by Larkin Rose
Sellars wrapped her hand around the stem of the microphone with a death grip. “I’m coming for you, buddy boy. And when I get to you, that little road rash you took on last year is going to feel like a Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah through the tulips.”
Lacy slammed her hand against the glass again. Hard. The sound echoed back on her through the speakers.
She did it again as Sellars slid off the chair, hands planted on the desk, her mouth pressed against the foam.
“I’m going to—”
Lacy slapped her hands against the glass. Fast. Again. And again.
Her hands stung as she continued.
Finally, Sellars turned those hard eyes on her.
Lacy did the first thing that came to mind.
She grabbed the hem of her blouse, had one second to remember she wasn’t wearing a bra, and then flashed Sellars.
The DJ spewed laughter.
Sellars stared at her breasts for several seconds, her gaze dancing from one to the other, before a smile lifted the corner of her lips, and she dropped back onto the stool.
Lacy lowered her shirt, her hands still shaking and stinging.
And suddenly, Sellars was laughing as well, and Lacy could see she was back down from her enraged high.
She leaned into the mic with casual ease. “Brett, slander can carry hefty fees and/or jail time. I’m going to let you slide this time, seeing as you’re a recent divorcee. But I won’t be so forgiving the next time. I’ll see you on the track. In my rearview mirror.” Sellars leaned back and the host disconnected the call.
Lacy breathed a sigh of relief while the DJ continued his interview. This time without callers.
This time with Sellars’s penetrating eyes on her.
That wasn’t the only thing Lacy wanted on her.
Thirty minutes later, they stepped out of the radio station into the brightness of the day.
“Have you ever ignored an asshole in your entire life?” Lacy said. “You need to practice some breathing techniques or counting or smoking or something. Damn.”
Sellars turned and pasted a humorous stare on Lacy. “You worried about me?”
Lacy looked away, unable to peer into those eyes without images of her own hips rocking against Sellars’s face filtering through her mind. “Hell no.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your paycheck is safe if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Anger ripped through Lacy. She’d just flashed her tits for a whole room to see, simply to save Sellars from herself once again. “You think I’m trying to save your sorry ass for myself? No one in their right mind would sacrifice their own sanity to help a pathetic loser like you.”
Lacy hated her words instantly. She didn’t want to argue. Didn’t want to yell or say things she couldn’t take back. For once, she truly wanted to see Sellars succeed. Obviously, that was asking too much.
“Well, you got that right. No one in their right mind.” Sellars held her gaze on Lacy.
“Fuck you, Sellars.”
“No thank you.” Sellars stepped off the curb. “I’m not in the mood for paid sex today.”
“You’re a bitch,” Lacy said, anger spiraling. Another emotion squeezed in. A feeling. She was pretty sure Sellars had just hurt her feelings, and she didn’t like it one damn bit.
She darted off the curb behind Sellars and reached out to snatch the keys from her grasp. “I’m driving, loser!”
At the last second, Sellars jerked her hand away and cupped the keys in her fist. “My car. My keys. My turn. So get in the car or walk. The choice is up to you.”
Sellars turned and plucked the driver’s door open while Lacy stood dumbfounded.
No. She wasn’t dumbfounded. She was horny. Being matched sure had its perks. If only they weren’t in a parking lot with the whole world as their audience. If only Sellars hadn’t just dared her.
She pounded to the passenger side and dropped into the seat. Anger and hot need whiplashed through her while Sellars fired the engine. This fucking bitch was going to grate her last nerve. Her very fucking last nerve.
Lacy folded those arms across her stomach and fumed. She was beyond pissed. She’d just made an idiot out of herself to save a jerk and yet she was still being accused of having ulterior motives.
Worse, she’d really wanted to drive. Drive and grind.
But not the car.
Dear Lord. Not the car.
Chapter Twelve
Lacy growled under her breath as she scanned the length of tables set up along the center of the mall, finally spotting Sellars’s table with its tiny little paper sign at least fifty feet away from the last table.
Who the fuck did these people think they were?
She’d expected Sellars to be at the last table. Would have expected nothing less considering she’d made herself an outcast who hadn’t formed any type of bond with any of the other racers besides Billy, who wouldn’t be attending today. Sellars was nobody to them. The baby of the family. The baby who had burned her bridges before she ever stepped foot on sacred ground.
But she hadn’t expected the organizers to be a part of this ridiculous nonsense. For them to put her table so far from the rest. So far away that no one would have connected the fact that she was also here, in front of this sports store, as a part of that racing family, to sign autographs and sell her merchandise just like the rest of the racers would be doing.
“Oh, hell no. This is not happening.” Lacy turned toward a group of racers who had formed a circle around one table, all gibbering and staring over their shoulder at her and Sellars.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sellars said. “I’d prefer to be apart from these jackasses.”
“On the track, feel free to leave them in your dust trail,” Lacy said, still feeling scorned from Sellars’s hateful words yesterday. She wasn’t used to having her feelings hurt. Hell, until those words had landed on her ears, she wasn’t sure she had any feelings left. She was sorely proven wrong. Not that Sellars would ever know it. “But here, everyone will be treated with equal respect.”
Before Sellars could stop her, Lacy stormed across the gap and grabbed the lone table. She hoisted one end in the air and started dragging.
The legs made a dramatic and teeth clenching screech that echoed along the still vacant hallway.
The chatter and laughter stopped as the racers turned toward the sound.
A woman holding a clipboard and nametag dangling around her neck, raced out of the sports store. “Ma’am!” She jogged toward Lacy who didn’t break stride or even look at the woman. “You can’t move the tables. They’ve all been positioned per a seating chart.”
“What kind of seating arrangement puts one table out in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt?” Lacy finally threw the woman a hostile glare while she continued dragging, stopping occasionally to get a different grip, maybe to give everyone hope that the sound had come to an end, before ripping away their hope only to begin again, amping up that nerve-grating noise until she had the table positioned exactly where she wanted.
Dead center of the square.
She dismissed the woman by walking around her. “The table stays right here, and I’m in a good damn mood for someone to try their luck with moving it.” Lacy turned a daring stare on the woman.
“I’ll send someone else out to speak with you.” The woman took several steps back.
“Yes. Please do that. Scurry inside and let them know Kip Sellars has arrived and if anyone dares touch that fucking table, they’ll be dealing with Mr. Reynolds personally.”
The woman’s mouth opened. She slipped her sights between Lacy and Sellars before pulling her precious clipboard to her chest. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll bring out her boxes.”
“Now we’re on the same page.” Lacy gave her a fake smile.
Sellars could only watch, her mind filling dangerously fast with all the tactful ways she could calm that trigger-happy attitude. How she could get under Lacy. How she wanted to get inside her. How she wante
d to draw incoherent sounds from her mouth.
Yes. That’s what she wanted. She wanted to make Lacy speechless. Again. And again.
No words. Just screams.
God only knew why. Lacy couldn’t stand her. Even after their heated sexual moment, Lacy still thought of her as a loser. Had said as much. Had called her exactly that. She thought Sellars was going nowhere. That she was going to crash and burn long before her suspension was lifted.
Yet it hadn’t stopped Lacy from demanding equality from this organization today. Demanding that she be treated with the same dignity and respect they were treating the rest of the racing pack.
What in the world for? Sellars didn’t have any fans. Not a single person was going to request her John Hancock. She was an outcast. In her own family, and now in this racing family.
And she’d put herself here. With both families.
Sellars suddenly felt guilty for practically calling Lacy a hooker. Actually, she’d struggled with the need to march down those man cave stairs just to say the words. However, she was so turned on by the sight of Lacy’s delicious nipples beyond the glass, hard and dark, haunting her thoughts into dirty images, that the words would have died on her lips right before Lacy came on them.
The woman came back out, ripping Sellars out of her heated thoughts, and politely set two boxes on the table. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“You’ve helped quite enough, thank you.” Lacy popped open a box and began organizing Sellars’s memorabilia.
The woman glanced between them before walking away.
“I think you damaged her.” Sellars chuckled.
“They shouldn’t have sent a child to do a grown-up’s job.”
Lacy started pulling out the contents. Cups, mugs, T-shirts, keychains, photographs, and postcards.
All with her name. Her number.
Seeing this stuff, her dreams in living color, still made her giddy deep down inside.
She’d done it. She’d made it to a place that no one thought she could go. Conquered miles and miles of hell to reach this spot in time.
And here she was, dream tucked in her pocket, secure from anyone to take, standing here with a woman who thought she was trash, who she’d called a slut.
The emotion was rather comical. She’d felt empty the entire ride. So she’d filled that empty space with drama and sex and the party life, and created a rift, a wedge so wide she might never be able to cross back over, and she had no one to blame but herself.
A fact that Lacy was comfortable reminding her of quite often.
“Okay. You’re all set up and I have some things to do,” Lacy said.
“You’re not staying?”
“Did you think I was going to sit here and hold your hand all day?”
“Well, no.”
“Good because I’m not a hand-holder.” Lacy tagged her in a dark stare. “Unless there was a bonus involved, since you seem to think I can be bought.”
Ah. There it was. Lacy was still pissed about her heartless words.
As for hand-holding, she used to be into that. She rather liked holding hands with Sarah. Strolling. Dating.
She hadn’t been on a date in so long, she wasn’t sure she knew how to date anymore. Finding one-night stands came natural to her. Easy. And quick.
But never dates. Never ones she called back. If she even bothered to get their phone numbers at all. Most of the time she didn’t. She had no plans to see them again. Not even for a second fuck.
She’d like to, though. Get a phone number. Go on a date. Stroll the many shops downtown. Go to a game. Eat ice cream. Have sex that didn’t conclude after the orgasm.
“There you go drifting away again.”
Sellars opened her mouth to apologize. Or so she thought those were the words she wanted to say.
“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry,” Lacy said.
Sellars closed her mouth but had every intention of showing Lacy that she regretted those words. There were better ways to say she was sorry. She’d start with her tongue.
“I’m out.” Lacy glanced around, found another racer looking at their table, and gave him a daring raised eyebrow before he quickly turned away.
She turned back to Sellars, who looked absolutely delicious today in her dark jeans and pale gray blazer over that too tight T-shirt. Too many dirty thoughts had run through her mind in the past hour. Way too many to stick by Sellars’s side all day while the fans ignored her completely. A problem she hoped to remedy before the day was over.
She didn’t have to. She could snap a few boring pics to prove that Sellars had done the deed, but it grated her nerves to see so many judgmental people, so many who had been far worse, done far worse, who were judging Sellars for airing her dirty laundry without an apology.
“Sit there, don’t move a fucking muscle, don’t speak to a soul, and so help me God, if you misbehave, I will pay off your pit crew to disassemble your entire car on race day. Right down to the skinny frame. Every screw, every bolt, every hose and clamp. They all like me, so don’t think for a second they won’t.”
Sellars could only grin. Lacy and her spitfire lips, made her horny as hell. How, she would never know. That tongue was razor sharp, and she meant every word that escaped that mouth.
She wanted to tame those lips. She wanted to make Lacy forget her next sentence. Wanted Lacy riding her face and screaming.
Damn. She wanted that scream so bad it made her squirm in her chair.
Lacy cocked an eyebrow. “I mean it. Don’t fucking move.”
She disappeared down the vacant hallway.
Thirty minutes slipped by after the doors were unlocked. Women and men crowded the other tables, begging for an autograph, women pleading for a selfie with their favorite racer.
But, as expected, no one approached her table. Not a single person took even a second glance in her direction. Most of the men scowled, but at least they kept their distance. Which was great because today was not a good day to go to jail.
Another thirty minutes went by, followed by a long hour. The crowd had now thickened, and she couldn’t see anything beyond the line of people weaving around the tables.
This was such a waste of time. She could be working on her car. Taking a nap. Finding a bar for a few drinks.
Anything would do besides sitting here looking like an idiot. An outcast moron.
Then she heard someone shrill her name. Loud and penetrating.
And then it came yet again.
People turned toward the sound, some craning their heads to see over the line, all attention focused on the location of the voice.
And suddenly, Lacy pushed through the crowd. Her hair was down in long, sexy waves, and she was wearing a brand new pair of dark jeans rolled up around her ankles, a sheer overshirt that hung loosely around her body with her dark nipples pressed against the fabric. She was balancing herself on a pair of black spiked pumps. A pair of sunglasses that Sellars didn’t remember her wearing on their way in, swept the mane of hair back from her face.
Numerous bags with different store logos dangled from her fingertips as she shoved through the last of the line.
“Kip Sellars!” Lacy squealed again. “Be still my heart, you’re really here!”
She dropped the bags in front of the table and propped a hand up, dramatically pretending to catch her breath.
“I can’t believe you are right here in front of me, in the flesh. All glorious inch of flesh. Jesus fucking Christ, I think I just came a little.” She straightened and pretended a little gasp. “I’m so sorry. I’m showing my bad girl true colors. Wherever are my manners? I’m Lacy. My daddy is here on business, and I came to keep him company, but those business meetings were hideous so he gave me his credit card and waved me away. As if tearing up the mall was a punishment.” She winked.
Lacy thrust her hand out to Sellars. “It’s so great to meet you, Sellars. I’ve been following your career for so many years. You’re inc
redible!”
Sellars slowly took her hand, wondering what kind of game she was playing or exactly how to play along with the charade. “Thank you.”
Lacy flipped her long hair over a shoulder. “My daddy is your biggest fan. Said you were the hottest thing to hit the track.” She fanned her fingers across her neck like she was wiping away sweat that didn’t exist. “He was referring to your speed and agility and determination to win those races.” She leaned down but didn’t lower her voice. “But goddamn, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Those filthy, lying tabloids did no justice at all showing just how delicious and chewy and edible you truly are. My good God Almighty, can I take you home to our ranch, darling?”
Sellars could only arch a brow, too amused to respond. Her insides clenching too tight to move.
“Oh my goodness. There goes my manners again. I’m acting like a horny teenager pining for her first piece of ass.”
Lacy bent down, exposing her cleavage to the audience around her, and dug into one of the bags. “If you could be so kind, my entire family would kill me if I didn’t get your autograph.”
Lacy slapped a stack of eight-by-ten photographs on the table and Sellars drew in a shocked gasp.
Her fuck off picture. Her lips snarled back, middle fingers to the world.
Lacy had taken them minutes before Sellars had tasted her.
“I need one for my daddy. His name is Carl, by the way.” Lacy rushed on. “He’s your biggest fan. Did I say that? And one for my Papa Jeff. But please sign that Jethro because that’s what his racing game day buddies call him. They all pile up at the country club to watch you. Bless their hearts. They’re so stinking cute.” She stalled long enough to pull air into her lungs. “My sister, Sheila, and her husband, Grant. My brother Richard and his wife, Patty. And my…. Oh Lord, you’re so damn hot I’ve plum forgot the most important person.”
Lacy leaned over the table, pushing her ass out to the crowd behind her. “Me. I want your autograph on me. Right here.” She pulled the sheer fabric of her shirt apart.
