by J. A. Dennam
Ethan jerked a thumb in her direction. “Nah, I should probably get her home.”
But Brooke was enjoying herself way too much to end the evening so soon. “Actually, Ethan, I’m kind of curious too.” When he shot her a look of misery, she said, “This is why you brought me here, right?”
“To get busted?” he mumbled. “No.” Then he opened his door and stepped out. When Brooke followed suit, she watched from across the top of the car as the two men clasped hands. Kale towered over Ethan, who spoke in a low voice. “Didn’t expect to run into you, what with the Alabama tags and all.”
“I get it, man,” Kale muttered back. “The lady doesn’t approve?”
“Oh, he couldn’t care less what I think,” she broke in. “As long as I don’t tell his sister.”
Ethan’s eyes reflected only a mild level of concern before he brushed off her comment. “Speaking of busted,” he said to Kale, “how’d you make out with the black and white?”
“I shook him after a half mile or so.”
Both men looked when headlights sliced through the dark. “Glad to hear it,” Ethan said, hands on hips as two cars approached, one a bright green sport coupe with an elaborate graphics scheme and the other a smallish, older model four-door. They parked with their headlights trained right on them. As the drivers got out, Brooke noticed a group of people approaching on foot who must have decided to come check them out as well.
“Wassup, bruh?” said one of the drivers, a short man with baggy clothes and plenty of bling. Brooke watched them warily, uncertain of their intentions as they swaggered over to Ethan, who appeared tense.
Kale stepped in. “He’s cool, man.”
The driver of the four-door jerked his chin, a cigarette burning in one hand. “Never seen you around before.” The guy craned his neck to get a better look at Ethan’s plates. “South Dakota, huh? Fuck, dude, you’re a long way from home.”
“I just moved here.” Ethan shook the man’s hand when it was offered.
“What’s your name?”
“Ethan.”
“How’d you find us?”
He glanced at Brooke, a small smile on his lips. “Message boards.”
Her brows popped up in mock surprise. As they were joined by the rest of the group, she was reminded that she and Ethan were the intruders, crashing a private gathering of an elite crowd. A woman in a cropped top and skinny jeans eyed her from the sidelines and showed no interest in being friendly. But as the men talked and more information was exchanged, tensions seemed to fade.
“Fuck, I heard of you, dude,” someone said above the others. “You drove a white BMW, right? Didn’t you wipe out in last year’s Majors Tour with that guy from Omaha?”
Surprised, Brooke glanced at Ethan, sensing his uneasiness. “You follow it, then?” he asked the man.
“Anything in club racing.” A hand was extended, as the guy seemed truly impressed. “You definitely got skills, man. I’m Jules.”
Ethan shook it and several others as introductions were made. Jules, who spoke with a thick Spanish accent, indicated the yellow Mazda. “Hey, I thought that wreck ended things for you. Fucked you up pretty bad, didn’t it?”
“I’m above ground,” Ethan replied with a cautious edge.
“Yeah,” said Kale with arms crossed. “And taking to the streets. You even supposed to drive?”
Ethan met his look. “I have a license, if that’s what you mean.”
“That ain’t what I mean.”
As the silence stretched out and the moths swarmed thicker in the flood of light, everyone watched Ethan with an expectant air, including Brooke. Finally, he nodded. “You’re right. I had no business taking you on that night. But I’m not here to run anyone, we just want to watch, if that’s okay.”
While Kale kept his imposing stance, Jules clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “Yeah, we get it. Shit like that don’t just leave you, you know?”
As Brooke was left to wonder if Ethan should even have a license, Jules walked over to where she stood. “So this is your ride,” he said, his attention divided between her and the Mazda’s sleek exterior. “Something tells me there’s a little more to her than a pretty face.”
Ethan scratched at his stubble, a devilish twinkle in his eye. “A little attitude.”
Which “ride” were they talking about exactly? Brooke narrowed her eyes and Ethan’s mouth twitched in response.
The hood came open. Flashlights were produced from every pocket. “Holy shit,” Jules muttered as he scoped out the engine.
“Okay,” Ethan said, “a lot of attitude.”
“She fast in the straights?” someone asked.
“The hell if it ain’t,” Kale answered. “Fast in the corners too.”
“Never figured a Miata could look like a street racer.”
“It’s the fender arches,” Ethan said, all business as he lost himself in the details. “They’re modified to fit the wider wheelbase. Changes the whole look.”
They moved aside as he pointed out features, answered questions, and talked specs. Brooke was left behind as words like supercharger, third generation, and ACT race clutch were thrown around. Not that she was interested, but she listened with acute curiosity as Ethan continued to mingle. He was in his element scoping out other cars, relaxed. And incredibly sexy.
“You his girl?” said a voice behind her.
Brooke twisted around to find the woman she’d noticed earlier. “No,” she answered quickly, uncomfortable under such close scrutiny. “We’re…” What were they, exactly? She recalled his earlier words when they were in her bed recovering from a round of impulsive sex. “We’re just taking a break.”
Ethan must have been following the exchange because she found him watching her with keen interest.
And he apparently liked her answer.
Later, they leaned against the Mazda’s trunk, observing from the sidelines as the night exploded with the squeal of tires, the screaming of high performance engines, and the passionate shouts of money lost and won. Brooke wondered what the hell she was doing on a desolate road in the middle of the night surrounded by biting insects.
The road was one less traveled, aged with a patchwork of cracks, flanked by tall weeds, no streetlights in sight…and no cops, which reminded her that she was also in the company of a bunch of hooligans.
But the excitement was hard to deny. There was a certain freedom that came with breaking the law and the lack of concern for getting caught. One guy was on constant surveillance, keeping close tabs on the police scanner—something that Brooke found mildly titillating as the thing spat out a steady stream of violations through the speaker.
Another pair of cars lined up. Her heart accelerated along with the sound of gunning engines, knowing that the guy between them would throw down his hands at any moment.
“Right now, so much is going through their minds,” Ethan shouted above the noise. “They’re thinking about clutch, missing a shift, all the shit that can go wrong.”
At the signal, the two cars jumped and then darted down the narrow strip of asphalt, building up speed, cutting through the darkness, and quickly fading into the distance. Ethan continued to watch them, his expression a wistful one. “But when the hands drop, all is forgotten.”
Brooke missed the outcome of the race because she was too busy staring at Ethan. He wore his passion for the sport like a second skin, and she began to understand Harper’s concern.
He caught her watching him. “This is why I brought you here.”
The tragic connotation of his plight overwhelmed her for a moment, but she answered him with a brave smile. “It’s amazing.” And she meant it. “They’re like little glowing bullets fading into the night.”
He nodded. “They bring it up to about five-thousand RPMs, and then it’s all about punching gas and throwing gears. Danny Zuko would have been smoked.”
Ah, yes. There was a lesson to be learned from all of this after all. “Definitely,” Brooke
agreed. “I’m very impressed, except for the flag-waver guy with the hairy legs and potbelly. Not exactly Cha-Cha DiGregorio.”
They laughed over that one and Ethan tossed out a joke about the guy’s ample bosom. “See? He qualifies.”
Brooke laughed harder, hiding her face against his shoulder to stifle the sound. When she emerged, he was watching her, his smile fading. “People think it’s about being a badass.” His voice had gone husky, almost tender. “That it’s about the pretty girls, the prestige, the money…but it’s all about the cars.”
The intimacy of their gaze grew with each lingering second until Brooke thought he might kiss her again. But instead, he shifted and looked away. She cleared her throat. “I’ve seen a lot of money change hands,” she said.
“Yeah, but you know where it all goes?”
“Back into the cars?”
“Yup.”
Taking a few breaths, Brooke ordered her heart to slow down. Why did this feel like something more than a physical attraction all of a sudden? She and Ethan had been at war for nearly two weeks, yet in the thick of it, they’d managed to have the kind of sex that could easily be construed as making love. They were conversing like normal people and having fun together, sneaking looks and sharing past experiences. The only tension surrounding them now was the sexual kind, which she’d been struggling so desperately to keep in check. A deep-seated regret for her role in his troubles began to take root and grow.
She shifted her weight and toed a shape in the sandy earth beneath her shoes. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. I can see how much you love this.”
The instant she said it, Brooke felt him close off. “You know better than anyone what it’s like to have the rug pulled out from under you,” he said in a stiff manner.
She flinched against the bite of his words. “I didn’t mean I feel sorry for you, Ethan. You’re too much of a survivor for that.”
“From one survivor to another, right?”
“Why are you—?” As the engine noises drowned out her voice, Brooke covered her ears and waited. Their amiable truce was falling apart, and Ethan’s mood was going downhill fast. The pause gave her time to regroup, especially since she was no longer interested in the plight of two cars and a stupid stretch of road. But this time, as soon as the hands dropped, one car shot forward instead of two. The one left behind lurched, sputtered, struggled to creep forward, and then finally died.
“What happened?” she asked.
Ethan shrugged. “Who knows? Could be the carburetor or a bad fuel pump.” Then he looked right at her. “Or maybe someone cut the gas line.”
The suggestion took her aback. “Really? Someone would do that?”
As another car passed them, its brake lights flashed red, illuminating the harsh lines around his eyes when he answered: “If they wanted to win badly enough.”
His message hit home with the force of a slap. Brooke blinked at him, suddenly questioning everything they’d been through that night. She crossed her arms, looked down and fought to keep her voice from cracking. “Remember when Ken threw us in that corner office together and ordered us to spend an hour on the file?” When he didn’t answer, she proceeded anyway. “I kept wondering why he never stuck around to make sure we were doing the work. And then I realized that the work was never his goal.”
“He hoped we’d work out our differences.” Ethan clipped out a laugh. “It was a waste of everyone’s time.”
“Was it? You don’t think he got what he wanted?” Brooke watched as his expression became guarded. “When the job was taken out of the equation, we spent an entire hour without fighting. It may have seemed like a waste of time, but we learned two very important things: We actually have some common interests—the food for example—and we have it in us to compromise—the TV show.” As she ticked off each point with her fingers, Ethan rolled his eyes. “It may sound mundane as hell,” she continued, “but I think it was the first time I saw you as someone other than a complete asshole.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that we managed to pull it off again tonight. From the moment our clothes came off up to now, we managed to enjoy each other’s company…at least I thought so anyway. But then I say something that triggers a reaction in you and I’m forced to consider the possibility it was all a setup.”
Ethan pushed off the car and moved as if he were restless. “A setup, huh?”
“Well, you just made it abundantly clear that if I pull ahead of you and take the win, it’s because I cut your gas line.” She felt his sharp gaze even though she couldn’t see it. “Analogies like that are just too clever for me to see coming, especially when I’ve been distracted by orgasms.”
He must have finally picked up on the severity of her mood because he instantly stilled. “Brooke…”
“So thank you, Ethan,” she said with a chill in her voice. “For reminding me how close to the surface our problems will always be.”
Now that their “break” was officially over, he headed for the driver’s door. “It’s a long trip back,” he said flatly. “We should go.”
It wasn’t technically that long of a trip, but it felt like a million miles as they rode back to Naples in stony silence. This time, she failed to admire the sporty black-and-gray interior that somehow still had a new-car smell, or how good Ethan looked behind the wheel. She was definitely no groupie and why she’d allowed herself to be put in this situation was beyond her. Take a drive with me? Was she insane? This was the man who had repeatedly accused her of some pretty despicable things, things he still wholeheartedly believed. By the time they rolled into her parking lot, Brooke was in a fine rage, thoroughly convinced he’d staged the entire night with one goal in mind: to get a confession from her.
He pulled up to the sidewalk and let the car idle as he waited for her to get out. Her knuckles tightened on the door handle. “You know, I understand why you want to believe it so badly. The end is close, and we both have a lot to lose. But I didn’t deserve this tonight, Ethan. It was a prick move.”
“You’re right.” When she looked back, it was to find him still harboring a foul mood in the glow of the dash. His eyes were trained forward. “I think it’s safer if we just keep our distance.”
He wasn’t even going to try to deny it. “Agreed,” she said, feeling worse than before. After exiting the vehicle, Brooke slammed the door, and as the Mazda drove away, she didn’t look back.
All she wanted was to get home.
19
HAVING SEEN HARPER AND ADRIANNA OFF AT THE airport the next morning, Ethan made it to work a half hour late. His sister’s parting words resonated in his memory and only grew louder the closer he got to Monroe Graphics.
You make it work here, Ethan. I’d hate to see you run back to South Dakota because of some girl.
Harper had picked up on his mood as soon as he made it back home the night before. He’d confessed to going to Fort Myers since the smell of exhaust fumes and burnt rubber was a little hard to mask. But he’d also quickly allayed her fears by explaining why he went, that Brooke had been with him the whole time, and that things had ended badly with no resolution to their problems.
It was pretty much his fault, he knew. Sympathy always triggered the asshole in him, and he should have denied her accusation of staging the whole evening. He hadn’t staged it; he hadn’t even considered going to her place until his car had magically appeared in her parking lot. But it didn’t change the fact that Brooke had failed to give him what he wanted—the truth. He wondered why he thought he could get through to the woman in the first place.
Of course he knew there would be conflict, only the sparks between them had flown in an entirely different direction. When Harper had guessed as much, she seemed way too satisfied, to the point that he was instantly sorry. After telling her to go to hell, she’d laughed and thrown a couch pillow at him.
Finally, she’d said, a woman who keeps you on your toes for once.
&nbs
p; When Ethan dumped his things at his desk, Shannon appeared from her office. She greeted him with a hopeful look, reminding him of the way they’d left things the day before, which only reminded him that he’d forgotten to apologize to Brooke for the false accusation of locking him on the roof. Shit.
“Have you seen Brooke?” he asked, ready to get it out of the way first thing so they could go on with this damned competition without any regrets.
Shannon’s face instantly fell. “Break room, I think,” she mumbled.
Sure enough, that’s where he found her refilling her mug from the coffeepot. Letreece was also there, fishing a snack out of the vending machine. “Hey, handsome,” she said, and ripped the package open with her teeth. “Come by the desk later. I have something to show you.”
“Sure.” Ethan watched the receptionist leave, thankful that he’d get a few minutes alone with the woman he’d sought out. Unsure of her mood, he turned to Brooke, who was watching him over the rim of her coffee mug.
“It’s a new sign-out sheet,” she offered before he could speak. “For people who go to the roof, just in case.”
He could sense her struggling to stay cool and detached when she’d probably been awake all night staring at the ceiling as he had. He cleared his throat again. “Last night…”
“Ethan…I know.”
She knew what?
“You’d rather forget about it,” she answered for him. “And so would I.” Then she attempted to brush past him.
He blocked her retreat. “I was going to say that the reason I came over was to tell you Shannon confessed to locking me on the roof.”
“Oh, that’s…good.”
“But I also wanted you to know that it doesn’t change anything. I’m watching, paying attention now more than ever.”
As if his words had no effect, she skirted around him. “So you said. We also agreed to keep our distance, remember?”
