I shrugged. “From time to time, but not professionally.”
Not too often though because Dad pitched a fit every time he saw me on two wheels. Beau’s smile grew, spreading across his mouth like molasses. “Karts?”
It was clear he was thinking of our near disaster at the karts the day before. “Used to. Graduated up a few years ago.”
“To what exactly?”
It was too late to stop talking, even though that’s what I wanted to do. “Production series.”
“And that is?”
“Right now? I drive a V8 Ford Falcon. She used to be a ProV8 car a few years ago, I guess you’d say that’s the elite level in Australia, but when it became outdated, she was refit to run the production series. It’s a chance for the team to get another couple of years out of her before they put her out to paddock.”
He didn’t speak. Instead, he just stared at me.
“What?”
“You drive cars for a livin’?”
I met his eye, wondering why it seemed like such a big deal for him. “So do you.”
“Yeah, but look at you.” His gaze trailed over my body again.
“Look at me, why?”
“You’re a tiny slip of a girl.”
“So? There’s plenty of power in these guns.” I lifted my arms, curling them to show off my biceps. They might not have been big, but they did what I needed them to.
“Wow,” he said, before squirming in his seat.
“What?” I asked again, wondering why he was having such a hard time accepting it. Not that I should have wondered really—most guys did.
“I can honestly say I ain’t never been more turned on than I am right now.”
“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes and turned the music up.
He reached over and twisted the knob to turn it back down again.
“What?” I asked again, my tone snippier than it had been.
“Ya don’t approve of me approvin’ of your career?”
“You don’t get it.” I turned the music back up.
His hand was on the knob instantly twisting it back down. “Tell me so I do.”
“You won’t get it.” I reached for the stereo again.
He placed his hand over my fingers to stop me. “Make me understand, darlin’, I wanna.”
I released a low sigh when I saw he wasn’t going to let it go. “I grew up around the racetrack. It’s all I’ve ever known really. My dad was a driver before me.”
“Okay?”
“And from the very first time Dad took me out in a car, I’ve been told how ‘cute’ it is that I wanted to drive ‘just like my daddy.’ As I grew older, that changed. At some stage, right around when I sprouted boobs, it stopped being ‘cute’ and started being ‘so damn sexy.’” I clenched my teeth. “Do you know what it’s like having forty-year-old mechanics telling you how sexy it is when you can control a car like that?”
“Well, no, I can’t say that I do.”
“At fourteen, I was asked whether I could handle all gearsticks that well, while the guy held his dick. It was fucking disgusting.”
“Aw, dang, darlin’, ya shoulda said somethin’. I wouldn’t have teased about that earlier,” he said, obviously recalling our flirting before we left the hotel.
“No, I don’t mind. I mean, not always. Most of the time, I can deal. And I’m not a prude. I just hate that somehow my career, my sexuality, my very personality, are all defined by two things. My father and my tits.”
“Not sure I follow anymore.”
“You won’t. Don’t worry about it. Just forget I said anything.”
“Is that why you’re here in the States, not bein’ you?” he asked.
Fuck, he could be perceptive. No matter how much of myself I tried to keep tucked away from him, it all bled through enough that I felt he could see the real me.
“It’s part of it. I’ve just had a few things all clash in the last few months, and I needed space.” I couldn’t believe how much I was telling him. It was like I’d opened the door and I couldn’t shut it until the flood had passed. “My baby sister was born with a hole in her heart. After a few months of monitoring and talking around in circles, they put her in for surgery a few weeks back. Which meant Mum and Dad were at the hospital and with specialists for long stretches of time. I had to look after my other brothers and sisters in the meantime. All this happened soon after leaving school and going full-time into racing. Top it all off, I’ve been having to try to keep on top of my mechanic apprenticeship even though I know it all already. It just felt like I hadn’t had a break since . . . well, since forever.”
“What d’ya study in college?”
“I haven’t made it to uni yet. I don’t know if I’ll bother. I mean, I just finished high school and—”
The truck swerved as Beau turned to me, wide-eyed. “What?”
I frowned. “What do you mean what?”
“How old are ya, darlin’?”
My eyes widened as I realised what it was that worried him. He’d met me in a bar while I was wearing a band reserved for over twenty-ones. It was only natural for him to assume I was over the legal drinking age in the States. “Um, eighteen.”
“Sweet Jesus.” He muttered the words under his breath as he tugged on his hair. It was the closest I’d ever heard him come to swearing. “What were ya doin’ in a bar?”
I shrugged. “Having a drink.”
“It ain’t legal.”
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “It’s hardly the crime of the century. Besides, I wasn’t drinking drinking. I just had Coke.”
“Do you have any idea the sort of field day the press would have if they found out I was drinkin’ in a bar with a minor? That I was winin’ and dinin’ one in private? I’d be lookin’ like a horse’s hind end.”
“I’m not a minor.” I bristled. “Just underage for your stupid drinking laws. I’m legal in Australia.”
“Ya know how much trouble I’d be in if the press ever caught wind of this? I mean, six years! You’re six years younger than me! And barely legal. Jailbait, they’ll call ya.” He turned to me as he said the last words, but I didn’t think he was actually talking to me—ranting to the world at large instead.
I dropped my head as tears filled my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”
“Ya told me off for making your choices for ya, but isn’t that what ya did to me?”
He was right. After all, I’d known his age from that very first night. “I know. I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face and then turned to look at me. For a moment, his face was set in a frown, but then he released a sigh and shook his head with a nervous chuckle. “Gosh, ya really are full of surprises.”
I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Well, life would be a little boring without them.”
“There ain’t nothin’ more I need to know?”
“Nothing that springs to mind. Besides, a girl has to keep some mystery, right?”
He frowned again, making the line of his brow pinch together. “Not if it risks my career. I can’t risk that over a temporary thang.”
The way he said the word temporary was an arrow into my heart. It might have been a fact, but it still hurt to hear. My bottom lip quivered. “I understand.”
“Understand what exactly?”
“You can let me out here if you like. I’ll just get my bike and go.” I fought off the shuddering sob that threatened to race through me.
“Go?” He sounded panicked.
“Yeah. I don’t want to cause you any problems, Beau; not when we’re so temporary.”
He swerved the truck over before pulling it up on the side of the road. Once we’d stopped, he turned in his seat and then grabbed my face in his hands. “The heart wants what it wants, and mine wants you. I’m just tryin’ a think thangs through.”
He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something and then closed it as he turned his head
to look out the windshield. The moment he wasn’t looking at me, the words left him. “I admit, it woulda been nice to have some warnin’, somethin’ I could tell my publicist case anythin’ came out, but it’s water under the bridge now. The paparazzi can be vicious, and I don’ want ya getting’ caught up in it.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, I know a little something about that.”
He frowned in confusion.
“It’s a long story, but let’s just say my family has never been far from the public eye.”
“How’d ya mean?”
“You said yesterday that it was refreshing to not have to be the Beau Miller that everyone expects all the time. But you’ve been at this for how long?”
“’Bout four years, give ’r take.”
“Well, I’ve been Phoebe Reede since I was four. My entire life has been chronicled from the moment my father’s career fell into the shithole and he came back to Mum.”
When I glanced back over at him, Beau was smiling. His grin stretched wide across his mouth, and he looked more excited than ever.
I was going to demand to know what had him smiling like a loon when he spoke and answered the question before I could ask it.
“Phoebe,” he said slowly as if trying my name out for the first time.
My stomach dropped because he was. I’d willingly—if accidentally—given him the last piece of me I’d kept in reserve.
“Phoebe Reede, huh, Dawson?” He raised his brow at me.
The muscles in my chest tightened around my heart, squeezing the life out of it, and I pulled away from his hold. He wasn’t supposed to find out. I wanted us to mean something. To be more than a footnote in the Phoebe Reede story.
“Please don’t google me,” I begged in a voice that was quiet and filled with the fear that coursed through my body.
What would he think of me if he did? Would he see the poor transplant recipient who needed to be treated like glass? The slutty girl who was with a new boy every few months, even though most were nothing more than friends and I’d never slept with any of them? The ball-breaking feminist driver? Or worse, would he see the chronicles of Dad’s shame, and think I was cut from the same cloth? Would he assume I was a fuck ’em and chuck ’em kind of girl?
The last thought twisted in my stomach. That’s exactly what I had to be where Beau was concerned.
“Now that’s a promise I don’t think I can make,” he teased. “You ain’t so free with the information, so I just might hafta take it into my own hands.”
“Please?” I begged, my voice quiet and pleading.
“Ya got some deep, dark secret ya don’t want me knowin’?”
“No, it’s just, there’s so much, and not much of it is true. None of it’s me. Dawson, the girl you’ve been talking to? That’s me. That’s who I am—who I want to be.”
“Okay, Dawson. I understand that. And if ya leave me your Australian phone number, I promise not to google ya.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to keep in contact with ya.”
The words spread a warmth through my chest, but I couldn’t let myself sink into it. “It’ll never last.”
“Don’t matter.”
“We’ll never get to talk to each other anyway.”
He chuckled. “Don’t matter.”
“Of course it fucking matters,” I exploded. “I can’t have casual with you, Beau. I want all or nothing, and it’ll kill me talking to you on the phone knowing that I’ll never see you again.” As soon as the words were out, my cheeks burned with heat. How could I have said so much? So candidly. I was a fucking idiot.
Before anything more could be said, I shoved open the door. I needed to be free from the stifling cabin. Free from the way Beau looked at me—like what we had could last through it all.
I paced to the back of the truck. There was only one way I could be free.
My bike. The wind against my body as I pushed her as fast as she could go.
Wasn’t I just leading Beau on by staying with him any longer?
I’d barely reached the tailgate when Beau caught up with me.
“What’re ya doin’?”
Tears burned at my eyes. So much of what I’d tried to keep hidden was on the table. The slice of life I’d hoped to keep separate had just smashed into the rest of my world because of a stupid slip. The tiny pieces of myself I’d managed to keep tucked away—Emmanuel and his gift to me—were all the reasons I needed to keep myself aloof.
“I have to go.” I reach for the tailgate to be able to get my bike free, but it was locked.
Beau reached for my hand and guided me around to face him before placing my palm over his heart. “Ya have to stay.”
“Why? This can’t last. Why torture ourselves?”
“It ain’t hardly torture spendin’ time with ya.” He brought my palm to his lips. “I take back what I said. If ya don’t want to leave me a number, ya don’t hafta. But please don’t walk away now.”
He bundled me into his arms.
“The problem is, I do want to,” I whispered against his chest. “I want to give it all to you, Beau. But it’ll break my heart when it’s over.”
“Darlin’, I’ll miss your touch and your smilin’ face somethin’ fierce. I can’t guarantee that we’ll have forever, or even anythin’ more than a few months ’fore we drift apart ’cause our schedules never align, or somethin’ happens that neither of us can stop, but I do know I don’t want to let ya go in a couple of days. My heart can’t. It won’t.”
“How do you think it’s going to go over if the press finds out you’re having a phone and Internet relationship with a minor?”
“Like ya said, ya ain’t a minor,” he said with a chuckle.
“I’m not.” I turned sombre as the truth echoed within me. “But it’s something you’ll have to consider. You know it’ll be considered even more insidious than an in-public, in-person relationship. They’ll paint you out to be some sort of pervert.”
“It’s less likely to come out though too. It can be our little secret.”
“Secret, like what we have is wrong?” Another stabbing sensation filled my chest.
“Not wrong, darlin’.” He held my hands in his and stared into my eyes. “Secret ’cause neither one of us needs the press doin’ us harm.”
He had a point, not that I was worried about it. It’d be just another story for them to fuck up.
“So will ya stay?”
I nodded. “For now.”
“And then?” He was persistent, I’d give him that.
“We’ll see. For now though, we should probably get back on the road if we want to make it to your place before the fireworks you promised.”
When we were both back in our seats, he pulled the truck back onto the highway. After a few moments where it became clear neither of us had any questions or anything to say at all really, I turned the radio up and tried to drown out the thoughts in my head while Beau studied the road ahead with stern concentration.
WHEN WE DROVE through the tiny town of Lakemont, Beau turned the radio down. “This is me. This is home.”
“So, what is there to do in Lakemont?”
“Nothin’ much, and far too much to show ya in a night and a day, so let’s focus on the fireworks and then see where the night goes.” His gaze trailed my bare thigh as he said the word. Obviously, he’d had time to process his concern over my age and had decided not to be bothered by it—or at least not to let it affect us.
I lifted my leg a little higher, letting my dress slip right down so there was no way for him to avoid seeing my panties. “You know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“I think that once you’ve seen one fireworks display, you’ve seen them all.” I reached for his hand and moved it to rest on my exposed thigh. “And I’ve seen a few.”
“Hmm, that is true,” he said, his eyes shifting focus back and forth between the road and my body. His hand slid up and down my thigh. After th
e high emotions that had been flying around earlier, it was a relief to feel his touch. His fingers slipped higher and higher with each pass, and my breathing grew shallower.
“Really, I’d rather see some typical Southern hospitality,” I added.
He traced his fingers over the top of my pussy.
“Something finger lick—” My thought trailed off to a low groan as his fingers found their way into my panties.
When I met his gaze again, it was as hungry as I felt. “Ya really don’t want fireworks?” he asked.
“I never said that,” I said, pushing forward against his fingers. “I said I didn’t need to see a fireworks show. I’m more than happy to make our own.”
“That’s it, darlin’,” he said. “Maybe it’ll ruin your experience here, missing out on Fourth of July, but I’m takin’ ya home and treatin’ ya right.”
“I won’t complain.” I relaxed into his touch as he continued to stroke my skin in gentle trails while he drove through town. I was so desperate for him to touch me everywhere that I could barely think straight. That was why it took me so long to wonder where we were staying and ask the question.
“I own a little bed and breakfast up here. I stay there whenever I come this way.”
“Are your family going to be there?” I wasn’t sure I was ready to meet the folks—or meet the foster mum and sister, as the case may be.
His mouth turned down and he pulled his hand back into his own lap. He left my question hanging in the air, unanswered. The closed-off expression that he’d worn the last time he’d talked about them was back in place.
“What’s wrong?”
He moved as far away from me as he could without stopping the truck and climbing out.
“Are you fighting with them or something? Didn’t you say you missed them?”
He sighed. “I do.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a long story, and it ain’t a pretty one.”
“If you want to talk about it, I’m here.” I rested my hand over his to lend him my support. When he pulled away, I let it fall back onto my lap.
He turned to assess me for a while. Then he looked away, and I thought the conversation was over until I heard the low rumble of his voice over the music. “When I was nineteen, we went down to Atlanta. By the time we were fixin’ to head home, it was late. Still, I insisted on drivin’ back rather than spendin’ the night in a motel.”
Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1) Page 19
