Drift Heat

by Adrian R. Hale

  Graceful and controlled, he sends his car sideways around turns that initiate dance-like movement and precision. Mason does great keeping up, and I can’t even imagine how the judges will score this. The second round, Griffin chases, and puts immediate pressure on Mason, who gets up to speed right away. I cringe and hold my breath as I think they will knock into each other during transitions, but Griffin manages to flow safely behind Mason and still get a better line in my opinion. When they finish, I hope the judges don’t call for one more round because I need to know now.

  I hurry down the grandstands toward the track where Griffin and Mason are now parked facing the stands. I make it through security to the grid, wanting to stand with my driver, regardless of his placing. The crowd goes crazy when Griffin is awarded higher points just as I spot him getting out of his car and throwing his fists in the air. He looks over and sees me coming. He meets me halfway to throw me over his shoulder and spin me around, most likely flashing my ass to everyone in attendance. The crowd screams and applauds, loving this new celebration from him that doesn’t involve mocking his opponent. Griffin sets me down and I hold his hand in the air, proclaiming him the winner to cheers and clapping.

  “Good job, superstar,” I say to him, my smile stretching wide and happy laughter bubbling out of me.

  “Did you get to see the finals?” His helmet is finally off and tossed into his car, and his eyes are lit up and sparkling. I would love to kiss him right this instant, but that would so not jive with my professional-in-public declarations.

  “Yeah, I saw all of the final four races. You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

  “It was bound to happen. I’m better than these suckers.” He puffs out his chest and raises his hands in triumph to more cheers.

  “Easy, tiger, you have sponsors who want to see you behaving, remember? Why don’t you drive me to the pits and we can celebrate later?” I rub his shoulders and usher him toward the Supra. He lets me, which is a surprise.

  “Buckle up, babe. I feel like donuts.”

  “Not too much. Just enough for the fans to get a kick out of it.” I feel like a freaking grandma, making sure he follows the rules, but someone has to be the voice of reason during his victorious high.

  Griffin lights up the tires in a smoky burnout. I can hear the crowd roaring over his engine and screeching tires and I can’t help the smile that’s making my cheeks hurt like crazy. He zips onto the track and does a few figure eights, then gets the car into a crazy donut that circles round and round with smoke billowing up around us. He stops, smokes the tires again, and finally heads back to the pit. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. As long as someone can be the calming factor for him, I can see him tempering his celebrations. Or losses, as it may come to.

  “We’re halfway through the series, and you have already won a competition. Last week you got third. I bet you can keep hitting the podium for the final three races and get enough points for the Pro Championships.” I reach over and massage his thigh, just possibly brushing his crotch in my efforts.

  “Baby, don’t tempt me. I want to snatch you out of this car so badly, bend you over the bumper and rail you till we both come. I can’t wait for shit to settle down tonight so I can do just that.”

  “As long as you behave in public, I’m happy to give you anything you want. You want me bent over and naked and dripping wet for you? Or how about my lips wrapped tight around your cock while I look up your body until your cum spills from my mouth? How about a little shower sex, or maybe sitting on the bathroom sink in front of the mirror so you can watch yourself sliding in and out of me. Any way you want to have me, I want it.” Griffin’s hands tighten until he’s white-knuckling the steering wheel and shift knob.

  “Fuck, Shelby. You’re making me so fucking hard right now with your dirty little mouth. Why do you want this to be a secret, again? I’d like nothing more than to pull you over my lap right now and swat that perky little ass for all the nasty things you’re making me think.” He comes to a stop at our pit area and turns off the engine.

  “You know why, and don’t screw this up.” I eye him as my smile simmers on my face. He looks as hot and bothered as I feel, and I love being able to tease him like this. I unbuckle my harness and open my door, letting Ryan help me out of the low car.

  “That wasn’t as bad a celebration as I was expecting. I think you are good for our guy,” Ryan says to me with a smile before turning to Griffin.

  My smile falters a little. Does he already suspect I’m sleeping with Griffin? No, he can’t. He must mean that I was good for him just now.

  “Way to go, man. That was a sick race.” They exchange high fives and the rest of the team congratulates Griffin on his win.

  As we are loading up the trailers after the podium presentation, Wyatt offers to walk me back to the booth so we can help Paul break things down.

  “Seems like Griff liked having you track-side for his race. I’ve never seen him win and not call his opponent a pussy or do some other vulgar demonstration of his drifting prowess.” I search Wyatt’s face for any hidden meaning or emotions, but only see vague interest.

  “I just told him he couldn’t fuck up with our new sponsors watching. I’m surprised he listened to me. I was actually expecting much worse from him.” I twist my long hair into a rope and pull it over my shoulder. Sacramento is hot today, and my neck is sweaty from my hair lying heavy on it.

  “Yeah, well, seems like all of us would do anything you say.”

  “What do you mean?” I scrunch my face in confusion. I’m not sure where Wyatt is going with this.

  He shrugs his shoulders as he looks at me with his pretty blue eyes behind those glasses. “What you say flies with us. Everyone on this team would say how high if you asked us to jump.”

  “You’re crazy, that’s so not the case. I’m just here having fun and helping out the team. I don’t have that kind of power over anyone, and definitely not the kind of sway you are suggesting.”

  I wonder if Wyatt is telling the truth as he sees it, or if it’s actually true in general. It does seem like Paul is happy to take any suggestion I offer and run with it. Griffin just had the best display of winning celebration I’ve seen from his career, all because I reminded him to behave. But that doesn’t mean I have any particular power over the group, as a whole.

  Wyatt catches my shoulder, stopping me. His voice is soft and deep as he says, “You’ve got a lot of power and you don’t even know it. Just be gentle, okay?”

  I shake my head. “Power is given, not taken. I can’t have anything that someone isn’t willing to give me. Are you saying you’ve given me some kind of power over you?” I’m not sure this conversation is sticking to the team now.

  He takes my chin in his hand for a moment before dropping it and moving forward again. “Sweet thing, I’d give you anything you wanted from me. All you have to do is ask.” And with that, we reach the booth and Wyatt leaves me by our table to help Paul dismantle the tent.

  I stare at him curiously, wondering just how much I’ve encouraged him in the few weeks we’ve been working together. Does he think I have stronger feelings for him than the friendly, team-based relationship I’ve been trying to foster? Probably, and it’s most likely stemmed from him being so nice and me lapping up the attention like a starved cat.

  Well, shit.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The post-competition dinner and night out has started out on point. The thrill of our team gaining a top-of-the-podium win is contagious and has all of us hyped up and acting a fool. We are tearing up a dive bar not far from the racetrack and getting lots of attention from fans and other teams who showed up, while annoying the regulars.

  I know I promised not to dance around Wyatt and Griffin after last week’s fiasco, but I can’t resist. I have to let go and have fun with the whole team. I have all five of my guys crowded around me on this packed little dance floor. Even Ryan, who prefers to sit back in a booth, is cutting loose and showing
us his not-so-killer moves. I’m making a very strong attempt to not end up dancing with Griffin or Wyatt, but they’re each trying to make it happen. I’ve had to shoot Griffin a few looks when his hands got grabby and made themselves comfortable on my ass. He headed to the bar a few minutes ago, and I haven’t seen him since.

  But I’m looking now, and maybe I shouldn’t have. I feel my easy smile slip from my face as green-eyed jealousy settles heavily in my stomach.

  Griffin has his own sandwich going that doesn’t include Wyatt or me. He’s the luscious center as two leggy brunettes dance up on him. I feel my face grow red-hot as anger builds up inside of me. No. Just, no. I start to head over there to pull the skanks off of him, but stop myself and swallow down my bitterness before I’ve made it two steps.

  He’s not yours, Shelby. You were the one who insisted you continue doing what you do when you’re not fucking. I have no claim on him, and he has none on me. Instead of heading toward Griffin, who seems to be really enjoying himself, his hands wandering down the tight body of the girl in front of him as I watch, and head to the bar instead. I had told myself I wouldn’t drink too much tonight, but fuck that shit. There’s no way I can be sober and watch this go down.

  The attentive bartender is my new best friend as he quickly serves me two shots of tequila and mixes up my vodka-Mas Boost. It all goes down the hatch, burning and turning my belly into a furnace that wars with the hot anger I’m trying to drown out. Or is it cold jealousy? That green-eyed bitch is not my friend, and I need to learn to lose her if I plan to make this no-strings situation actually work.

  I was naive to think Griffin wouldn’t welcome any and all attention from drift groupies, fans, or any woman who finds him attractive, just because we’re sleeping together. Who am I to stop him, even if the thought turns my stomach to a nauseous, angry ball of worms? But if that’s how he wants to play it, I’m game.

  I return to my group of guys, minus one but just as fulfilling, full of liquid bravado and the desire to make Griffin feel even the tiniest bit of what I just went through. That is, if he can get his face out of his dance partner’s neck and see for himself. I grab Ryan’s hand and twirl myself under it and into the middle of our group. I bump my hips into Cole’s, trace Wyatt’s dimples with my fingertips, and reach toward Ezra to bring him closer to my jealousy-fueled orbit.

  And just like that, I’m their sunshine and focus, the center of their solar system, and I could live for this. I shake my Daisy-Duke-clad-ass in time to the pumping track and raise my arms over my head. I have hands reaching for me, holding me close and moving with me in no time.

  I try to lose myself in the music. In the way I have four guys’ undivided attention. In how the bass thumping through the speakers seems to disrupt my heartbeat.

  But I can’t.

  My brain is mired in jealousy, thinking only of Griffin and his new dance partners. And most likely what he will be taking back to the hotel tonight. Or if he feels like it, fucking up against a bathroom stall. Dirty hoes would probably love that shit.

  I can’t do this.

  I duck out of the circle, a hand reaching out for me but sliding off my arm as I move away. I slip through the crowd of people, order another drink, and snug myself into a dark corner. I put myself in a spot where I can’t see Griffin, but I still find myself looking for him. I think he actually took his groupies somewhere a little more private. Oh, fucking gag me already.

  “Not feeling like dancing tonight?”

  I look over at my pity party crasher and nod. My heart speeds up when I realize who it is. “Mason Bauer, right? Nice job on your second place finish today.”

  “That would be me. And you’re the S&M girl, Shelley?”

  “Shelby,” I correct over the music. “Like Carroll Shelby, and the Shelby Cobra Mustangs.” Funny, I don’t normally point out that I am, in fact, named after a highly decorated racer, car builder, and man who loved the automotive industry. Am I already feeling my shots and cocktails? Whatever. It’s better than imagining all of the ways Griffin is entertaining himself tonight, without me.

  “Beautiful cars, beautiful girl. But why are you hiding in a corner? Shouldn’t you be out there with your team, celebrating your win?” Mason sips from his beer bottle and leans his back against the wall next to me.

  “I’m celebrating by drinking and people-watching. Less work that way.” I toss back the rest of my drink and place my empty glass on a table nearby. This could be the first interaction I have with a future teammate. If I were to take up Terrance’s offer to drive for TW Motorsports, that is.

  “Well, if you’re drinking, it looks like you’re going to need more, and this beer is just about finished. Want to grab another from the bar with me?”

  I turn to look at Mason. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, like another bad boy who burns up my body. And he’s paying attention to me. And, for now at least, he’s not my teammate. Might as well enjoy it. I shrug.

  “Lead on, my new friend. Let’s get more drinks.” I follow Mason to the bar and hop up on a stool next to him so he can order a round of drinks once the bartender makes it down to us.

  “You liking the ADL California Circuit?”

  I swirl the straw in my drink before I take a swallow. “It’s been awesome. Just living the dream and loving pretty much every part of it.” My voice is flat and holds none of the humor or goodwill that the statement should.

  “That was so convincing,” Mason says dryly. “Not as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be?”

  I rub my forehead and shake my head. “Don’t listen to me. I’m just in a bad mood right now. I’m actually loving everything about being a part of a race team and the competitions. It’s been a lot of fun so far. I shouldn’t take it for granted and get down like this.”

  Mason eyes me over the bottle he tips up to his lips. “We all get disenchanted with the game, eventually. You gotta find a way to play it so it stays fun. Don’t take it so seriously. Live a little. Loosen up and just have a good time. Dance even when you’re not feeling it.” He nudges me with his shoulder and makes a funny face.

  I laugh despite my mood. “Do you dance anywhere as well as you drift and cheer up sulky girls?”

  He purses his lips in consideration. “I’ve been known to get down with a fantastic funky chicken. The hokey pokey is totally my jam, too.”

  The opening electronic pulses of Usher’s Yeah! come blasting through the speakers and I stand. “Well, this song actually is my jam, so now you have to dance with me.”

  “Twist my arm, little lady.” He puts his beer on the bar and presses his hand to my lower back as he follows me onto the crowded dance floor.

  And I get right to work, bending over and rolling up slowly in front of Mason. I’m pulling out my best moves that usually stay in my car or my bedroom where no one can see my lame attempts at sexy. This is the one song I can’t resist the tempting urge to turn into my inner, ghetto, booty-popping club rat. It’s all body gyrations, shoulder swivels, and torso rotations that I can only imagine look maybe a quarter as good as I would like to think they do. But that’s what you have to do when your guilty pleasure song comes on.

  Mason is all fun and games, pulling out a Carlton worthy jig that has me cracking up. “No, no, no. It’s more like this,” I say, pressing up against him, placing one hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder as I work to make his body follow the rhythm of mine.

  His hands come down on my hips, and suddenly, he’s all soulful hip rolls that I was not at all expecting.

  “Like this?” he says, his hand on my lower back as he dips me back and around, our hips staying locked together.

  “Yeah, like that,” I breathe as he works our hips lower toward the floor. Um, where did this come from? Funky chicken, my ass.

  “Your dance moves taught me all I needed to know. I can thank you for my new-found fascination with dancing.”

  I smile and swat his shoulder. “You were holding out on me. You should have just
asked me to dance to begin with and wowed me with your skills.”

  “No way. I needed to keep an air of mystery to entice you with, little lady. I’m not that good.”

  Pssshh. This is said as he kills me with his hip swaying and grinding.

  “You’re fun.”

  I smile and tilt my head to the side, appraising my new toy. His eyes don’t wander around the bar, they stay on me. His hands are respectfully, but firmly gripping my hips and haven’t even tried to touch the bared skin between my shorts and my crop top. He’s playful and easy-going, and I’m liking every minute of this.

  “So are you.”

  “You’re hot.” Uh, thanks, brain, for forgetting the filter on that one. I bite my lip and smile, hoping he doesn’t mind my blatant flirting.

  “Yeah, it is kind of warm in here. Must be the sexy girl in my arms. Want to get some air?” I nod, letting him take my hand to lead me toward the door. This is one pity-party crash I never would have expected to turn into such an intriguing diversion.

  We push out to the street, the cool night air a relief from the loud, humid bar. I lean back against the wall of the bar and suck in a deep breath. Mason props his shoulder on the wall and angles his body toward me. I run my finger along the side of his face as he stares at me, his hand resting on my waist.

  “You’re sweet, you know that?” I breathe into the space between us.

  “Why, thank you. You’re pretty sweet yourself.” He licks his lips as if tasting the words we speak in the closeness.

  “Do you taste as good as you look?” I ask, running my thumb along his bottom lip as I cup his face. I’m feeling far braver than I should, which keeps my mouth running. “You’ve got this dessert appeal to me. Like maybe your smooth skin is caramel and your mouth the ice cream sundae it’s topping.” OMG. What the fuck did I drink, loose lips truth serum?