by Angel Payne
“I’m not uptight!” I insisted. “I have tons of fun, and you know it. Look at what we’re about to do this weekend! Your mind is going to be blown.” I held a hand on either side of my head and made an explosion motion. Boom! I mouthed.
She burst out laughing. “You’re such a dork. Oh, my God. How do I even take you in public? Seriously. I’m going to the restroom.”
“Do you want a drink?” I called after her as she headed into the store.
“Yes, please. Surprise me,” she called over her shoulder.
I watched the sexy fucking sway of her barely there ass as she walked ahead, my mouth watering.
About thirty minutes later we pulled up to the clubhouse at the track’s complex. A sales rep was scheduled to meet us and was waiting patiently to show us around the grounds and to the luxury rental we were staying in for the weekend. We had track time scheduled for later in the afternoon after we’d gotten settled and enjoyed a light lunch in the clubhouse. The place was extraordinary, and I was sold before we’d even arrived. I’d done a ton of research online, and thanks to my dead Uncle Josiah and the inheritance he’d left me, I had the kind of money it would take to own a piece of the paradise. In the meantime, however, I would let them wine and dine us and show us all the place had to offer.
We had the pleasure of driving the BMW M4 GTS on the track that day. Only seven hundred cars in that model were supposedly produced by the manufacturer originally, so getting behind the wheel of one, without actually being one of its rare owners, was a treat in itself. Pushing the machine to its limits on a track was even more enjoyable. Taylor squealed and giggled as I took the lefts and rights of the course and grabbed for anything to gain leverage on as we fought the centrifugal force of the carousel. The GTS had sweet racing-styled seats and Schroth harnesses, so she eventually learned to trust the apparatus and let it do what it was meant to.
By the time we pulled into the pit after the second lap of the North Palm Circuit, she looked like she was ready to puke.
“Okay, champ, let’s get the helmet off. What’s up? Too much?” I stooped down to be level with her eyes.
“How—how fast were you going?” She was weaving back and forth as she tried to walk to the bench.
“Not very fast. You okay? Let’s get some water.” I tried supporting her around the waist, but she pulled away from me.
“Mac, seriously, I’m fine. Stop, you’re embarrassing me.” She pushed my hands away again for extra good measure.
“What’s going to really embarrass you is when you faceplant on the concrete. People get motion sick during hot laps all the time. It’s not a big deal. It’s the human body’s natural reaction to the unusual physics.”
We sat down on the benches under the observation tent alongside the track. A few other cars were still taking turns passing each other, playing a friendly game of lead and follow.
“Seriously, how fast were we going?” She wasn’t going to let it go.
“Why is that so important? It’s just going to freak you out more.”
“I’m not freaked out. I thought it was fun. My head is just having a hard time getting the memo.”
“The fastest we went today wasn’t on that circuit. Too many curves. On the straightaway on the South Palm”—I pointed behind us to the first track we were on—“we hit one-sixty-seven.”
“Shut the front door. Is that the fastest you’ve ever gone?”
“Nah.” I sounded nonchalant.
“Seriously?” She did not, however.
“Babe, that car has a top speed of one-eighty-nine, I think. With the governor. Stock car racing, like Nascar? Those cars go over two hundred miles per hour on the regular.”
“Okay, I don’t think I want to hear any more for right now.” She clutched at her stomach.
“Are you going to be sick?” I couldn’t help but chuckle when I asked but looked around for a trash bin for safety’s sake.
“No. I just don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to worry about you every time you get in a car.”
“Why don’t we go back to the villa? We have all day tomorrow to get on the track again. We can clean up, maybe rest a bit before our dinner reservations?” It had already been a pretty eventful day.
“That sounds like a good idea. I’d like to be on stationary ground for a while.” She stopped abruptly and turned to me when I stopped to see what had suddenly snagged her attention.
“That was a very impressive circus today, clown. Thank you for showing me that set of tricks.” She hooked her arms around my neck and stood on her tippy toes to give me a sweet kiss.
My hands automatically traveled to her waist, and I pulled her against me. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
The villas were situated along the track, allowing each owner to watch the racing action right from their back terrace. Every unit had been constructed with reinforced soundproof materials, allowing people to retreat inside if they’d had enough mach speed action for the day. Each home was built according to one of five master-planned templates, though owners had the option of designing their own home, as long as it stuck to the club’s architectural guidelines.
Right now, I was leaning more toward buying a villa that was constructed, finished, furnished, and ready for move-in—much like the unit we were staying in. The place was immaculate, elegant, and very well-suited for my needs. Like most of the homes here, the place’s first floor comprised a pristine, climate-controlled multi-car garage. The floor was epoxy-coated for easy cleaning, and there were roll-up doors on two sides. But the most impressive feature was the garage’s ceiling, made completely of glass, so the resident could see through from the living space above down to their car collection at all hours of the day. In essence, it was a car enthusiast’s dream. I could store the majority of my collection here, with room for eight cars in the villa and the availability for more storage in additional buildings on the property.
“What do you think of this place?” I asked Taylor as we walked through the gourmet kitchen.
“What’s not to like? Everything looks brand-new, and it’s clearly top of the line. Not that I would really know the difference, but it looks like a magazine picture. I’m assuming this is good stuff. I mean, if you want red knobs on your stove. Do people like that? I don’t know.” She shrugged, as if truly not caring.
I had to chuckle. I remembered my mother and her snooty Garden Club friends talking for hours about those very red knobs. I actually adored Taylor more for not knowing that they were a status symbol all on their own.
“What? Did I say something funny? I put my unsophisticated foot in my mouth again, didn’t I?”
She plopped down on the white slip-covered sofa. I sat down beside her and grabbed her feet up into my lap, massaging the instep of her left foot and then the right. Christ, even her feet are sexy.
“I love these feet. In fact, I don’t think there’s an inch of this body I don’t love.” I squeezed her heel with my hand, knowing how good that felt. “Taylor…you don’t have to feel self-conscious or inadequate around me, ever.”
She huffed softly—though she didn’t try to move her foot away. “Mac. Come on—”
“Stop. Don’t bother arguing right now. Just listen to me. Humor a clown for a minute. Just let me say what I want to say. I think you’re amazing, okay? Today was one of the best days of my life. From the minute I woke up this morning with you in my bed in Oceanside, to whipping around the track, to the amazing dinner we’re going to have tonight, and the even more amazing sex we’re going to have after that. Best. Day. Ever. And it’s because of you. You’ve been the part that’s been missing from my life for a really long time, and I hope I don’t have to know what it would be like without you now that I know how awesome it is with you.”
No more huffs. The woman just stared at me. No smile. No tears. No smart-mouth jokes. A simple stare.
“Was that too much? Did I freak you out?”
She shook her head a little
, as though she had been daydreaming. I was bracing for a doozie of a comeback. I wasn’t sure which way she was going to go with her response, but the way the air felt, I knew I wasn’t going to like it.
But when she patted my hand like she was consoling a longtime friend, maybe an elderly neighbor whose beloved cat was flattened at the busy corner intersection, my spine stiffened.
“That’s really nice.” A thoughtful pause, then: “Yeah, that’s nice, Mac.” Even her pitch was fucked up.
“Taylor?”
“Hmmm?” Flat and lifeless tone, but she eventually made eye contact with me.
“Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Yes. I heard it all. I complete you. Best day ever. Blah blah blah. I said that it was really nice of you to say all of that.” She patted my hand again, and I yanked it back like she’d burned me with a hot poker.
She actually stared like my reaction was out of line.
She took her feet off my lap and turned to face me. “Listen to me, Mac. You know I don’t really open up to people. I find it…difficult.” Another one of those damn pauses, followed by: “Yeah, I guess that works. I find it difficult. I’ve really been enjoying the time we’ve been spending together too. A lot. You’ve probably realized by now I try to live life one day at a time. If I’ve learned anything from the life I’ve had with Janet, it’s that I pretty much can’t count on anything or anyone but myself—so I don’t expect anything from anyone, either. Not my girlfriends, my coworkers, and especially not a man. I mean, you’re a great guy. You’re amazing, actually. And as long as things are great between us, I’m happy to spend time with you. I will never expect a man to ride into my life like a white knight upon a strapping steed and rescue me from the cruel, cruel world. My mother did that my entire childhood, and I saw, time and time again, where that got her. I will never make that same mistake.
“So yeah, I’m glad you’re happy. Because I’m happy too. Happy is a really great place to be. I’m going to go take a shower because I want to look extra-pretty for dinner tonight. I think the restaurant you made reservations at is pretty swanky, and I don’t want to embarrass you any more than I already have today with all that woozy-head nonsense when we got back. Phew. I’m glad that passed, huh?”
She left the room so fast I couldn’t get another word in on the ridiculous conversation we’d just had. It may have been for the best, anyway, because my temper was boiling under the surface, and I didn’t want the memories of this weekend tarnished by an argument.
I was falling in love with Taylor Mathews.
Strike that.
I was already in love with Taylor Mathews. But I was not going to be able to battle the twenty-plus years of fucked-up self-esteem whittling done by her mother’s unhealthy lifestyle choices and loser-magnet-man selection process.
I’d thought my own mother was going to be our biggest obstacle when she finally met Taylor. And that jury was still out, because up to this point, I had avoided the problem altogether. Eventually it would happen, but the longer I put it off, the better. The more time Taylor and I had under our belts as a couple before Constance met her, the more time I would have to build Taylor’s confidence and self-esteem so my mother couldn’t destroy her.
But this path of self-destruction she seemed hell-bent on taking—I didn’t know how to begin to combat that. Honestly, I was frustrated that it was something I had to deal with at all. I was very motivated suddenly to have a heart-to-heart discussion with Janet and tell her to stay away from Taylor altogether. Even though I had absolutely no right to do so, it would be in Taylor’s best interest. It had been several months since her last arrest, and according to Taylor, she was coming “due” for some sort of trouble. I was pretty certain the next time she called, she was going to answer to me instead of her codependent daughter.
“They’re racing tonight?” Taylor looked stunning in the moonlight as we climbed the stairs to the front door of the villa. Dinner had been amazing, and we’d both enjoyed our time downtown in Palm Springs.
“Yes. I guess once in a while they do a night race. We can watch from the balcony if you want.”
“Oh, could we? I love the sound when they go by.” At times like this she sounded so young and innocent and I wanted to show her the world.
“Score one for the lady.” I smiled as I led the way through the kitchen and out onto the deck.
“What?”
“I love that too. It was one of the first things that got me into cars when I was a boy. The sound of the engines. We would try to guess the cars going by with our eyes covered.”
“Who did you do that with?” She loved knowing things about my childhood. Probably because hers had been so fucked up.
“Killian and his brothers. Lance didn’t like it as much as Trey, but he would play along anyway.”
“Why did you all stop being friends?”
I knew she was close with Claire. I should probably watch where I stepped.
“My mom, mostly. She’s a jealous lady. She just let it get the better of her. Over time it ruined her relationship with my Aunt Willa.”
“That’s too bad. I would’ve loved to have had cousins or siblings to grow up with. Built-in friends.”
“They really were. But it got so ugly and at the wrong time—you know puberty and all—and I sided with my mom, like you do when you’re that age.” I just shrugged. Looking back at it now, it all seemed so silly.
“I’ll light the fire pit.” There was a modern blown-glass structure between two extra-large chaise-longues on the deck outside the kitchen. The view of the Santa Rosa Mountains was breathtaking, the racetrack in the immediate foreground, the purple mountains glowing with the moon’s light from above. The fire gave off a bit of heat as well as serving as a natural bug deterrent.
Taylor still wore her dress and heels from dinner, so she crawled onto my chair with me for the extra warmth. Her burgundy knee-length dress had stolen my breath when she’d come out of the master suite before dinner and had had a similar effect on every man for the rest of the evening. And some of the women too. It was a mysterious creation of diaphanous fabric, crossing at her breast, wrapping over her right shoulder, and somehow swathing around her waist to become a skirt that was higher in the front than the back. Her bare midriff was as sexy and distracting as the flash of thigh where the material crossed and created the skirt. It was confusing and fantastic all at the same time. For most of our dinner, I’d imagined how on earth I would unravel it from her body.
Time to find out which way would work best.
I slid down the chair to unbuckle her matching shoes. “Do you mind if I help you out of these very sexy shoes, my lady?”
“Please do.” She giggled and held her foot aloft for me to remove the shoe.
“How do you find shoes to match your dress exactly?” I was genuinely curious.
“Just another superpower I have.” She grinned.
“I see.” I finished with the left and started on the right.
“Now, let’s watch this race.” She held her arms out for me to join her back on the lounge chair. We snuggled for a while, watching the cars zoom past us. She asked various questions as they did, mostly about the different cars that were on the track. Since I was partial to BMWs, there were so many other cars for her to learn about.
I couldn’t pay attention to the race with her so close to me. I wanted to get her out of that damn dress. I kissed the side of her neck as she ducked her head around me to watch the cars go by.
“Mac. I’m trying to see.”
“I want to fuck you, though,” I whispered against the shell of her ear, tracing it with my tongue.
“You always want to fuck me.” Her voice was instantly husky.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No.” She breathed her answer when I got to the particularly sensitive area just under her ear and sucked harder. I grabbed a handful of her hair at the base of her neck, tilted her head to the side, and sank
my teeth into her skin. “I love biting you. You taste like homemade vanilla ice cream.”
“Really? That’s pretty specific.”
“Don’t harsh my fantasy here, sassy. I say vanilla ice cream, it’s vanilla ice cream,” I teased back.
I felt her flesh pull tighter as she grinned. The cars sped by on the track again.
“Will you let me drive tomorrow?” she asked tentatively.
“Of course I will. You’ll have to take a safety course first.”
“I don’t mind. Can I drive that car we were in today?”
“No. I think you might want to start with something—” how do I say it without pissing her off? “—a little less sensitive?”
“Oh, don’t you think I can handle that car?”
“I think you can do whatever you set your mind to.” Perfectly safe answer.
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “That’s so PC and gross.”
“It’s not PC. That car is not for a first-time track goer. They will let you use the M3 probably. Or the M5. It’s a little slower.”
“And why do you always push the BMWs? I think I want one like that.” She sat up out of my arms and pointed to a very sexy red Cayman GT4 that zipped by. When I laughed, she looked at me, frustrated.
“Why is that funny?” She pouted.
“That car is very fast too.”
“Aren’t all of these cars ‘very fast’?” She mimicked my voice, and I narrowed my eyes at her, so she quickly added, “You know what I mean.” This morning’s panty-gag lesson must have done more good than I thought.
“The reason I ‘push’ BMW is two-fold. They are my maker of choice, but they also sponsor a driving school at this track so they have a fleet of cars on site that can be used by the members and their guests.” I motioned back out onto the track in front of us. “That Porsche that you just pointed out is someone’s private car—you can’t just drive it.”
“Unless I ask nicely and he says yes,” she said in a very seductive, suggestive tone.
