Mr. Gray (Full Throttle Series)

by Hazel Parker

  “How was practice?” I asked.

  “It was good,” he replied.

  “Oh. So you…drove?”

  “Pretty much.” He speared a chicken and looked at me. “You don’t know much about racing, do you?”

  I decided there was no point in impressing him, and he was so sharp that he’d catch on to any false praise, anyway. I shrugged. “I never really saw the appeal. I watched your video on my first day here. It made me fall asleep.”

  “You were probably just tired,” he bemused dryly.

  “Maybe. Or maybe I just found it boring,” I blurted out.

  Gray snickered, obviously not offended.

  “I should take you to the race tracks. You might end up liking it.”

  I put a hand over my heart and mock-gasped. “And have your fangirls glare at me when they see you bring a woman? Oh, the horror.”

  We eyed each other in amusement at how true that could end up. Then our conversation was interrupted when Gray’s phone beeped. His eyes read it quickly, and I watched as his smile turned into a frown. Then he cursed softly.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He sighed. “My Spanish interpreter canceled on me. Some family emergency she needs to attend.”

  “Why do you need one?”

  “I’m off to Spain next week for a conference and a race. It’s for charity. Damn it. She was the only reliable one.”

  “How come?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “She was screened firsthand. My old interpreter said things differently and got me in trouble with the press. It’s just hard to trust anyone these days when a lot of people just want to add fuel to the media fire.”

  As someone who used to work in a magazine and had firsthand experience with our sister newspaper company, I could relate. Gray’s brows furrowed as he remained deep in thought, and an idea popped into my head. I leaned over and carefully worded my question.

  “So you are in the market to pay a temporary Spanish interpreter?”

  “Of course.” He nodded. “Do you know anyone?”

  I nodded back. Then I raised my hand, which transformed his expression from troubled to surprised. “You know Spanish?”

  In response, I took out my own phone and opened an online application, one that could translate Spanish words to English and vice versa. I fired some Spanish into it, then waited for it to process and for the voiceover to say it out loud in English. Gray listened in amazement as the English phone speaker said that I would be the best Spanish translator he had if he hired me.

  “Wow. Where’d you learn?”

  “Magazine. Sometimes you have to self-learn to fill out some segments.”

  We tried it a few more times, shooting English and Spanish back and forth. Gray glanced at Chuck.

  “I could always hire a dog-sitter to see to Chuck in the meantime,” he murmured.

  I clamped my mouth shut and tried not to snicker. He really was warming up to the dog, which I found precious.

  Finally, Gray held out a hand, amused. “I’ll pay for your fee, ticket, and accommodations. Just translate everything properly for me.”

  “Sweet. Deal?”

  “We’ve got ourselves a deal,” he said. “Another one, it seems.”

  I grinned, then shook his hand. This was going to be an adventure—and for the first time in a long time, I found myself getting excited. I also felt a slight tingle in my chest. Attraction. Better shake that one off.

  “What do you know? We’ve gotten close enough to make lots of deals.”

  In response, Gray could only laugh. His laugh warming my body in places it shouldn’t.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GRAY

  When Kate said she knew how to speak Spanish, I didn’t realize until we actually got to Spain just how brilliant she was at it. I had worried that what she was speaking was more Mexican Spanish than Spain – Spanish but it turned out Kate knew the differences and spoke both. She even reminded me that the Spanish called it ‘motor racing’.

  We arrived in Spain the day before the conference and two days before the race—enough time for us to explore Barcelona. I’d been to Europe but not this part, while Kate had only been to Spain for some writing gig she had before. This gave her the confidence to be my personal tour guide, and we ended up exploring more than I expected and discovering things that we both hadn’t seen before. Spanish food was a pleasant surprise, and I took note of the things we tried so I could find a way to replicate them at home.

  We slept in a hotel suite that I booked, which had two rooms and was similar to my apartment back at home. Actually, we barely slept, because we ended up exploring the city again at night before calling it late at midnight and finally settling in to sleep. I don’t know if it was the sexy Spanish vibe or what but suddenly I found myself very fond of Kate. We were just having so much…fun.

  The next day, the press conference was full of the usual media personnel and some of the race car drivers who would participate tomorrow. Most were Spanish newbies that I hadn’t really gotten a chance to interact with. We gathered around a long table, watching as the press filled the space until the conference started. The representative spoke of the charity and what it entailed, switching from Spanish to English with ease. Then the set of questions began.

  As expected, most of the reporters who came were Spanish, which would have been a disaster had I not had an interpreter—or had a bad one who would say the wrong things and end up giving me more bad publicity. But Kate was there, and she translated seamlessly and answered some on her own. I could tell that the press was wary of her at first, even hard, but they began to warm up as she let her charm flow out as seamlessly as her Spanish and pretty much knocked the crowd out. She even spoke some Russian apparently. A reporter who apparently had negative things to say in his language about my sex life, making it known that whatever badmouthing they did wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  I was so impressed with her that I announced I would be treating her to an expensive lunch after, but Kate laughed it off with a wave and said she had a better idea. Her better idea turned out to be going to an island just off the coast. We packed our beach bags and headed for the water taxi. The ride across the water was spectacular. As we reached the shore I realized no one else was here. Spanish beaches were so different from Floridian beaches, the scenic views of mountains and cliffs were majestic, and the spot she chose was a private one that we had all to ourselves for the day.

  “This seems a good spot as any,” as Kate dropped her bag and dug out her towel.

  “Absolutely, looks amazing.” I joined her on the warm sand and sat down as Kate stood and removed her t-shirt and jean shorts. She had on a bikini top and as she slid her shorts off I felt myself take a deep breath to avoid saying something. She was hot and I couldn’t stop staring.

  “See something you like Gray?” She said coyly.

  Busted.

  “Yes in fact. I do.” I said as I turned to lay out my own towel trying to avoid the hardening in my pants. I removed my shirt as I sat down.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said with a wink.

  “Look at you flirting! And you said you couldn’t.” Her cheeks turning pink.

  “I’m not flirting you ass!” as she attempted to whack my arm which I easily dodged. I chuckled and let it be. Clearly I hit a spot.

  *****

  That day flew by; then it was time for the competition. I managed to cajole Kate into watching it for the first time in her life, and she finally agreed, though she didn’t promise that she’d end up loving it. I didn’t push it on her, instead finding her a good spot before finally heading to the race track’s garage.

  The unique thing about this race was that we didn’t get to use our own cars and crew—they were provided for us, chosen randomly. I got ready in no time, and half an hour later the race started. There was a pretty good crowd cheering all the way, and I let the adrenaline rush through me and drive me to go faster and faster until I
was leading. It was pretty easy to maintain that lead, and soon I found myself crossing the finish line.

  There were two more races for that day, and I easily won the second round. I came in second on the third round, with the victor being one of the Spanish newbies who was obviously very happy about it. We all congratulated each other before we were called to the winner’s circle, where we were awarded with trophies and thanked for participating in the charity race. Then there were the usual photo ops, followed by the media clambering for our attention and asking the usual after-race questions.

  There were also some race bunnies, wearing the skimpiest shorts and hanging out nearby trying to get our attention. I could see a few eyeing me and smiling, but I dodged them as politely as I could, not really in the mood to interact with them today. I looked for Kate in the stands, but she was faster than me as she poked me from behind.

  “I snuck in,” she said offhandedly.

  I chuckled. “I see that. Well? What do you think?”

  Kate’s eyes twinkled, but she threw the question back. “What do I think about what?”

  I grinned at her cheeky tone. “About my racing prowess, for one. About how handsome and hot I look in my race suit, for another.”

  She laughed, a sound that was cheerful and carefree. I remembered Paul mentioning how tense she’d been back in Los Angeles because of her situation, so it delighted me that she was starting to come out of her shell now.

  “I think you’re just too full of yourself”, she said.

  “Maybe,” I agreed. “I’m also full in the heart. And underneath my pa—”

  “Sssssshhhhhh,” she hissed, then snorted. “Don’t get perverted on me.”

  “Was I?” I asked innocently, to which she hit me on the shoulder. I can’t help but want to kiss her.

  “It wasn’t as boring as I thought,” she said grudgingly. “In fact, I found it fun. I didn’t know that the audience would get thrilled, too. God, my heart was up to my throat when you were going head to head with the French racer.” She shot me a look. “Happy now?”

  “Extremely,” I said feelingly.

  Kate rolled her eyes. I laughed and gave her the trophy, which she admired for a little bit. I then told her to wait for me as I needed to get changed in the locker room first. Since Kate told me to take my time, I went ahead and had a hot shower before donning on fresh clothes and packing my leather bag. I was about to go out when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

  The caller ID said PR agent Mark, and I couldn’t imagine what he would need right now, considering he knew I was here.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Hey, congrats,” he said in way of greeting. Then, as Mark usually did, he got to the point. “Who is your Spanish interpreter? Did we screen her? I don’t remember doing so.”

  Oh, that. I forgot that I hadn’t updated him on that end. “She’s a friend of mine.”

  “Friend?”

  “Yeah. Paul’s sister.”

  “That is Paul’s sister?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Jesus,” Mark exclaimed. “When you mentioned little sister, I actually thought little sister.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “She’s…never mind. But yeah, she’s not as little as I thought. Have you seen the news? She’s fast becoming the media’s speculation.”

  “Hmm,” I murmured. “Isn’t that good for us?”

  “She’s being speculated as your girlfriend,” Mark pointed out. “You guys seem pretty close.”

  “We’re friends,” I repeated. “Why wouldn’t we be close?”

  “Gray, you don’t have female friends.”

  True enough, but suddenly the topic was annoying me. “Maybe that’s about to change,” I said, trying to keep my voice from being defensive. I sighed. “Don’t read too much into it, Mark. And if Steve asks, tell him it’s nothing. He’s bound to blow it out of proportion, and you know how that’s going to hurt my career.”

  “Tell me about it,” he muttered. He disliked Steve as well, though he was more diplomatic about it. “Fine. Friends it is. I’ll keep checking in from time to time. Have fun there.”

  “Thanks. Take a vacation, too,” I said.

  We hung up on a positive note, and my thoughts drifted to the media and Kate. If they were speculating about her, then that meant she was somewhere on television or in the newspapers—which meant her ex could see her or read about it, then come running here to bother her again. I cursed under my breath, wishing I hadn’t brought her here where all eyes would be on me. But then again, this was her decision, and she truly looked like she was enjoying herself.

  That was a dilemma, really, and only she could answer how she truly felt about being a bit exposed. I decided to tell her about it and ask her for her thoughts. If she thought it was horrible and wanted to remain hidden, then I was going to make sure she was, and she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. If she thought that being in the media every once in a while was fine, then I was fine with it, too.

  I could always punch that son of a bitch if he ever decided to come to town and hurt her.

  I was one of the last ones to trail out of the locker room, and the track was only half as full as it was earlier. I spotted Kate talking to the other race winner in Spanish, and I joined them and congratulated him in English once more. When he left, I turned to Kate, intending to get her out for a private dinner where we could discuss the matter.

  Before I could speak, something in the stands caught my eye—a familiar figure that I hadn’t seen in a while. I did a double-take, unsure if I was seeing what I was seeing correctly. The figure was looking in my direction, and I looked back until he noticed that I spotted him. He looked like he was about to leave, but I waved a hand in the air to indicate I saw him and to wait for me. He hesitated at first before nodding his head, then sitting back down.

  I noticed the crutch he used, then tucked underneath the side of the bench he was sitting on. He was wearing conspicuous clothes, all black with a cap on his head and sunglasses.

  “Hey, Kate, do you mind waiting for a little bit more?” I asked. When I turned back in her direction, I found her also staring in the previous direction I was looking at. She turned back to me after a while.

  “Anything wrong?” she asked.

  “No,” I replied. “At least, I don’t think so.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “He’s sort of an old friend of mine. A race car driver.”

  “Retired?”

  Forced retirement, I said inside my head. But I didn’t say it out loud. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  Kate smiled. “You don’t have to ask. Go on. I make friends easily,” she said confidently. She shooed me away, making me grin.

  I gave her a mock-salute, watching as she walked over to the crew and curiously checked out what they were doing with the cars still in the garage.

  Then I turned around and walked to the bleachers, where James Kinnick was waiting.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GRAY

  I could still vividly remember the last time I saw James—last year in the Daytona 500, one of the biggest events in racing. It had started off pretty well, with all my major competitors in top condition and each of us revving to have the first place spot. That was nothing new, but that year had been particularly competitive, as we each had an agenda: Scott wanted to keep his winning streak, I wanted to break it, Doug wanted to prove himself and be in ranks with us, and James wanted to get a few more wins in before he took things easy and retired.

  But what started out great turned into a horrible nightmare as I was trying to outmaneuver Scott in the last few legs. I was steadily gaining speed and the upper hand when Doug suddenly inserted himself in—but he wheeled in the wrong direction.

  His car swerved and blocked the rest, and I swerved as well so as not to hit him directly. I was one of the few lucky ones who was able to get out of the way in time, also swerving from the wall I almost hit. Scott�
�s car was the first to hit Doug’s, damaging the front. Then James’, who was just right behind us, crashed into Scott’s car, the impact making it fly in the air and crumple right on top of Scott’s.

  I hadn’t been able to see everything firsthand, just the review shots that followed later. All I could remember that day was hearing the crowd’s deafening silence before their horrified screams, then people rushing all around the mess as they tried to get the race car drivers out. Doug looked injured but conscious, while Scott had to be lifted out and carried on a stretcher unconscious.

  Then came James, who was also unconscious—but what was worse about him was that his leg was twisted at an odd angle, and there was too much blood flowing out of him.

  That had been the end of his race career and I hadn’t seen him since, other than news that he’d been recuperating. To see him here now and not in the US was something of a surprise.

  “Hey, Kinnick,” I greeted once I sat beside him.

  “Denton,” he greeted in return. He didn’t reach out to shake my hand, though he did give me a smile. “Congrats on that win.”

  “Thanks.” I tilted my head, trying to determine what his expression was behind his glasses. Then I decided that I should just go for it and see where it went. “How have you been since the accident?”

  James glanced at me, then smirked. “Never been one to mincewords, have you?”

  I shrugged. “There’s no point. I was bound to ask, anyway.”

  “True.” He paused for a while, and I let the silence surround us. Then he spoke. “I tell the media and everyone that everything is good and dandy with me, and they are none the wiser. But man, watching those cars fly by now…I miss every damn thing about the race.”

  “So there’s really no going back?”

  “There’s really no going back,” he confirmed. “I’m still in therapy, but the doctors said any physical activity at this point is a risk. I can probably drive again a few years down the road, but not the kind of driving I want to do.”

  Because race car driving was mostly about reflexes and your total control over them, I get what the doctors were saying. I could only imagine the frustration of not getting to do what you loved, and I watched James now to see if that frustration was there. It wasn’t, and all I could see in him right now was a wistfulness that was more melancholy than most. Considering it was almost a year since the accident, I had to wonder what it did to him and how he changed because of it. I wondered how many months it took him to get over the frustration and anger that he must have initially felt and finally get to this stage, and how many more years it would take for the wistfulness to go away.