Anna skidded to a stop. She turned slowly to face me, her expression guarded. “Are we?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay, it’s early, so I’m not keeping up. Are we, what?”
“Together.”
“Is this a thing you do? Talking crazy in the morning?” I teased. “Of course, we are.”
She looked simultaneously relieved and nervous as she took a step in my direction, closing some of the space between us. “I mean, how does it work? We live on opposite sides of the country.”
“We’ll figure it out.” I said it with all the confidence I possessed, because I wanted this and would do everything I could to make it happen. “And whatever you want to tell your publicist is fine with me.”
“That’s what I’m upset about. Couldn’t we have had one day to ourselves? Just one freaking day?” She moved into my arms and set her warm hands on my chest. “People are going to find out, rather than hear it from us first. People like our parents.”
Shit, she made a good point. I’d need to call my mom ASAP if I wanted to save myself an earful. I’d said Anna and I had become friends, but I hadn’t mentioned I was going on vacation with her.
I hugged Anna tighter, running my hands up and down her back. “There’s a silver lining though.”
“Yeah?”
“Sam Richards is going to lose it when she finds out.”
A tiny laugh shook her shoulders. “It’s Hidenrite now. And honestly, it’s hard to dislike her, because she’s the one who got us talking.”
“True.”
She tilted her head so she could peer up at me. “Are you worried about what people will say?”
“Worried?”
“Not everyone liked the movie I was in.”
I understood what she meant, how people judged her for the role. Like Rob did. “Well, those people are fucking idiots. It’s nobody’s business what we do, but whatever they say, I can handle the heat. I wear a fire suit at my day job, you know.”
She lifted an eyebrow, silently mocking my lame joke.
“Yeah, not my best effort. As I mentioned, it’s early.” I kissed her deeply then dropped my voice low. “Come back to bed.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”
I strolled back to the bedroom, got under the sheet, and waited for her return. She was right. We needed to have a conversation about how our relationship was going to work, but I didn’t see the rush. We’d spent a year talking—we’d earned one day of acting on our feelings before sorting it out.
The bathroom light flipped off, and the bed moved as she crawled onto it, her hand snaking across my chest. I covered it with my palm and cast my other arm around her, tucking her in at my side.
My phone rang. It didn’t chime with a text—it rang.
I snatched it up, and as soon as I read the name, my stomach bottomed out. I sat up and tapped the screen. “Hello?”
“Are you seriously in Hawaii with that porn actress?” Rob demanded. His voice was loud enough, there was no way Anna hadn’t heard him, and her flinch told me she had.
“She doesn’t do porn,” I snapped. “And it’s none of your business where I am, or who I’m with.”
“Listen, kid, I’ve been doing this since you were in diapers, so I know a thing or two. You can think it’s nobody’s business, but you’re dreaming. Money makes that car go around the track. Not you.”
A chill settled on my skin.
“Some of your ‘fans,’” he said the word with disdain, “might not care who you’re involved with, but our sponsors might. And that is very much Randall Whitman’s business.”
There was an inkling of truth in what he was saying. NASCAR was a conservative sport, and as a driver and the face of the team, I sometimes had to jump through sponsors’ hoops. But I wasn’t going to put up with this bullshit. “This is stupid.”
“Yeah, I agree. Get yourself on the next flight home if you want to be here when I tell Randall.”
Anna winced, and it banded a tight, uncomfortable feeling around my chest. She slid out of the bed and scurried toward the hall. Fuck.
“No, Rob, I meant what you’re saying is stupid. You want to tell me what to do when I’m behind the wheel? Fine. But stay the fuck out of my personal life.”
“You don’t get a personal life, Campbell. That’s the sacrifice you made when you got in the driver’s seat of the sixty-five car. I’m ready to find a driver who can handle that.”
This was it; he was making a move against me. I gnashed my teeth together. “Is that everyone talking, or just you?”
There was a pause. “I’m sure Randall feels the same way.”
“Great. Let’s schedule a call.”
There was a long silence. He was expecting me to roll over or beg, but that wasn’t my style.
“All right.” He sounded smug. “If that’s what you want to do.”
He was sure when we went head-to-head, he’d come out on top—and he was probably right. But, fuck it. For two seasons, I’d put up with him, but this crossed a line. I was starting to realize losing my job wasn’t so bad, because at least it meant I wouldn’t have to work with him anymore.
Rob announced he’d get the meeting scheduled and hung up without another word.
I scrubbed a hand over my face, my fingers bristling on my stubble. It was the first time I’d gone more than two days without shaving since the start of the racing season. Whitman’s PR company had it in my contract that I “always maintain a clean, All-American look.”
I carried my phone out into the kitchen and set it on the counter. Anna stood nearby, staring out the back windows. The sun hadn’t peeked out over the water, but there was an orange-blue glow on the horizon.
“Rob’s an asshole,” I said.
Anna turned and lobbed a sad smile in my direction, but her eyes didn’t meet mine. “Do you need to head home and smooth things over?”
“No.”
She gave me her full attention then, and worry etched her face. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“It’s fine.” I did my best to sound convincing, but I must have failed, because her concern grew.
“Jamie, all you’ve ever wanted to be was a driver. Don’t let me put your job in jeopardy. If you need to go, I understand.”
“No,” I said with force this time. “The only way I’m leaving is if you tell me to. I want this. I want . . . us. Don’t you?”
She softened. “Yes, but—”
“Okay, good.” I was aware it might be too soon to talk about it, but I needed her to know I was serious. “Because, with you? It’s different than how I’ve felt about anyone else.”
Her eyes went as wide as tires.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” I added quickly. “I know it’s a lot, and . . . like, fast.”
I’d come as close to telling her I loved her as I could without actually saying it. I liked risk, but putting those three words out there right now? It was a challenge.
Anna licked her lips as if her mouth had gone dry. “You’re not scaring me.” Her expression warmed, and she gave me that shy smile I loved. “I feel the same way about you.”
I didn’t get time to enjoy the way hearing her say that made me feel, because my phone dinged with a text message. It was from Rob with a link to the video chat and the start time of two p.m. Eastern.
It meant I probably had two hours left living my dream job as a NASCAR driver, but as I looked at Anna’s smile, I was fine with whatever happened. I had her.
CHAPTER NINE
Jamie
Anna and I had a hike planned for the day. We were supposed to go on a waterfall tour, but my call with Randall Whitman forced us to cancel. Instead of climbing a volcano, I sat in the spare bedroom with my laptop open, watching the clock tick down until the most important meeting of my life started.
Rob’s image came onscreen first. He sat in his home office, the background
decorated with a shit-ton of awards and memorabilia he’d probably dug out of storage just to intimidate me. All I had was a blank wall behind me and my clean-shaven face.
“We need to make this quick,” Rob said. “Randall squeezed us in, but just barely.”
“This won’t take long.”
The asshole smirked. The window flickered, and Randall Whitman filled the screen. He was in his sixties, a stocky guy with white hair and bushy eyebrows. He could look friendly or formidable whenever he needed to. I liked that he was a cut-the-bullshit kind of guy—he’d inherited a struggling cereal company and turned it into a household name by the time he was forty.
“Campbell,” he said. “Rob tells me there’s a problem?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Rob jumped in. “He’s damaged the Whitman Racing image.”
Whitman looked concerned. “What’s happened?”
“He’s dating a porn star.”
If I could have reached through the screen and throat-punched Rob, I would have. “I’m not, and even if I was—”
“That movie is pure filth.”
I clenched my hands into fists and took a deep breath. I had to ignore him. Nothing I said was going to change Rob’s mind. “Mr. Whitman, I’m dating Anna Douglas. If that’s a problem, I’d like to hear it from you.”
Annoyance flashed through Whitman’s eyes. “That’s the issue? He’s dating an actress?”
Rob blinked at this setback. “There are photos of them online.”
Whitman’s gaze narrowed. “What kind of photos?”
“One photo,” I corrected. “And it’s nothing.” I tapped my phone and scrolled to the image, then held it up to the camera for Whitman to see.
He made a ‘you gotta be kidding me’ sound.
Rob’s face turned an even brighter shade of red than it usually was. “Think about how this is going to look to our family-friendly sponsors.” His tone said even he wasn’t convinced.
“Rob, I don’t have time for this. As long as it’s within reason, sponsors aren’t going to care about Campbell’s personal life.”
As Whitman shuffled the papers on his desk, the tension in my shoulders relaxed a fraction of a degree. If he’d gone the other way on this, I’d have given him a resignation speech, telling him I didn’t want to work for someone who demanded that level of control over my life.
Rob’s chest lifted as he took in a preparing breath. “Things aren’t working between me and Campbell. They never have. He’s not the right fit for this organization.”
Whitman paused and lifted a thick eyebrow. “I’m not hearing that from anyone else.”
“The kid doesn’t listen, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s even a brain in there.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself, but Whitman sighed loudly. “I’m tired of hearing this. You should know, Rob, the only person I get complaints about is you.” He ignored his employee’s surprise. “You’re right about it not working. I need guys who are on the same page. Campbell, you want to continue being part of the team?”
I straightened in my seat. “Yes, sir.”
“Great.” He looked satisfied. “Rob?”
Rob went cold as he laid it on the line. “No, not if Campbell’s behind the wheel.”
“All right, then. I guess we’re doing this.” Whitman stood from his chair and leaned over so he stayed in the frame. “We’ll go forward with a different crew chief next season. Thanks for all your work with Whitman Racing.”
“Wait—” Rob sputtered.
“Campbell,” Whitman wasn’t deterred, “I need to handle this, and I’ll be in touch.”
The screen jumped to black, and the message appeared announcing my call had ended.
Holy. Shit.
Did that just happen?
I padded out into the main room. Anna took one look at my dazed expression and launched to her feet from the couch. “What happened?”
“He fired Rob.” Hearing it out loud was weird, but also, all kinds of awesome.
“Oh my God, really?” She looked relieved. “So, you’re okay?”
It was like I’d crossed the finish line a million times over. I slipped an arm around her, putting my hand on her ass, and pulled her tight to me. “Are you kidding? I think I’m way better than okay.”
I cut off her laugh when I kissed her. It started slow and sweet but didn’t stay that way for long. Her tongue moved in my mouth and her hands were on my shoulders, sliding up into my hair.
“We can still make the hiking trip,” I mumbled between her kisses.
“Too late,” she said, undoing the button on my shorts and pushing them down over my hips. “Your pants are already off.”
Jesus, she brought out the horny teenager in me. It was like no time had passed since high school. And with that thought came another. “Are you going home for Christmas?”
She was halfway out of her shirt and slowed her movement. “That’s random, but yeah. Why?”
We’d been so busy planning this trip, I hadn’t asked about her plans. The holidays were only a few weeks away. “That’s when we can see each other again.”
She beamed a smile as she undid her own shorts. “Awesome. Also, we need to get your schedule to Sato. She’s a miracle worker.”
The sight of a half-naked Anna made my heart rate jump. “See? I told you we’d figure this long-distance thing out.”
She looked skeptical. “It kind of sounds like Sato’s going to figure it out.”
I shrugged. “Whatever. We’ve got this.” I reached around her body and undid her bra. “Patio or jacuzzi?”
She laughed as if I were joking, and sobered when she realized I was serious. Her voice was low and sultry. “Jacuzzi.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We took off like it was a race, only it was one where it didn’t matter who got there first.
Just as long as we were together.
♬
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Broken Hallelujah
Sierra Simone
“Hallelujah” – Jeff Buckley
Now
There is life after death.
I know because I’m dead, and yet here I am, wet and miserable and very much alive.
My gravestone is a sharp, shiny black—so mirrored I can see the reflection of my booted calves and denim-clad thighs and the part of my long white coat around both. I heft the umbrella higher over my head so I can lean in to better examine the spray of flowers left at the base of the stone.
They aren’t white or green or purple—the colors one usually sees in a cemetery—but bright, violent scarlet. Roses and poppies and dahlias, quickened and crimson against the rainy, silver world of the dead. They speak of sex and clenched, bloody longing.
Only one person would put those at my grave. But I don’t touch them just yet, even though touching them is the closest I come to touching her. Instead, I take a deep breath and watch the rain gather in the cuts of my inscription.
Jenna “Jacey” Benjamin
1988-2016
“I have fought the good fight.”
1LT
USMC
Nearly three years I’ve been dead, and still I can’t get used to the sight of my name carved on this stone, any more than I’m used to seeing my father’s name on the one next to it. I look over at his tombstone, larger and more imposing than mine, which is fair. He really is dead, after all. Somewhere under that wet green grass is a selfish, tortured man, and I don’t miss him, I don’t wish him alive—I wish only that all his fury and wrongdoing had also been contained by the platinum-inlaid urn along with his ashes. But alas, he still lives on in every decision Devon makes.
Devon.
I finally give in and touch her flowers, kneeling down a
top my empty grave, not caring about the rain or the wet grass now, and just touch. Pretend I’m touching her face, her breasts, the sleek lines of her long thighs. Pretend she’s touching my own body in that reverent, possessive way of hers, like I was a gift God left on an altar just for her.
I close my eyes and let my fingertips move over the wet, lush petals.
They’re fresh. I wonder how often she puts them here. I wonder if she puts them here herself. I wonder if she misses me.
My fingers catch the edge of something that’s neither petal nor thorn—pain slices bright on the inside of my first knuckle. I open my eyes to see fresh blood dropping onto the already blood-colored petals and disappearing into their silky depths. Tucked among them is a crisp white card, small and nearly imperceptible to all but the person who would run their fingers through the petals. And of course it would cut me. Nothing between me and her could ever be without pain.
I slide the card free, war clamoring in my ears, except this was a war I never even had a chance of winning.
I know, says the card in her spiky, aggressive script. And underneath that, it says, I’m coming.
I shoot to my feet, adrenaline pumping through me, scanning the silver-glass cemetery to make sure I’m unwatched. The rain makes veils and curtains of itself, hiding me from the rest of the world, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t followed.
I crush the card in my palm and leave.
Devon knows I’m alive. Devon knows and she’s coming for me.
* * *
Then
We were Marines in a war devised to mangle Marines.
We were marred, rent, disfigured. Carved into graven images of entropy.
Afghanistan.
2010.
The deadliest year of the war, and on record, women didn’t go into combat, but the minute our plane touched down outside Kabul, the record meant shit. Everywhere was combat. Combat was underneath the streets ready to crumple your resupply truck with fire and force, combat was in the very stones, picking you off with pings and cracks the minute you left base walls.
Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology Page 10
