again.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two sleepless nights and I look like a haggard beast. There is no amount of concealer in my Bliss-approved bag of tricks to cover the dark rings under my eyes, or the splotchy, sallow color of my skin. I text Paul and Ryan, letting them know I’m working from home today. There’s no way I’m showing my slutty face around S&M. Not until I’ve figured my shit out and know how to handle this new shift in my once solid resolution to not cross lines with anyone on the team.

  Griffin left my apartment while it was still dark. He made good on his promise to have me again, and each time I was saying his name as I came. When I was too exhausted and spent to move, he placed kisses up and down my spine. Before I fell asleep with his fingers tracing lazy trails over my skin, I told him he should go. He quietly got up, dressed, and then hovered over me for a moment like he was going to kiss me goodbye. I turned my head into my pillow instead. I heard the door softly close as he left.

  I slide on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, order a pizza so I don’t have to leave for food, and pull my laptop onto the couch. I binge on cheesy, greasy, carb-filled perfection and self-loathing while I scan all of the comments from our videos and updates from the weekend.

  I’ve been shooting out as much content as I can while at the competitions and it seems to be going over well. Pit tour videos, short interviews with vendors, and even videos asking the attending fans to tell us what they love about drifting are all bringing people to our sites. Fans love seeing themselves, and big names from the industry, in the videos.

  I have emails from a handful of sponsors I spoke to while in Sonoma, so I immediately reply and ask for more details on what they are willing to offer. Jim from Forden has finally gotten back to me, and I am floored by their offer. Race tires, for both cars, for every race, and for practice. Since good tires are two hundred bucks a pop, and can literally be shredded after fifteen minutes of drifting, this is amazing. Just to put things in perspective, our cars go through several sets of tires before they need to fill the gas tanks again.

  I quickly send an email to Paul, letting him know about this new sponsorship. Then I contact Aaron at Sky Candy Media printing to let him know we are really going to need new decals and to ask for the final wrap designs. When my inbox is no longer pulsing with new emails and needing immediate responses, I close my laptop with a sigh. I change into running clothes, tuck some cash and my key into the pocket of my shorts, and head outside.

  I run down Jamboree, across the Pacific Coast Highway, and over the bridge to Balboa Island. I’ve been wanting to explore Newport Beach since I got here, and this is literally the first time I’ve had a chance during the day. I grab a green juice from the Juice Crafters on Marine Avenue, sipping away the horrid things I did to my body this morning with pizza while I walk around the quaint little neighborhood. It’s mostly restaurants and kitschy shops, but they’re cute.

  I take the ferry across the channel to the peninsula, and walk through the closed fun zone tourist area complete with carnival rides and signs for whale watching excursions. I can feel the cool breeze from the ocean, so I follow the salty air until I reach sand. I walk all the way to the end of the Balboa pier, past the diner at the end, and just stare out into the Pacific Ocean as I lean against the railing. The wind whips my ponytail around my face as the sunshine heats my skin.

  I feel centered when I’m near the ocean. It’s a huge, writhing monster, but it makes me feel secure. I know there will always be waves that break along the sand in a rhythm dictated by the moon. I know it will always be more powerful than I could ever imagine. I know the ocean is not to be trusted.

  Like my body, where Griffin is concerned.

  I sit on a bench and just stare at the turquoise ocean, the seagulls that fly with gray wings just out of reach, the beach sparkling and bright, the houses that crowd the shoreline. I sit until I feel like my mind isn’t a mess and I can go back to my life and face reality with a tiny bit of clarity. I gave in. I slept with Griffin. I crossed a line I had drawn for myself, and I’m still not sure what to do about it.

  But I have a plan.

  It’s nothing special, but I think it will help me deal with this craziness between us, and help me find peace with everyone else so the tension I’ve created doesn’t rip the team apart. It could be the flimsiest plan I’ve ever come up with, but it’s better than nothing.

  I walk back across the peninsula, take the ferry away from my new sanctuary, and leave Balboa Island. I run back up the hill to PCH, cross the busy intersection, and make my way up the hill on Jamboree until my legs are burning and I don’t think I’ll be able to go any farther. But I keep running all the way to the shop where I find Ryan and Paul working on the Supra.

  “Hey, didn’t think we would see you today,” Paul says, wiping his hands on a cloth as he smiles at me.

  “Did you seriously take today off because it’s nice out? Slacker,” Ryan jokes, torquing a bolt back into place. It looks like they are getting things all straightened out with the motor and have the turbos in place now. I’m glad I already got an appointment for Garrett Chang of Kustom Fab to come out tomorrow to do the intercooler piping he offered.

  “I just needed a little perspective. I really did work this morning, but I spent the afternoon coming up with a few ideas that I want to run by you guys.”

  “Well, go on ahead. I like your ideas, and so far, they have all worked out in our favor.” Paul sets down his cloth and motions toward the office. I follow him in, plopping on the spot I’ve carved out as my own on the plaid couch while he rolls his office chair around to sit across from me.

  “I used to be a Mas Boost girl up in the Bay Area, and I have some connections to the company still. I saw my regional director at the Sonoma competition, and we got to talking. They haven’t sponsored any drift teams before, but it turns out they want to branch out into more motorsports competitions. They have already made themselves a household name for motocross and rallycross fans, so it’s the next step for them to cross over into drifting. I haven’t gotten through to the actual people who would approve it, but I want to get the team a Mas Boost sponsorship. It would be purely financial, since they are an energy drink company and don’t really have any parts for us to use. I’m thinking we could ask for them to pay our race entry fees, maybe our race and travel gas, and get branded fire suits and helmets for the guys. I think that would be more than fair in exchange for promoting their brand on the cars. Especially if our guys keep making it to the tandem rounds or hitting the podium. What do you think?”

  Paul is sitti
ng quietly, his mouth hanging open but no words coming out. He drags his hands across his face and through his short hair. He finally shakes his head, as if to chase off a daze and looks at me again.

  “Are you serious? That would be amazing. They’re a growing company and getting more recognition every day. Are you sure you could make this happen? I mean, even if it didn’t go through, I really appreciate you using your connections to try to work something out.”

  “Well, I’ve already spoken to the marketing director, who needs to clear it with someone over her head. I proposed to them everything I mentioned to you, as well as some more financial help. If we ask for more and get it, cool. If they give us less, that’s fine, we’ll still have what we wanted in the first place.”

  “Wow. If we have even a little help with fees and gas, it would go a long way. And you just got us race tires from Forden. Pretty soon it will just be the team’s travel costs and some of the build that I’ll need to cover, and that’s cake. Damn, girl, you never cease to amaze me.”

  “Well, it’s my job, isn’t it? I’m here to get the team noticed, bring in those sponsorships, and make life easier for everyone.” I keep to myself the fact that I’ve begun to cause problems that I’m feeling guilty about. I’d rather not throw myself under the bus for that one just yet.

  Paul lets me leave after repeating how excited and thankful he is for what I’ve been doing for the team. I just keep telling him I’m happy to do it. This is only one part of my plan. The next part is going to be a whole lot trickier to make work. And it could blow up in my face in so many ways, but I want to try it. I need to.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Griffin’s car is parked on the street outside our apartment complex when I come home. I don’t see Wyatt’s and that makes me breathe a little easier. I feel like he’ll know what went down on the other side of our shared wall last night the moment he sees me. That he will instinctively know I’ve been with Griffin and then it will be another huge source of tension between the three of us. They’re already on shaky ground and we need them getting along for the rest of the season.