Faster Dirtier (Take Me...#5) (A Team Ferrelli Novel)

by Colleen Masters

“You know it’s not,” Enzo says fiercely, setting down his beer and opening his arms to me. “I care about you, Ainsley. I want to be with you.”

  “What about the rest of your doting admirers?” I ask, folding my arms. “All the people who’ve called me a slut on the internet, going on about how I’m not good enough for you? What about all the other women you’re committed to?”

  “What other women?” Enzo asks, taken aback, “There’s no one else, Ace.”

  “I saw something on your phone. That night in Rome,” I tell him. “Something about you being a wonderful, committed partner. But right. I totally believe that I’m the only woman in your life, Enzo. You know what? That doesn’t even matter. Forget about it.”

  “It does matter,” he says stoically, “But not the way you think.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.

  “I...I don’t want to talk about that right now,” he mutters. “Please.”

  “Fine. Let’s talk about what happens now, instead,” I say, throwing up my hands. “Am I supposed to forgive you? Kiss you? Let you save the day?”

  “No,” he says simply, “I wouldn’t expect that. I just want you to hear me out.”

  “Whatever,” I say, snatching up my beer and sitting down hard, “Go on, then.”

  He sits down across from me and takes a long sip of Brooklyn Lager. “I spent the past few days back in Europe,” he tells me. “I was able to get a meeting with the owners of Team Ferrelli and speak with them directly, with Siena at my side.”

  “She must hate me,” I whisper.

  “No,” he says forcefully, “She just wants us both to get the credit we deserve. And for us to do right by our team. Which is exactly what I’m proposing we do.”

  “How? I ask.

  “By getting back to work,” Enzo says simply. “We have a race this weekend, don’t we?”

  “You have a race this weekend,” I grumble.

  “Our team does,” he insists. “And we’re going to show up to it together. As teammates. As friends. As two people who care about each other. And we’re going to show the world that our personal lives have nothing to do with what we’re capable of as drivers.”

  I study Enzo’s earnest face, and realize something. “You’re not telling me the whole story, are you?” I ask.

  “Not much gets by you, huh?” he asks, amazed.

  “I can always tell when someone’s lying to me,” I say softly, “Or keeping something from me, rather.”

  “It’s true,” Enzo allows. “There are a couple of things I need to keep to myself until the day of the race. We need to spend the next couple of days practicing hard before the race this weekend. I need you to be focused, Ace.”

  “Sure,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “No problem. I’m sure it will be super easy to focus, knowing you’re keeping me out of the loop. And where, exactly, are we even supposed to practice, Enzo? Huh?”

  “At the FullSpeed track,” he says casually.

  A bark of laughter escapes my throat. “Be serious,” I tell him.

  “I am being serious,” he replies. “I talked to the chumps in charge over there. They were very easily persuaded...when I threatened to have their manager sued for workplace sexual harassment, that is.”

  “Seriously?” I breathe.

  “Seriously,” he nods. “The space is ours. Your idiot ex-manager and his big fucking mouth have both been let go.”

  “Man...That really shouldn’t make me as happy as it does,” I say, a small smile creeping onto my lips.

  “He got what he deserved,” Enzo says, rising to his feet, “And so will we. We’re going to set things right, Ace. And we’re not gonna do it by begging and pleading with the press while spitting out a bunch of spin. We’re going to do it by being the best fucking driving duo Ferrelli—and hell, all of F1—has ever seen. What do you say?”

  “I say...How am I supposed to trust you with something this important?” I ask, shaking my head.

  “I know I have to earn that trust back,” Enzo says softly, his gaze intent. “But I’d like to do just that. If you’ll let me.”

  “What choice do I have?” I ask with a hollow laugh. “We’re in this together, Prof. We’re all each other has.”

  “I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he says, taking a step toward me.

  “I’m not ready to let you kiss me yet,” I whisper, tears springing into my eyes. “Not after everything that’s—”

  “I understand,” Enzo replies solemnly, drawing himself up. “It hurts like hell, but I understand. Guess I’ve got quite a bit to prove to you in the next couple of days, Ace. Just know that I’m sorry. And that we’re going to get through this. And that you haven’t done anything wrong, whatever the press might be saying. You’re an incredible driver. An incredible woman. And I’m so happy you came bursting into my life.”

  As my mind and heart scramble to take in his words, he slugs back the last of his beer and turns to go. I watch him stalk through my childhood home, giving Alec a firm shake of the hand before he disappears through the front door once again. I’m still staring after him as Alec joins me on the patio once more, blanket in tow.

  “What did lover boy want?” he asks gruffly.

  “He wants to make things right,” I say, wrapping my arms around my waist.

  “With this whole shit show, you mean?” Alec goes on, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. “Or between you two?”

  “Both,” I shrug, happy for the extra warmth.

  “And?” Alec presses, “Are you going to make things right with him, whatever the hell that means?”

  “I...don’t know,” I say honestly. “He really hurt me, Alec. I don’t know how to just carry on like everything’s OK.”

  “I’m not saying you should pretend,” my brother clarifies, “And I’m not saying things are just going to be OK again without a lot of patching up. I’m saying that if you care about your career, and you care about him...You shouldn’t be afraid to go after either. I’ve never known you to care about a guy as much as you care about driving. But you finally seem to have found a dude who matters to you as much as the state of your tires. It would be a shame for you to turn your back on that. Know what I’m saying?”

  “I do,” I say, settling down next to my brother. “Thank you for saying it out loud.”

  “No problem.” he says, draping an arm over my shoulders. “What are big brothers for, if not pointing out the painfully obvious?”

  “Don’t ruin the moment,” I smile, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

  We fall into contemplative silence, nursing our beers as the sun sets. Enzo’s sudden appearance was a jolt to my system, a grudgingly welcome shock. I can’t just wallow here and let the world decide my fate for me. I have to get back in the saddle—or rather, the one-seater—and try like hell to get this thing back on track. My happiness, my career, and my future, all depend on the next couple of days.

  No pressure, right?

  Chapter Sixteen

  It feels so strange, reporting to the FullSpeed track the next morning. Only a couple of weeks ago, I turned my back on this place, thinking it would be forever. Has it really only been two weeks since this whirlwind adventure began? I didn’t do as much living in 26 years as I have in these past fourteen days. I guess that’s what happens when you find something to care about as much as I care about my place on Team Ferrelli.

  Or has it been caring about someone that’s made these past two weeks truly soar?

  Enzo is waiting for me at the otherwise deserted FullSpeed track with a cup of coffee in each hand. Seeing him here, I can’t help but remember the last time we found ourselves alone at a track. But wait a minute...why isn’t anyone else here?

  “Thought I’d clear the place out for us,” Enzo says, reading my mind as he hands me a coffee cup. “I’ve got those FullSpeed assholes wrapped around my finger. They’re starry-eyed, having an actual F1 driver in their midst for once. We’ve even got a car to prac
tice with, courtesy of my sister.”

  “Great,” I say, sipping my coffee. “Why don’t you take it out for a spin while I get caffeinated, yeah?”

  “Actually,” Enzo says, “I think you should practice first.”

  “Why?” I ask, cocking my head, “You’re the one racing this weekend.”

  “And you’ll be racing soon enough yourself,” Enzo says resolutely. “Come on, it’ll be good for you. Clear your head and all.”

  He’s got a point, there. Nothing puts me in a better mood than getting behind the wheel. And I’m much better at operating an F1 car now, after two solid weeks of practice.

  “All right,” I agree, “I’ll go get dressed.”

  Just knowing that Enzo is nearby as I change in the locker room has me aching with horniness. It’s only been a few days since our last romp on the Ferrelli jet, but I can’t help it. I’m like a woman possessed when it comes to him. But still, a lot of things need to get sorted out before I’ll feel totally comfortable being with him again that way. I urge my body not to betray me as I zip up my jumpsuit and head back out to the track. Enzo’s waiting there beside an F1 car in signature Ferrelli green.

  “OK,” I tell him, jamming on my helmet. “Let’s do this.”

  The second Enzo starts me up, my heart feels a thousand times lighter. I soar away from him down the track, my body pressed back against the seat of the car. The crushing embrace of momentum comforts my wounded soul as I soar along, so thankful to be back behind the wheel. I lose myself in the moment, blissfully free of the cares and concerns that have been hounding me. Around and around the track I go, amazed at how different this circuit feels now that I’m driving in a good, solid vehicle.

  I’ve lost track of how many laps I’ve completed when I finally glide to a stop. Enzo lopes over to help me out of the car, looking too incredible in the golden afternoon light. I steady myself on his arm as I climb out of the car. But as my feet touch the pavement, I can’t seem to make myself let go. Gazing up at him, backlit by the vibrant sky, I see the longing I feel reflected back in his gaze.

  “Enzo,” I murmur, “How did this all get so complicated?”

  “I don’t know,” he laughs softly, “But I have a pretty good track record of fucking things up with the people I care about. Thank you for at least giving me a chance to prove myself to you again, Ainsley.”

  “Do you think...There’s any way for us to be together?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Now that the world knows, I mean? Or will be always have to be sneaking around, afraid of getting caught—”

  “Hey,” Enzo says fiercely, taking hold of my shoulders. “If we can find a way through this, and you still want to be with me, I won’t give a shit if the whole world knows. I’d be proud for them to see me with a woman like you.”

  “Really?” I breathe, all but melting in his hands.

  “Really,” he says, “But not until you’re proud to be seen with me, too.”

  He releases me, and I have to brace myself against the car to keep my knees from giving in. The physical effect he has on me is staggering. By some miracle, I’m able to keep standing, if just barely.

  “Your turn,” I say, nodding at the car.

  Enzo hops into the ride and, with a little help from me, he takes off. I’m left alone on the track, gazing after the speeding car. I glance up at the stands, remembering the day Siena showed up here to scout me with Alfie by her side. Getting back in the whole family’s good graces is just as important to me as making things right with Enzo, I realize. I wonder what that could mean?

  I settle down into the stands, elbows on my knees, as Enzo makes the rounds. I wish like hell that I could get some time behind the wheel this weekend. And not just doing test runs, either. It might be my last chance to score some credit toward my Super License before I find myself without a team again. But I don’t want to push it, not with everything in flux like this.

  After what feels like no time at all, Enzo glides to a stop. I cock my head at him from the bleachers as he steps out of the car. So much for the vigorous training he was talking about.

  “You’re done already?” I ask, standing at the railing.

  “Yeah,” he shrugs, swinging his legs over the side of the car, “I need something to eat more than I need another lap.”

  Come to think of it, I’m pretty starving too. “Strip off that jumpsuit and I’ll show you one of my favorite spots,” I tell him.

  “I like it when you talk dirty to me,” he winks.

  I laugh at his sloppy innuendo. Truth be told, it’s the first time I’ve laughed all week. And I sorely needed it, too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The candlelight flickers against Enzo’s sharp jaw as he drains his glass of Malbec. Our meal was perfect, as it always is at this restaurant—a tiny Italian place in the East Village that I’ve been coming to my whole life. I thought Enzo would appreciate a taste of home during this difficult time, and I was right. We both devoured our meals, hungry after a day of practicing. But of course, I spent much more time behind the wheel today than Enzo. That means I definitely deserve my spot of dessert. I scoop up the last bite of my hazelnut gelato, savoring the creamy goodness. My sweet tooth is a little bit overdeveloped, truth be told, so this treat hits the spot.

  “Look at us,” Enzo smiles across the table, “Having dinner like a regular couple.”

  “Regular couples don’t get recognized by the waiters,” I point out, nodding at the restaurant staff. They’ve been eyeing us excitedly the entire time we’ve been here. Maybe choosing an Italian restaurant wasn’t such a good idea after all. They’re probably all Ferrelli fans in this joint. I’m surprised no one’s come over for an autograph.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Enzo shrugs, signaling for the check.

  “Provided that my career hasn’t already ended,” I remark.

  “That’s not going to happen,” Enzo says firmly, putting our decadent meal on his card. “Don’t worry,” he says to my protestations, “It’s on Team Ferrelli. They owe us after all the heartache we’ve been through this week.”

  “I don’t know if I agree with you,” I laugh, “But...” My words trail off as something catches my eyes through the window beside our table. My nerves are totally frayed, but I don’t think I’m imagining things right now.

  “Ainsley?” Enzo says, as I peer through the glass. “Ainsley, what is it?”

  “I think we’re being watched,” I murmur.

  Enzo looks through the restaurant window, following my gaze. He spots the man loitering on the opposite side of the street, his phone raised at a suspicious angle. The guy looks oddly familiar, but I can’t figure out why. His hair is so blonde that it’s practically white. And it’s styled in a way that is markedly dated. Spiked back with a shellacking of gel. It’s the ridiculous hair that finally jogs my memory.

  “That’s one of Nils’ friends,” I hiss. “One of the guys who was with him in Rome!”

  “Nils Landers? The asshole that sold us out to begin with?” Enzo asks coldly.

  “The very same,” I say, grimacing. “Call me paranoid, but I don’t think his being here is a coincidence.”

  Without a word of reply, Enzo rises up from the table, takes my hand, and marches us outside. I don’t snatch my hand away this time, curious to see what his plan of actions might be. I know that I want more than anything to slug this guy across the face, but hopefully Enzo has something a little more strategic in mind.

  “Hey there,” Enzo says to the blonde man, who’s gone stiff with fear at the sight of us approaching. “You got a light, buddy?”

  “S-sure,” the man replies in a thick Swedish accent, fumbling to produce a lighter from his pocket.

  While his attention is compromised, Enzo snatches the phone out of his hand. Sure enough, the camera app is open, the photo roll stuffed with pictures of me and Enzo at dinner.

  “Shit,” the man mutters.

  “Shit indeed,” Enzo says coolly, scrolling t
hrough the shots. This guy has been trailing us all day, by the looks of it.

  “Did Nils send you?” I ask the man, “I know you’re his buddy. I’d recognize that ridiculous coif of yours anywhere. Is he in New York too? Did he put you up to this?”

  “I–uh–” the blonde stammers, snatching his phone back from Enzo and smoothing his hair back self-consciously.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I snarl, raising my chin. “Since you’re probably going to go scurrying back to him the second we leave, give him a message for me. Tell him to quit it with the jealous little boy bullshit and back off. One conversation at a party and an unrequited crush does not give him ownership of me. I do what I want, when I want, with whomever I want. And the world can fucking well get used to it. Which is why you should snap a picture of this.”

  I grab hold of Enzo’s scruffy face and pull it to mine, kissing him hard and deep. Both men are taken by surprise for a long moment. But then I feel Enzo’s body relax into mine, swelling with lust and need. I hear a tiny click as the blonde man snaps a picture of us, obedient lad that he is. I release Enzo, my blood racing, and turn to Nils’ friend.

  “There,” I pant, “Show that to your buddy. Show it to the entire world. I’m done apologizing for the way I feel. I’m done pretending like the world has any say in who I do or do not fuck. I’m crazy about Enzo, end of story. If you and the rest of the world can’t take me seriously because I’m pretty, or like sex, or want to compete in a man’s sport, that’s not my problem. Not anymore. Come on Enzo.”

  I grab my Italian lover’s hand and tug him away down the sidewalk, my adrenaline going mad. By tomorrow morning, that picture of us kissing is sure to be on the front page of every sports blog, every gossip site, every tabloid the world over. And I really just can’t be bothered to give a shit. If anything, I’m just angry that I was made to feel ashamed all this week. It’s no one’s business but my own what I do with my body, and it’s high time I started living by that rule.

  “I have to tell you Ace,” Enzo growls as we turn a corner. “That was really hot.”