by Hazel Parker
With a start, I suddenly realized who it was.
“I’m new,” I responded to his comment. I studied him back, a flutter starting in my belly at the slow smile that slid up his face. There was a dimple on his right cheek, and it was cute and hot at the same time.
He held out a hand. “My name’s Doug Oliver,” he said warmly. I couldn’t detect any hint of arrogance in his tone when he said the name.
Nervously, willing my hand not to tremble, I accepted the handshake. “Julie Davis.”
He didn’t make the connection, which delighted me all the more. I preferred if people didn’t relate me to my father and only saw me.
We chatted for a while as he asked about me, the interest clear on his face. But it was a polite kind of interest, and I appreciated that he wasn’t coming on to me aggressively. But my mouth was dry, and my palms were sweaty all the same, and I knew why.
I was developing a crush on him. Just like that.
Holy cow.
“I’ll see you around?” he asked, a hint of hope in his tone.
I smiled again shyly, excessively charmed. “Yeah. I’ll see you around. Good luck on the race.”
A few seconds later, another voice popped in.
“That’s Doug Oliver, one of Scott’s toughest competitors.”
Ulysses sidled up beside me, staring at Doug’s retreating back. I did the same, although mine was more the feminine appreciative type. He had a built body that was…sexy.
“I know,” I replied belatedly.
“He was flirting with you,” Ulysses offered.
I shot him a grin, thoroughly amused. “Anything wrong with flirting with the competition?”
“Nothing wrong as long as you keep it healthy,” another voice popped in.
Scott.
My good mood deflated, and the smile disappeared from my face. Caution was back, as was the case whenever he was around. He smiled at me pleasantly, though it wasn’t the same pleasant smile that Doug had given me. No.
Scott’s pleasant smile was the equivalent of the devil smiling at you before he tempted you to sin.
“Are we all good here?” he asked.
I nodded. The crew chief, aka lollipop man, Henry, was directing the others to do the finishing on the rear. “Nearly done.”
“Good.”
Ulysses hurried off to the rear, probably off to impress. The kid was too energetic for his own good.
“Aren’t you gonna wish me good luck?”
I tilted my head at Scott’s question. “You’re one of the best in the field. I don’t think you need any luck, McCall.”
“Great faith you have in me, Davis.”
“Jules,” I corrected.
Those blue eyes regarded me intensely. “You don’t like it much, do you? Being associated with your father?”
The spot-on analysis jarred me, but I didn’t let it show. Not many people could see it immediately, and it surprised me that he was one of the few who got it right away. I nodded, then shrugged.
He smiled that same devilish smile. The man really was too handsome for his own good, and he was well aware of it.
“Jules it is, then,” he murmured. Then Scott sauntered off to where Henry was.
I sighed and went back to work.
*****
My first encounter with Doug wasn’t my last one as we saw each other in most events and some practices, and he never failed to visit and chat me up. I was starting to feel a certain attraction to him, one that was purely physical, as he began to open up and showed me more of his hidden charm and country boy graciousness—yes, he was from the South. His Southern twang did something to me, and I found myself responding to his manner.
Truth be told, I didn’t interact much with guys during college. I dated some and made out with some, but there had never really been anyone special that I wanted to lose my virginity to. But college had come and gone, and I realized that it was stupid to wait for the right one to come.
Now, I just wanted to get to know someone wonderful and see where it went without having to overanalyze everything. Doug was the perfect guy for that.
Unfortunately, there was a dilemma—sort of.
I wasn’t even sure Doug was into me, not the way that I was into him. At first, his visits thrilled me, until I realized that his pleasantness was directed not just at me but at anyone who joined in on our conversation—Scott included. Doug was just nice to everyone. He was younger than Scott by almost ten years, who was already in his early thirties, and I could see how much he respected the other man.
What I mistook for flirting in the beginning was apparently just basic friendliness, which now made me shy and hesitant about full-out flirting with him. I didn’t want to seem like a groupie or a bunny—heck, the drivers had enough of that from all the other women fans.
But I didn’t want to be lumped with the crew guys, either. I wanted him, and I wanted to see how far I was willing to go with him. He seemed like the type of guy who’d take it slow but firm and I knew that was what I needed.
My body tingling every time he was around definitely told me this wasn’t just some crush. This was physical attraction at its finest, and I wanted to pursue it.
I just needed to find the right time.
When I did, I was going to show Doug just how interested I was.
CHAPTER SIX
SCOTT
“Where’s Davis? We’re going out to celebrate today’s great practice!” Ulysses exclaimed. Henry rolled his eyes at the boy’s enthusiasm, and I couldn’t help but smile, too.
“Jules,” I corrected automatically. Everyone stared at me.
Realizing what I said, I shrugged and let the topic go. Irritation surged through me that I corrected it just like that, just because Julie wasn’t here to do so. What did it matter if she liked being called Jules and not by her last name? Not my business, most definitely.
But speaking of her…
“Where is Jules?” I asked, scanning the crowd. All the other pit crew members were there, already discussing where we could meet up after dinner.
“She went to get something from the track tower,” another crew member, Anthony, replied. He was another one of the older ones, with muscles and power that were necessary for lifting tires. “Her father got her something and left it there with someone.”
The way Jack was mentioned, it was almost like he was some sort of god. I smiled in amusement. The old man was a legend, and it looked like people were going to talk about him for years to come. I couldn’t blame the talk because I admired the man too and wanted to be like him someday.
Which was why it was fascinating that Julie didn’t want to be associated with him much. On the one hand, I could understand—she didn’t want to be in the shadow of a great man. It probably also had a lot to do with people often taking advantage. When you were famous or connected to someone famous, people just couldn’t resist asking favors here and there without realizing when enough was enough.
“I’ll go get her,” I volunteered. “Indy, give me a call when you guys decide where to go, will you?”
Henry grumbled. “I’m not going with these lads. They’re young and wet behind the ears. Rowdy.”
The crew laughed and I grinned. “Indy, if you don’t go, I’m docking your pay.” They all laughed harder, and Henry shot me a look. I only grinned wider and sauntered off, hearing their conversation drift back to teasing the middle-aged man about letting loose and having fun for a while. He was a family man whose two kids already graduated from college, and his wife was at their home in Tuscany. Darla was a great woman, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if we took her husband out for a drink or two, coupled with some healthy fun.
It was great how my crew got along well and treated each other like family—and included me in it. I knew some drivers who didn’t give their crew the time of the day after practices or races, keeping things too professional. I was more laid back in that aspect, wanting to bond with them and get to know them. A
fter all, they were handling my car and helping with my wins. In my opinion, trust and loyalty went both ways.
The tower was located at the other end of the race track, and I walked over while appreciating the weather. It had been cooperative today, and now the sun was pleasantly warm, set to go down in about an hour or so.
When I arrived at the tower, I chatted up some of the employees who’ve been working there for years. They told me they saw a brown-haired woman headed for the elevator towards the top floor—the rooftop. I pressed that button right away, humming to myself as I decided to invite Jay to the night out. The man had been working too hard on the business since I got busy with racing again, and he definitely needed a break or two.
When I got to the top, I went up two more flights of stairs to reach the rooftop. I opened the door, sauntered out, then swung the door closed.
“No, don’t shut the door, it won’t open aga—damn it!”
The door slammed shut. Julie raced for it and twisted the knob, which didn’t budge. Surprised, I gave it a try and realized it was locked.
Frustration welled up in her, visible on her face. “Great. I’d been trying to pound that open for a few minutes now. Didn’t you hear me yelling on the other end?”
“I didn’t,” I said. “Hold on.” I went back to the door, twisting and turning. It didn’t budge. I then used my shoulder to pound at it, hoping it would give way.
It didn’t budge.
“Damn.”
I pulled out my phone. No signal. I stared at her, and she nodded in confirmation.
“The only stupid rooftop with no signal,” she muttered.
Julie stalked towards the rooftop edge, then stopped abruptly. I watched as she carefully walked to the side, her eyes trained on the cement ground as she found a space. She then sat in the middle, holding her phone out in the air and glaring at it.
Fascinated, I kept watching until she turned her glare to me.
“Care to tell me why you were here in the first place?” I asked.
“My dad was calling when I got his package,” she pointed towards the side of the door. It was only then I noticed that there was a brown box there, set to the side. “I thought I’d get better signal here. Stupid tower.”
I stifled a laugh. “Stupid tower indeed.”
I walked over to the side, watching the race track below for any sign of people. There were none on this end. With a sigh, I sat down on the ground, too.
It looked like we were going to be there for a while.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JULIE
An hour later, I was in a bad mood, and it was slightly embarrassing how much I lashed out at the man who was obviously only trying to be friendly.
Okay, I was very embarrassed.
But he didn’t need to know the reason why I refused to leave my sitting space and refused to sit beside him near the edge, as he’d invited me to do for a while already. This was my safe space, and my safe space allowed me to breathe calmly and not embarrass myself any further.
Obviously, I was afraid of heights. It had been like that since I was a kid, something I discovered when I was twelve and chasing after a cat up a tree. My dad had to get the firemen to cajole me down, and I was hysterical by then. Since then, I’d avoided heights like the plague and had managed to get to the point where I could go to rooftops, so long as I wasn’t staring down or standing near the edges.
I hid it well today as Scott attempted to make conversation, for lack of anything else to do. When the sun went down the lights were automatically put up on the tower, but it was dim. The race track itself was plunged into darkness, and I wondered if we were going to starve before we were found.
That made me nervous. My nerves made me short-tempered, even while I tried to fight it. I realized after a while that my short temper was a way of covering another emotion altogether—panic.
And the panic was slowly building up and threatening to consume me whole.
I counted numbers. I counted sheep. I tried to recite the multiplication table in my head, then my favorite verses from my favorite books. What on earth did I need to recite more to get rid of this—
“Talk to me. It will make you forget the panic.”
Scott interrupted my thoughts, and it took me a while to register his words. I stared at him, feigning innocence.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Save it,” he said, his voice firm. “I knew someone from college who was just as afraid of tower edges.”
“Heights,” I corrected.
“One and the same,” he said. “Talk to me.”
I stared at him again. Then I shook my head. “I don’t really know what we will talk about. I mean, obviously we don’t have anything in common and—”
“I like cars,” he pointed out. “And so do you. Have you ever ridden in one and practiced racing?”
He really was making an effort.
And cars. I could talk about cars.
“I have, but it’s not really my thing. I prefer tinkering on the mechanical side of cars and watching the drivers race through the track.” I shot him a look. “I bet you’re on the other end of the spectrum on that one.”
He shrugged. “I mean, I like tinkering, too. I know more about the engine than most drivers, though I wouldn’t claim to be an expert. But nothing beats getting behind the wheel for me.”
“I take it you’re an adrenaline junkie?”
“Not all kinds. I wouldn’t really go out of my way to try bungee jumping and the like. Cars are all I’m about, I guess.”
“And books,” I blurted out. Then I inwardly cursed when a knowing gleam entered his eyes.
“Classics,” he confirmed. “And urban fantasy shit.”
I nodded. I liked adventure and action novels; those that had twists and turns like you wouldn’t believe. I told him so, an image of James Bond filling my mind as he jumped off trains and buildings and—
Not a good idea to think about jumping off buildings. My panic pinged.
To ease it off, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“How old are you?”
To Scott’s credit, he didn’t look at me like I was crazy. “Thirty-one. Are you seventeen?”
I glared. “Twenty-two.”
He chuckled. “Thank goodness. I thought I was going to prison when I came on to you back in the club.”
I was about to glare at him again when I realized he was joking. Despite myself, I smiled. Then curiosity got the better of me, and I found that I was asking questions that I normally wouldn’t have had the courage to ask.
“So do you have a girlfriend?”
“Hell, no.”
“Why not?”
“It messes with things. I had a girlfriend before, and all she wanted to do was hang out. She wanted to make me quit racing.”
“She probably thought it was dangerous,” I offered. “Some women do.”
“It’s my passion. I know the dangers.”
I knew what he meant. I’d dated guys who thought me tinkering with machines wasn’t a very girly thing to do, and it turned them off.
“So what happened with the girlfriend?” I asked.
“She threatened to break up with me when I didn’t do what she wanted. So we broke up. Then she made up some drama about getting pregnant to get media attention, but it was all fake. I didn’t budge.”
“Not all women are like that, you know.”
“I know,” he said. He studied me quietly. In the dark, his blue eyes almost glowed. “How about you? Boyfriend?”
I shook my head. “I was too busy in college.”
“And now?”
“There’s someone I like. I’m not sure if he likes me back. I’m still testing the waters.”
“Jules?”
“Hmm?”
“I sure as hell hope that’s not me you’re talking about,” he mused.
This time, I laughed. That he would think it was him was so ridic
ulous, and obviously, he thought so, too. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t like you in a million years, McCall.”
“Scott,” he corrected, brows furrowing. “And good. We’re gonna be friends and nothing more.”
I looked at him in surprise. He eyed me back.
“I don’t do colleagues’ and friends’ daughters. Or sisters. Or wives. Or girlfriends,” he added, which made me think that someone must have come on to him from that criteria. “Or committed women in general. Or anyone from my crew.”
“That’s a pretty long list,” I observed.
He grinned, white teeth flashing. “Don’t worry. There are plenty of women left in the sea.”
I rolled my eyes. Then, with a start, I realized that whatever panic I’d been starting to feel was gone, thanks to our odd conversation. As if he knew it, too, Scott winked at me and stood up.
“Would you mind if we open your dad’s package? I’m bored.”
I nodded, then waited for him to drag the package towards me. Five minutes later, we were treated to a sight of Hawaiian souvenirs and some packaged food and drinks, which included my favorite: dried pineapple.
“My dad’s the best!”
Scott gave me an amused smile. “Well, what do you know? We might survive a day or two up here with all the food that’s in here.”
I shot him a smile back. Then we decided to proceed with scarfing it down.
*****
“What do you despise?” I asked once we were full.
“Assholes tampering with my cars and the race,” he said. “Which was what the previous crew member did.”
Yeah, I knew all about that. It really was sad and stupid. “What else?”
He thought it over. “Idiot drivers. Liars.”
“So you don’t lie to get your women?”
He shot me such a baleful look that I had to give it to him. His response was sincere. “The women I go out with—or have sex with—know the deal. No strings attached. They take it or leave it.”
“Hmm.”
“And what do you despise, dear Julie?”
“Lying men,” I confirmed. He grinned like he passed some kind of test. “Sex offenders. People who think a girl like me shouldn’t have any business studying what’s under the hood of cars.”
