Fast Lane: A Turbocharged Romance

by Ada Winter

  Contact list and speed dial. Select Tom and send a text. “Hey Tom, it’s Lane… wondering if you would reach out to Tracy for Celia’s number?” Done.

  I can’t deny how I feel. Those lips, so soft-looking. I would do anything to kiss them long and hard. To stroke that hair…a shade of auburn I have never seen before. With a last name like Brennan, I’m sure it’s her natural color. If she’s red on her head then there’s a good chance she’s red on other parts of her body, too. Damn. That vision makes me semi-hard.

  C’mon Lane. You’ve banged hundreds of woman and never thought twice about calling a single one for a second go-around. Well, there were a few who caught my attention for more than a few hours of lustful fun, but nothing – nothing or no one – like this.

  Chapter 9

  CELIA

  Vibration in my pocket. Pull out phone to read text.

  Lane: I’m thinking about you angel! You’re killing me…I can’t get any work done.

  How did he get my number?

  Tracy.

  I put down the brush I am holding on top of a tack box and stride over to sit down on a pile of hay bales. Old Blue looks over his shoulder in my direction, seemingly disappointed that his beauty treatment is suddenly over. Unknowingly, I twist my hair and bite my lip as I study my phone.

  Celia: Be careful. You don’t want to upset the boss.

  Lane: I am the boss but not that I’m showing it right now. I have you on my mind Red and nothing is getting done.

  Leaning back against the bales, I run my fingers through my locks, tousling my hair a bit, and then I strike my most provocative pose. Shirt shifts down off my shoulder a slight bit, one side of my hair flicks behind my ear, and a slight pucker on my lips blends with my most devilish smile. The sun spills through the few openings between the boards on the side wall of the barn, lighting my hair on fire, glowing red.

  Irresistible. Click. Send.

  A few minutes of text silence follows, and I can imagine what he’s thinking. Lane’s eyes must be popping out of his head right about now. He will feel a twinge in his groin followed by a single throb as his cock fills to bursting, balls aching. Leaning back now in his chair or against the wall, he may give his dick, rock-hard by now, a stroke or two. Naked and impure thoughts of me racing through his mind.

  Three dots dancing on my phone indicate that he’s typing a response, as I gently massage the inside of my thighs with the lightest touch. Feeling him now and knowing that he wants me bad.

  Lane: Holy shit Celia! Give a guy a break.

  I’m going to make him wait. No answer back, not yet. He must be going crazy. More dots.

  Lane: I want to see you this weekend. What do you say?

  Hmmm…thinking.

  Celia: I have plans with another guy.

  This isn’t right. To toy with Lane like this. But it’s so much fun.

  Lane: Who is this guy? You never told me about anyone else.

  I can feel the tension in his quick text back but I’m still going to mess with him.

  Celia: I haven’t actually met him yet. I need to pick him up in Buffalo.

  Long pause.

  Lane: What’s he like?

  Celia: Well, he’s dark and very handsome. He’s been waiting patiently for me and I finally have the time to pick him up.

  Lane: What else can you tell me about him?

  Pausing to think.

  Celia: Not much, my boss set me up with him. I hear he likes to take long walks. He’s real athletic. Oh, and he’s hung like a horse.

  He must be going bonkers right now. Give him some time to respond.

  Lane: He sounds like a great guy. You into guys who are hung like that?

  Celia: They’re my favorite.

  Lane: So what’s this guy’s name?

  Celia: Lucky

  Lane: What kind of name is that?

  Letting him off the hook now.

  Celia: A horse’s name.

  A bit of a pause again. Does he get it?

  Lane: Maybe you should ride him after you get him home. I hear guys like Lucky enjoy that.

  Celia: What guy wouldn’t?

  Lane: This guy would. And I’m usually Lucky.

  Celia: So you’re feeling lucky huh?

  Lane: It’s only a matter of time. Hopefully my luck doesn’t run out.

  Chapter 10

  CELIA

  I decide to invite Lane to go with me. He has been a good sport and I wasn’t exactly looking forward to driving from Bar Harbor to Buffalo by myself anyway. An almost 12-hour drive alone, across hundreds of miles of farmland and woods is not my idea of fun. I love nature, but that type of scenery is enough to bore anyone to tears. Tracy and I typically go on these types of trips together, but she is busy so I asked Lane to go with me instead.

  He can’t be a bad guy if he is willing to do that drive. I’m still trying to convince myself that he has more good to him than anything else.

  I drop off my car at the stable and Mr. Porter helps me get the pickup hooked on to the horse trailer. I always found it weird that my boss wanted to be called by his proper name. It reminds me of grade school and its naming system hierarchy. If it was someone cool like a gym teacher, he might be on a first name basis with students. But classroom teachers were always referred to by Mr., Mrs., or Ms.

  The plan is for me to pick up Lane in Portland. There aren’t many major highways running east-west across New England, so I have to drive down through Massachusetts to pick up the turnpike. New York is a different story, and there they have highways running straight to my destination. Anyhow, it makes sense to swing through Portland to pick up Lane and then be on our way.

  The Ford F-150 pickup hums down the highway at around 55 miles per hour. I mostly stay in the right lane because I have the horse trailer rumbling behind.

  A new horse is waiting for me in Buffalo and he's just three years old. He’ll be a tough horse to break, which is why Mr. Porter got such a sweet deal on him. Breaking him will be my job once we get back to the stables at Bar Harbor. Lucky will eventually be a single-rider horse used for tourist rentals mostly.

  My thoughts go to Lane. This trip will be a good way for me to get to know him without the added pressure of going out on a date with drinks. I was certain that formula – anything with drinking – would most certainly lead to him gaining that notch on his bedpost, and it would mean that I was his latest victim.

  Victim?

  Was that what I was? I do feel like he’s a hawk circling his prey, just waiting for an opening to get me into his bed. He isn’t shy about his intentions.

  Am I a prude?

  No.

  There is something about waiting that seems right to me. Lane is different from a lot of the guys that I’ve been with. For starters, he's cocky as hell. That’s an attractive trait for sure, as long as he doesn’t cross the line into arrogance. Most of the arrogant guys I have met are assholes. Guys like that feel important, but not in a good way. It’s more of an ‘I’m better than you’ type of way.

  No, Lane is definitely cocky. There’s a fine line between cockiness and arrogance. Lane is self-assured, which borders on extremely confident.

  That is sexy.

  ****

  We arranged to meet at a park-and-ride just outside of Portland. It was easier than driving a horse trailer through downtown. He is there waiting for me, seated on a curb, throwing rocks into a sewer. Lane looks like a little kid just passing time on a boring summer afternoon. My brother used to do the same thing. Something about rocks and sewers that seems to mix for them.

  I’m glad he’s on time. One thing I can’t stand is when someone I’m meeting shows up late. Especially a guy. Tracy does it to me all the time. She had kept me waiting at Limerock and it was then that a guy – this guy – decided it was the perfect opportunity to stare at my ass.

  I imagine telling our grandkids how Lane and I met.

  Well kid
s, I was standing there waiting for my friend Tracy to arrive at Limerock Racetrack to see her brother race and sensed that I was being watched. It was your grandfather Lane. He was staring at my ass like a wolf about to slaughter a lamb. Surely, he was undressing me with his eyes and thinking impure thoughts of the highest magnitude. When I turned around, my knees almost buckled on account of how hot he was. I, too, had impure thoughts rushing through my brain, although I tried to suppress them.

  He told me he would get me in his bed if it was the last thing he did. If I had given in, we would have fucked like two wild animals that night. And that, grandkids, is the very romantic story of how your grandfather and I met.

  Slow down, Celia.

  Having a vivid imagination is one thing, but this is more like peeking into the future after having spent a lifetime with a man, this man who was now getting up from his seat on the curb and revealing his beautiful smile to me right now.

  This could be a long trip.

  Lane dusts the dirt off his ass and comes up beside the now parked pickup, a small black-leather overnight bag slung over his shoulder. He is dressed in jeans, brown cross-training sneakers, a navy t-shirt revealing his well-toned biceps, and damn, those guns are fully loaded. He opens the passenger door, climbs up into the truck cab, and I can’t help but notice the sweat running down his face that disappears under his shirt onto his sculpted shoulders.

  “Hello, Celia!”

  “Hi.”

  He leans into me, and just when I thought he’d move in for a kiss, he pecks me on the cheek instead. Just the slightest touch of his soft lips sends mini-shock waves reverberating through my body.

  This definitely could be a long trip.

  I put the Ford F-150 pickup into drive, and after checking my mirrors, get back on the road. It’s an easy truck to drive, but the trailer makes it cumbersome. Lane tosses his overnight bag over the seat into the back of the cab and then he buckles up.

  “Mmm…you smell good. Is that lavender?”

  Wow, this guy knows his floral scents.

  “Yes. It’s my shampoo. It’s called Lavender Love.”

  “I like it.” He smiles at me and his dimples show ever so slightly.

  I change the subject to something less sensual.

  “Were you waiting long?”

  “No, not really. I think it’s rude to be late, so I got here a half-hour ago.”

  “You know how to impress the girls, don’t you?”

  “I generally do a decent enough job.”

  I don’t think I remember his forearms being so sexy, but now I notice them as his hands cup his knees casually.

  “So, we have about nine hours left. I think we’ll stop tonight around Syracuse or Rochester, depending on traffic.”

  Devilish smile. “What’s the sleeping situation?”

  Laughing now. “You’re too much.”

  “Okay, it’s settled then. We’ll share the same room. To save money, of course.”

  I can play this game. “Of course. You know, you may have to chain me to the air conditioner so I don’t jump you in the middle of the night.”

  “There is bondage planned, but I had no idea you were into chains. We’ll work it in somehow.”

  I can’t help but imagine a few scenarios in my head as we speak, but then I’m side-lined by his next comment.

  “Of course, Celia, if you’re afraid you can’t control yourself, I would suggest separate rooms. Adjoining, of course, just in case the separation is too much for you.”

  Did I mention this could be a long trip?

  Chapter 11

  LANE

  “What is this? Boy George?” My voice breaks the silence.

  “It’s actually Culture Club.”

  “Whatever.”

  ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me’ blasts through the speakers now after Celia decides to turn up the volume.

  “Do you know this song is about Boy George and his relationship with his drummer and boyfriend Jon Moss?”

  “You are just a treasure trove of useless information,” She jokes.

  “I read it in Rolling Stone some time back. Interesting article, but his music sucks. ”

  Sarcastically. “I suppose you want control of the radio?”

  “Now you’re talking. Do you mind?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I reach over with my left hand and start scanning stations anyway.

  “Hey. I said leave that on.” Her hand is pushing my arm away now.

  As I continue to battle with her arm, I start yelling, “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you through this loud crappy music.”

  Her hand darts for the button and Culture Club comes back on. Defeated now, I jump right in on the chorus and belt it out loudly and badly. Celia laughs as I do my best Boy George impression complete with ridiculous dance moves.

  I am having fun. Celia is seeing the other sides of me. The guy who was determined to win a race at all costs. The guy who wanted to get her into my bed more than anything. I am all of those things, but so much more. She has no idea.

  Celia isn’t the type of woman to jump into bed on a first date. As difficult as it may be for people to believe, that is something that turns me on, not the other way around. I will take my time with her. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t keep trying.

  “So, tell me a bit more about how you got into horses.”

  She hesitates a bit.

  “My brother Sid knew a girl that he went to school with who was looking for help with her horses. I was 12 at the time.”

  “You were into them that young?”

  “Yeah…well…I went on a field trip when I was in elementary school. It was at a local horse farm. We got to groom them, feed them and even ride them for a bit. I was hooked.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” She seems so sure in her answer that I don’t doubt it.

  “Is your brother older than you?”

  “Yes.” Her answer is abrupt and she seems to tense up.

  “Do you get to see him often?”

  “No.”

  Okay, this is a sore spot. I can tell. I change the subject.

  “This horse you’re picking up. Is he for use at the stables?”

  Judging by her loose posture, she seems relieved to be talking about something else.

  “Yeah, his name is Lucky. Of course you know that from our texts the other day. He’s a tough nut and it’s my job to break him.”

  “Break him?”

  I can tell she likes talking about this because her voice perks up.

  “It’s part of my job. Some horses have not been trained yet to accept people riding them, or they’re not fit to pull wagons. They need to be trained.”

  “Are you some kind of horse whisperer?”

  “I know how to reach them on their level. We feel out a middle ground and we both take it from there. It’s a give and take relationship. It’s up to me to know when to give and when to take.”

  “And the horse?”

  “They learn how to give and take, too. They learn how to trust, more than anything. Not everything we do with them is enjoyable for them. But they learn that it’s their job and at the end of the day they get brushed down, fed some oats, and have a dry roof over their heads. It seems to work for them.”

  I see an opening, but pause as I want to carefully word it. The Chuck E. Cheese billboard seems ridiculous to me with the gray mouse wearing purple and green and hand spooning spaghetti into his mouth. Considering what I was about to say, I need to forget Chuck and refocus.

  “Do you believe that relationships need to be give and take?”

  She pauses and considers before answering. Grabbing for her tea now, she sips before speaking.

  “If they are going to work.”

  “What if one person gives or takes too much?”

  “Then it doesn’t work.”

  “Are you a giv
er or a taker? Or both?” I smile now and adjust my tone so she knows it isn’t a serious question that should intimidate her.

  “To tell you the truth, I haven’t ever really had a relationship that lasted all that long. I’ve been with some guys who were strictly takers. Won’t go that route again.”

  I think about what she said.

  “Are you a taker, Lane?”

  I can hear the wanting in her voice. She really wants me to say no. I don’t know why. Maybe she is into me more than she’s been leading on.

  “I’m a man who thanks his lucky stars that he laid eyes on you.”

  “Good answer.”

  I can tell she isn’t fully satisfied by it, though. I look over at her and my eyes go to the beautiful, soft skin of her neck. I want to kiss it. Picturing her now, receiving me openly and running my tongue down her neck, I notice something else. Celia looks tired.

  “Why don’t you pull over and I’ll drive?”

  “There’s a rest stop about nine miles ahead. Let’s stop there, get some lunch, then you can take over.”

  A few hours in now, I feel the stiffness in my legs. Lunch will be nice. Celia and I are getting to know each other more. I'll sit down opposite her so that I can stare into her eyes. Those beautiful green eyes.

  Chapter 12

  CELIA

  “So, what’s it going to be? Sbarro, Arby’s, or Subway?”

  Sarcastically. “I don’t know Celia. They all look so good. It’s just a question whether we’re in the mood for crap, crappier, or crappiest.”

  “Let’s not forget about the vending machines.” We both laugh.

  I don’t know too much about Lane, but you don’t get a bod like that from eating fast food every day. We settle on Subway as the ‘least crappiest.’

  Lane orders a foot-long meatball sub on whole wheat, toasted, with no cheese. I order a turkey and Swiss on whole wheat with cucumbers, tomatoes, olives and a little mayo. The nasally teenager behind the counter is making me nervous and I’m glad they wear gloves here. Is that her voice or is she sick?