Drift Heat

by Adrian R. Hale

  “I didn’t mean it like that, of course, I just want to know how you are feeling about Irwindale,” I hastily correct my sloppily worded question and hope he won’t hold it against me. Sometimes tact escapes me when I need it most. Face meet palm.

  Wyatt sighs and pats my leg. “I know what you mean, and I know you are even more curious about how I got in so deep. Even before Mike came to collect my debts, I knew I was in over my head.”

  He looks up at me, adjusting the glasses on his face. His pretty, sky blue eyes hold a clarity and determination that makes me think he is ready to acknowledge his faults and move forward. At least I hope so.

  “You know how something innocent can spiral out of control before you even realize it?” I nod at him, thinking of my feelings for Griffin and how quickly everything escalated and exploded. “That’s what happened with betting. One joking bet turned into cash in my hand and paved the way for more expensive bets. I got on a roll, I made some money. I lost some, too, but mostly it was little bits here and there until it was impossible for me to pass up a wager, or to make one out of nothing. There’s a high that comes with both winning and losing. It’s no fucking wonder when people tell you they lost thousands at a blackjack table trying to win back their money. There is always a possibility that the next gamble will be in your favor. But the house always wins in the end, even if you have a lucky night. There are always people standing by, waiting to take advantage of you, but you’re so fucking blind to your high that you don’t realize they are sharks. Someone always knows a guy, who knows another guy who can get you some cash or take your bet that you are so sure of. That’s how I wound up with Mike Alves tracking me down, insisting I pay my debts for bad bets.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone, or get help earlier?” I have a hard time parting with my hard earned money when it’s not going to clothe, feed, or entertain me, so I have no concept of how gambling could be fun for someone. It seems like common sense to see you are out of control and try to fix it.

  “Well, first of all, it’s not that simple to recognize when you have a problem.” He eyes me pointedly and I flush, knowing he’s being polite and answering my questions even though I may be prying. “But it’s also fucking sad to realize what has happened. You don’t want anyone to know. I’m only now seeing I need help and I can’t do it on my own. I made an appointment with a counselor last week.” He twists a nubby thread on the couch cushion and refuses to meet my eyes during his admission. “I’ll be seeing him regularly to work on my issues. He said some psychobabble about this stemming from other deep-seated issues that should be addressed in order to correct my gambling problem,” he says, making air quotes. “Apparently, gambling isn’t bad enough, I have to dredge up the past and figure out what else is to blame.”

  “That’s really brave of you. I admire your willingness to seek help and to tell me about it now. Thanks for letting me in.”

  “Sweet thing...” he stops himself and shakes his head. “Why couldn’t things have turned out differently for us? Why did you have to choose him? Why not me? I know there’s some chemistry here.”

  The rawness in his expression has me shrinking back against the couch. I’m staggered by his sudden change of topic and the directness of his statement. My heart hammers as my brain frantically processes and looks for the best route through this, that won’t break him. I want to be honest and tell him I fell in love with Griffin without even wanting to; that we are two pieces to the same fucked up puzzle, but that’s not what he wants to hear. I wrack my brain for the best way to answer. Slowly, a thought begins to form that I think I can run with.

  “There’s someone out there for you who will make you see that answer for yourself. There is no clear-cut reason I could tell you for why things didn’t work out differently for us. Hell, it’s not even easy to explain what it is about Griffin that draws me in. It may sound stupid, but I see in him something that is missing from my heart, and I gravitate to it. It’s not easy and I could have chosen someone who irritated me less, but I like the challenge he brings to my life. He’s worth the struggle. I like that he pushes my buttons and isn’t afraid to speak his mind, even at the cost of my feelings. I like the side of him that’s a total dick as much as I like the side that is perfectly behaved. He’s perfect for me, even if he isn’t perfect at all. You will find that person for yourself and she’ll give you a run for your money unlike anyone has before, just wait.”

  “You say that like it’s supposed to comfort me,” Wyatt says with a lopsided grin. “Oh, let me tell you about this asshole I’m in love with and how you’ll find your own someday,” he mocks in a falsetto voice that doesn’t sound like me at all. I hope.

  I punch his arm and throw him a dirty look. “Don’t be a jackass. I’m being honest with you.”

  “Yeah, I know. Just doing myself a favor and protecting my sad little heart here.” He places his hand over his heart and gives me a puppy dog face that is nearly irresistible with his dimples popping and his eyes drawing me in behind his glasses. This guy.

  I swat at his arm to diffuse the playful tension. “Fine, let’s change the subject back to my original question. How are you feeling about Irwindale and the last race of this circuit?” I settle back against the arm of the couch and raise an eyebrow at him.

  “Pretty decent?” He shrugs and slides down the couch until his head is resting on the back cushion. “We have been racing well and getting where we need to, but Charlie and Mason are determined to give us strong competition every time. Not to mention all of the dark horse racers who come out of nowhere to round out the top eight in some order or another. We can’t rule anyone out, but Mason and Charlie are our main threats in competition. Griff and I have been studying their past races, though, and I think I have them figured out.”

  Huh, this is news to me. I wasn’t aware that they hung out much, but if they are studying race footage together, they have to have buried their animosity from earlier in the season.

  “And?” I prompt, circling my hand in the air.

  “Charlie attacks early and stays on you. Mason is conservative through the first stretch and then guns it. Every time they do this. Griff got to use this knowledge to his advantage last weekend with Mason.”

  “So you what, change the way you drive to adjust for them rather than sticking to your own style and game plan?”

  “Exactly. Knowing Mason is conservative at first means Griff and I will go out hard and create space. With Charlie we stick close and don’t give him the option to gain on us.”

  “You sure know what you’re talking about, for a rookie,” I tease.

  “You’re pretty good at your job, for being just a pretty face,” he lobs back with a cheeky grin as he pinches my big toe. I wiggle my toes out of his grip and bury them in the cushion of the couch at his side. I don’t like my feet being touched. “Speaking of jobs, you keeping this one after the California Circuit is done?”

  I sigh and look around the office I’ve grown so comfortable in. “I would hope so, but I have to wait for an official offer from Paul. We never really discussed what would come next, which was part of the reason I was looking for another team and it all blew up in my face.” I pick at my cuticles and revisit my fears about what comes next. What if Paul doesn’t need me for the National circuit?

  “You know he’s not getting rid of you. If he took you back with open arms after the TW Motorsports shit-storm, you know he’s not going to just kick you to the curb now. I think you’re stuck with us.”

  I smile and wink at Wyatt. “Good. I like it here. Now go help Cole and Ezra with that install so they can move on to the headers project on the 300Z that’s waiting. I want to check our social pages and do this job I like so much.” I lift my legs off Wyatt’s lap, freeing him to leave my plaid couch.

  Funny how something can hold so much value. This ratty old couch is my butt’s favorite spot to sit on now after nearly losing it in my pursuits of something else. It’s the simple things th
at seem to make the most impact.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Irwindale is hot as hell and everything is pissing me off today. Particularly Griffin. I’m reaching the end of my rope. I fucking want him—and his body—so badly. I can’t take it. He’s still holding out on me, avoiding being alone with me, and not responding to my flirting. My cut is pretty much healed, so he can’t use that as an excuse anymore. The worst is he’s not being a jerk to me, at all. He’s maintained this new mature, level-headed bastard personality. He thinks about what he says and does before acting.

  I don’t like it.

  I want him blowing up, grabbing my ass, calling me a pushy bitch, and telling me what he would put in my dirty mouth after I tell him off. It’s made me cranky, which is bad for business at the Irwindale races. I am really trying to interact with fans and pimp the Smoke and Mirrors team, but my mind is elsewhere. Mainly, it’s wrapped up in bed with a certain stormy-eyed, hard-bodied, dirty-talking drift racer with a short fuse. I am practically crawling out of my skin and so distracted, even Paul is noticing.

  “Shelby, do you need to take a break? Maybe walk around or something? You are fidgety as all hell and I don’t know what to make of it. Is it a, um, a girl thing?” He says the last part quietly, as if ‘a girl thing’ is a particularly gruesome venereal disease or something. Gee, thanks for lumping women’s issues in with sexually transmitted infections, buddy.

  I roll my eyes, but I am so desperate for insight into Griffin, I figure I can pester Paul to get answers. “What the fuck is wrong with Griffin?”

  “Uh, I don’t, um, what?” Paul seems even more confused by my question than he was by my preoccupation.

  “Griffin isn’t being himself. Where’s the insulting bad boy? Where’s the guy who would die before he passes up any chance to tell me off? I can practically strip naked in front of him and he would ignore me. Why doesn’t he want me?” I can’t help the whine of frustration that enters my voice as I finish, shifting from one stiletto heel to the other and crossing my arms petulantly across my chest. And they say guys get blue balls. There has to be a female equivalent, because I can assure you, we get something.

  “Ah shit, Shelby, I don’t think I’m qualified to have this kind of conversation with you. Maybe you want to talk to Marny instead? She’s coming by this afternoon to watch the top sixteen races. I’m sure she would know what to say. Or maybe you just want to talk to Griff about this instead?”

  “He’s avoiding me.” I pout, then catch myself and wipe the childish expression from my face. “You’re right. I should just find him and make him tell me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, go on ahead. I think he was in the trailer. You take all the time you want. I’ll hold down the booth,” he says quickly, obviously regretting ever asking me what the problem was. The relief on his face is so strong it nearly has a smell, but I can’t be bothered by that observation, I’m on a mission.

  I nod and march away from Paul, ready to give Griffin a piece of my mind. I look around the pit area and see Ryan and Ezra with their heads bent over the Nissan, swapping out rims and tires before the next race. Cole is probably in the stands watching the rest of the preliminary races with his notebook in hand. I saw Wyatt head off earlier, so that means Griffin is around here somewhere, alone. I duck into the Supra’s covered trailer and find him bent over the hood, checking fluid levels. It’s hot as hell in here, and he has his fire suit pushed down to his hips, his Part Breakers Hoonigan T-shirt stuck to his broad chest and shoulders with sweat.

  I slide around the car quietly and grab his collar, hauling him up in front of me. “Listen, asshole,” I hiss in his face, raking his features with my eyes. “I don’t know what your endgame is, but I don’t like what’s going on right now. I want you back to your old self.” I push my finger into his chest and leave it there, emphasizing every word of my frustration. “If I’m being a crazy bitch, I want you calling me on it. If you are thinking about me at all, I want to hear it. If you want to fuck me, I want your hands all over me, taking what is yours. I’ll wait if I have to, but I don’t want to. So don’t make me wait too long, baby, because I want you so badly. I need you filling me again. I need your mouth on me and your hands tearing me apart.” I tip my head back just thinking about it, my voice thick and my eyes closing with desire. This isn’t helping me at all.

  “You’re a crazy bitch,” he says, grabbing the wrist of the hand I have twisted in his shirt. He bends it down and behind my back, pushing me against the tool chest that lines the wall of the trailer behind us. “You know how I feel about your dirty mouth. It makes me want to do bad things to you. It makes me want to get you naked and spank you for being a naughty girl.”

  I whimper and buck my hips against his as he holds me against the tool chests. I reach my mouth toward his, wanting to bite his lip and plunge my tongue into the warmth that is his mouth finally saying everything I want to hear. I narrow my eyes. “Do it,” I challenge when he pulls his face just out of reach.

  “Not yet.” He pushes his hips into mine, grinding on my piercing until I tremble.

  I feel my desire soaking my panties. I use my free hand to grab his and slide it under my skirt until his fingertips trail through the silky heat. He groans and squeezes my captured wrist behind my back as his other hand cups and strokes me through my panties. I gasp as his fingers push aside the wet material and enter me shallowly. I try to bear down on his fingers, my core already gripping him, but he holds me in place, just teasing the entrance.

  My legs are shaking as I balance on the brink of coming apart, just needing him to touch me a little more. After weeks of getting nothing, not even taking care of myself, I’m engulfed in need and so ready to explode.

  “No coming, baby,” he says, trailing his nose along my face and whispering in my ear. “I want to be inside of you when you do.”

  “Oh God,” I breathe raggedly into his ear as he nips at my neck and ever so gently slides his fingers through my slick folds. He stays away from my clit and just barely dips into my entrance in a frustrating display of self-control. “Fuck me, please.” The heat and longing is building, the need for him fierce and all-consuming.

  “Not here, where anyone can see or hear you. No, baby. You gotta wait for me to fuck you. And I’m not promising it will be today. Are you willing to wait? I promise it will be worth it.” He drives one finger into me slowly and caresses my spot in a maddening way that is so, so good, but just not enough.

  “Yes! Yes, I’ll wait. God, I want you so badly. Oh, please,” I say, the sweet agony of my impending release now at a pitch that is almost impossible to return from. Yet, I just agreed to wait for it. Damn him.

  “Good,” he says, withdrawing his fingers and releasing my hand. “You’re mine and I want you feeling good at my hands. But not right now when we have jobs to do. Get out of here, you fucking minx.” His smile is evil as he slaps my ass and sends me wobbling toward the exit of the trailer.

  Jesus Christ. This man just made me fall in love with him all over again. It’s good to have him back. I pause at the door and look back at him, leaning his hip against the Supra. “You better make good on that promise soon. I want you more than ever now.” So much for playing it cool and waiting.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Marny screams in delight and pumps her arms in the air as Wyatt drifts the 350Z through the S-turn in front of the section of stands we are sitting in. We jump to our feet as the tire smoke billows and atomized rubber settles on our skin from the hazy cloud. Wyatt absolutely killed that heat in the great eight matchups. I am almost certain the judges will agree with me, but wring my hands and shimmy in my seat as I wait for his score. This competition has been fierce. Griffin made his way through his heat with a higher score than Jenzi Gushi and is awaiting the final four matchups.

  “Yes! He’s moving on!” Marny yells when the scores are announced, grabbing my arm and bouncing in her seat.

  Marny’s enthusiasm is infectious and has me smilin
g wide, enjoying having someone to watch the races with. I’m used to crawling through the stands, throwing out swag and catching a few races here and there, but to sit with a friend and actually enjoy a competition is rare and welcome. Paul granted me freedom from the booth and pit area for the evening matchups. He packed all of our swag away and sent me off to “entertain Marny”, even though she’s practically entertaining me with her happy enthusiasm.

  “Why haven’t you come to any of the competitions before? You seem to really enjoy watching.” I twist my hair into a bun on top of my head and hold it there, fanning my face. It’s fucking hot out here today. The heat is shimmering off the black asphalt in waves that are disrupted by the cars hurtling through the course.

  Marny settles back onto the bleachers and fans herself with a flyer. “Paul says I’m too invested in the team. I mean, these guys are family. Of course I want them to win everything. I get really bummed when they don’t do as well as I hope and Paul can’t take it when I’m upset,” she says with seriousness, her eyes growing round and her smile fading. “It’s all fun when they win, though. Also the heat and sun don’t really agree with my ginger complexion.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got Paul pretty damn whipped if he can’t take you being upset over races,” I tease, poking Marny’s hand. “Teach me your ways, master.”

  “Oh, you just have to find a good man who loves you, warts and all. Then you treat him right and respect him. Guys want respect, whereas women want love. It translates the same way.” She smiles and bats her eyelashes at me as she fluffs her brilliant red hair from under her Smoke and Mirrors baseball hat.

  “Well, I would have loved your company, but I completely understand. I’m glad you’re here today to keep me company and share your infinite married lady wisdom.”

  I sling my arm around her shoulders and watch as Charlie Sweeten in his Mustang races Rodrigo Sanchez in a Nissan Silvia. I really love those Silvias. They are such quintessential drift cars and absolutely gorgeous. Their American counterparts, the 240SX, just don’t carry the same appeal for me that the Japanese version does. The main difference between the otherwise identical cars is the SR20 motors that were put into the Japanese versions are badass whereas the American motors sucked donkey balls in comparison.