by Chelle Bliss
Roscoe grumbles as I curl into my father’s arms, and he wraps me in a tight embrace. My brother practically looms over us, waiting for my father’s attention, but I’ve always been the favorite. He would never admit that, especially not in front of my brother, but he has told me many times. Then again, I’m sure my dad told Roscoe the same damn thing about himself because that’s the type of man he is…always a peacemaker.
“Hey, Daddy.” I squeeze him tightly, wrapping my hands around his middle and interlocking my fingers behind his back until my face smashes against his broad chest.
My father’s lips graze my cheek as he pulls away, tickling me with his beard. “Looking beautiful as always, Faith.”
I grin up at him, basking in his compliment like I always do, and tighten my arms around his middle.
“I love you, pumpkin,” he says before glancing over my shoulder at Roscoe, who’s mumbling something about me being a suck-up.
Roscoe pushes me to the side with the back of his hand as soon as I move away from my dad. “Hey, Dad,” he says, stepping between my father and me.
“Son.” My father gives him a quick hug followed by a pat on the back before breaking all contact. “We have a long season ahead of us, but it’s going to be the best one yet.”
“Best ever,” Roscoe says as we follow my dad toward the waiting race cars, but there’s no excitement in his voice like there usually is.
“I want you two to be nice to Brooks. He’s going to bring something different to our team.”
“Sure, Daddy,” I say, earning an easy smile from my father, but Roscoe remains silent.
“Brooks,” my dad calls out, draping his arms around our shoulders as he pulls us closer to his sides like a proud papa. “Brooks, I’d like you to meet my kids.”
Brooks Carter steps forward from the crowd with his broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes. The photos I dug up did not do the man justice. Damn, he is handsome. Dare I say the most handsome man about to take the field this season. I glance down for a moment, avoiding his penetrating gaze.
“Kids, this is Brooks Carter.” My father tightens his grip when Roscoe and I don’t say anything right away.
I lift my gaze, meeting his, and attempt to swallow the lump lodged in my throat but fail.
“Hey,” Brooks replies when I still don’t speak.
My stomach flutters uncontrollably as Brooks’s gaze sweeps down my body. The wind is knocked out of me for a moment. I do nothing but stand there like a mute idiot and gawk. His full lips, blue eyes, and tanned skin complete the well-built package and have rendered me dumb. Even with the shabby tattered clothes, he’s hot as hell.
“Hi,” I barely squeak out. My voice already cracked on the one syllable, and I didn’t trust myself to say anything else without sounding fifteen again.
Roscoe thrusts his hand between us, staring at Brooks and breaking the awkward moment. “Roscoe Ridley,” he says.
Brooks slowly drags his gaze from mine to focus on my brother, the real star of the family. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Oh Lord. The respect Brooks shows to Roscoe is not lost on any of us, especially my brother. Feeding into his ego is dangerous in the long run but completely effective in the short term.
Roscoe’s chest puffs out a little more than usual as Brooks slides his palm against my brother’s. “My father tells me you’re a champion in your own right.” That’s Roscoe lingo for you’re not as important as me, and Brooks knows it.
My eyes widen, but thankfully no one’s looking at me. They’re too busy with their staring contest mingled with their ego fest.
“I’ve crushed dirt tracks all over the country, and I’m here to do the same.” Brooks smiles, unaffected by Roscoe’s shit talk.
The imaginary ego gauntlet has officially been thrown. They haven’t even climbed into their cars yet, and the silent war is already brewing.
Roscoe holds his stomach and laughs like it’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. “That so?”
“Why else would your father bring me here?” Brooks doesn’t even so much as blink.
Brooks and Roscoe stare each other down, silently appraising one another, and the tension in the air multiplies. They are acting like little boys on the playground, not like men who are supposed to be part of the same team.
It takes all of one minute for the gloves to come off and the ego fest to grow into an out-of-control shit storm. I would not even be the least bit surprised if they each whipped out their manhood to see whose is bigger. Ego is something I don’t find attractive. Swagger, yes. But when a man’s ego gets in the way of reality…I have issues. I’ve spent my entire life around race car drivers. I know exactly what they are all about. There is not a more egotistical group of people on the planet. They’re adrenaline junkies, notorious hotheads, and they’re sexist as hell. They have more in common with cavemen than civilized society.
My father steps between them, sensing the growing unease. “Now, boys.” He runs his fingers through his short gray hair and lets out a small sigh. “Let’s remember we’re all on the same team here.” My dad doesn’t realize there is no hope for these two. I can see it from where I’m standing, but somehow, he doesn’t. “This year is about team domination and not just about personal accomplishments,” Dad adds.
Roscoe will never accept Brooks. Never. Brooks will always be an interloper, trying to take over Roscoe’s spot at the top. No matter how well Brooks drives, he’ll never be good enough in Roscoe’s eyes. Lord forbid he unseats Roscoe as the champion; our family will never be the same.
“Faith,” Dad says. I know that tone. He’s about to ask me to do something he knows I don’t want to do. I can tell by the way he says my name.
“I’m going to have you spend some time with Brooks and show him the ropes.” My eyes flutter to Brooks’s as my dad keeps talking. “Roscoe has enough to do with the season fast approaching. I don’t want to take away from his training and preparation. So, I’m leaving Brooks in your capable hands.”
Roscoe’s close to the edge of having an all-out meltdown because the new kid may be a real contender. A very hot contender too. One who oozes sex and could quite possibly take away Roscoe’s title as the hottest driver on and off the track.
Brooks is staring at me with those fierce blue eyes, grinning from ear-to-ear as I nervously twist my hands together in front of me. “Sure, Daddy. Whatever you need.”
Roscoe growls and cracks his knuckles, clearly not happy with the entire situation. As my dad walks away with his arm slung around Brooks’s shoulder, Roscoe leans over and whispers, “He’s not one of us, Faith. Remember that.”
I peer up at Roscoe and roll my eyes—something I find myself doing often because he’s a jerk. “Seriously. You need to get a grip. He is one of us.”
If I don’t help Brooks, who would? Brooks is officially a member of Ridley Racing, which means it’s my job to make him feel comfortable and help him settle in so he’s completely focused on winning when the season starts. I love my brother, and I want him to be the champion, but I’ll do anything to make Ridley Racing bigger and better, even if that includes becoming the official welcome wagon—against my brother’s wishes.
“Faith!” my dad yells from a few feet away when he realizes I’ve fallen behind and am still standing at Roscoe’s side.
“Coming,” I call out. I stalk away from my brother with a small smirk on my face because I know Roscoe is finally about to find out what dog-eat-dog means.
Unlike Roscoe, I wasn’t given my position in the company. Instead, I attended Vanderbilt University, double majoring in business and marketing. Yeah, I could’ve asked my father for a job, and he would’ve gladly handed it over after I graduated high school, but that’s not what I wanted.
I worked my ass off so I could someday become the head of the company. Roscoe never bothered to learn anything more than what was absolutely necessary. Plus, everyone knew he wasn’t smart enough to handle the day-to-day oper
ations. I wasn’t even convinced Roscoe could count higher than ten. To him, complex math was anything he could not add on his fingers.
Brooks keeps his eyes on me as I walk to where he’s standing with my father. Why does he have to be so damn good-looking? The look on his face is one I’ve seen before and has the butterflies coming back to life.
“Let’s have Brooks and Roscoe take a few laps so they can get a feel for how the other drives.”
“Sure thing,” I say, staring at Brooks with a giant smile.
My dad clears his throat, drawing my attention away from the pretty boy and earning me a curious look. “I’m going to talk to Roscoe for a moment. Will you show Brooks to his car?”
Roscoe’s kicking the grass under his feet, staring up at the sky, and cursing. My father heads toward him as I turn around and practically faceplant into Brooks’s chest. The man is like a solid wall of muscle without an ounce of softness.
I stumble backward and reach out, trying to latch on to something…anything to stop myself from falling. Brooks reaches out and catches me, but I quickly find my footing and straighten.
“Easy there,” he says in the sweetest Southern drawl as his hands slide across the skin of my arms.
I straighten my back and finally find my footing along with my sanity. He’s just another man. No one has ever rendered me stupid with a simple smile, but somehow Brooks Carter has that effect on me. I don’t like it either. “Thanks,” I say, pulling away from him. Even as I stalk toward his waiting car, I can still feel his hands on my skin, like he’d scorched my flesh with his touch.
“Thanks for this,” Brooks says as he jogs to catch up with my long, confident strides.
“It’s my job, and I’m happy to do it,” I say as I gaze up at him with heated cheeks.
“This track is impressive,” Brooks says with an adorable lopsided grin.
I train my sights on the car just a dozen feet away and not at the handsome man at my side. “It is.” I say nothing more, preferring to stick to the task at hand. Brooks needs to get in the car and show us what all the fuss is about. He may have conquered the dirt, but driving on asphalt is an entirely different experience.
“I really do appreciate your help.”
I turn my head and look at him briefly, praying my embarrassment from running into him and my unwelcome attraction to him isn’t written all over my face. “It’s really not a problem, Brooks. You’re one of us now.”
His eyes linger on my lips, doing nothing to calm my inner butterflies. “I like the sound of that, but I haven’t earned my spot yet.” The corners of his mouth turn up into the most drop-dead gorgeous smile.
I take longer strides than before, picking up the pace to stop myself from saying something awkward and embarrassing myself even more. I’ve never been this flustered around a man before, but there’s something about Brooks Carter that has me off-kilter. I don’t know if it’s his good looks, cocky smile, or the fact that I haven’t been with a man in months, but my body is totally into him.
Trying to play it cool, I drape my arm across the roof and slap the shiny, newly polished, cobalt-blue paint. “We want you to get a feel for her today.” I peer down, unable to stop myself from checking out his ass in his well-worn and tight-fitting jeans.
He rests his arms on the window frame and leans inside. “She’s a beauty,” he says as he turns his face toward me, catching me checking out his ass.
I snap my gaze away from his bottom and curse under my breath, chastising myself for being a complete idiot and getting caught in the process. “Don’t go wild out there. See how she suits you.”
“Wild?” He lets out a short, sexy laugh, which slides into a wicked grin. “I’m always in control, princess. Always.”
My face turns ten shades of red when he winks, and I finger my necklace, sliding the pendant back and forth in short, jerky movements while I ignore his statement. “We’ll make modifications to help you be as successful as possible before the first race.”
“Are we just about ready?” my dad calls out as Roscoe slides into his car.
Brooks straightens, claps his hands together, and pins me with his eyes. “Let’s get it on!”
I’m in so much fucking trouble.
Chapter Two
Brooks
I’m not even out of the car before Roscoe Ridley is in my face, howling like a maniac with his arms waving wildly in the air. I keep my mouth shut and let him express his anger. The sting of me beating him in front of his father, sister, and employees has to be brutal, but it was necessary. I figure now is as good a time as any for him to get used to seeing my bumper in front of him.
“You’re a reckless asshole.” He thrusts his hands against my chest as soon as my feet touch the asphalt. “You could’ve ruined my car.”
I toss my helmet onto the seat behind me and shake my head. This isn’t really how I wanted the day to turn out, especially not with Roscoe and me getting into a physical altercation within the first hour. But I’ll stand my ground. I’m not his little brother, and he needs to learn that I’m his equal on the track. I may not have the same trophies lining some fancy mantel like he does, but my own wins are no less impressive. I refuse to let Roscoe treat me like some low-life drifter off the street.
“My job is to drive this car and to be the best damn driver on the course. That’s what I did out there.” I cross my arms in front of my chest and keep my cool. I’ve dealt with people like Roscoe my entire life. Between school yard fights and bar room brawls, some asshole always felt the need to start some shit to make himself feel better.
I beat him almost every lap around the track. Sure, I let him start off strong, allowing him to get comfortable before I took my chance and pulled ahead. Before I stepped foot in Georgia, I spent countless hours studying his race tapes and learned his every move. He has weaknesses, and I plan to exploit every single one of them to my advantage.
“You showed no control.” He is practically foaming at the mouth with anger as he speaks. “You’re a typical rookie.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I had enough control to overtake you.” He charges toward me with his fist pulled back, and I prepare for the punch, widening my stance, ready to dodge and weave before he can connect.
Unable to hear our heated exchange, Mr. Ridley claps as he walks in our direction. “That was superb,” he says, stopping Roscoe’s hand in midair. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
Faith stands behind her father, staring at me over his shoulder with a look I can’t quite place.
“Thank you, sir.” I flicker my gaze from Mr. Ridley to Faith.
“It was all right,” Faith says with a shrug like she’s not impressed by my stellar performance. “Could’ve been better.”
Roscoe turns toward his father and points at him. “That’s how you want him to drive? Have you gone mad?”
Mr. Ridley tucks his thumbs in his waistband and rocks back on his heels. “Boy, that’s exactly how I want him to drive.”
Roscoe growls and throws his helmet across the track in a full-blown temper tantrum. “I can’t deal with this. I’ll meet you back at the office.”
Mr. Ridley waves his hand toward Roscoe as he stalks away. “Don’t mind him. He’ll come around eventually.”
I have a feeling that eventually will never come.
Roscoe’s hatred for me is real, and I would probably feel the exact same way if I were in his shoes. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone after him so hard, but this isn’t a sport for sissies. He was being an asshole, and I couldn’t stop myself because he would do the same damn thing if roles were reversed. I know damn well if I ever want to earn his respect, I have to do it on the track.
“We better get going, Daddy. We shouldn’t leave Roscoe alone too long.” Faith glances in my direction, but she looks away quickly. “Brooks can follow us.”
Mr. Ridley touches Faith on the shoulder, staring down at her in a way no one has ever looked at me. “Why don’t you ride with Brooks,
sweetheart? Get to know each other a little better. You’re going to be spending a lot of time together, and I’d like him to feel at home here.”
Feel at home. I’m not even sure what that’s supposed to mean. The closest I’ve ever come to feeling at home anywhere is inside the beaten-down trailer I bought off another driver when I started touring the dirt tracks around the country. It isn’t much, and it sure as hell isn’t pretty, but it is mine, and no one can take it away from me.
She sighs as her shoulders sag forward. “Fine.”
So far, I haven’t received much love from anyone other than Mr. Ridley, but I never thought this would be easy. To expect anything different would have been disastrous for my psyche. I did not come here to make friends. I accepted a position with Ridley Racing to cut my teeth in this business and find a spot on the circuit.
Mr. Ridley motions toward our trucks and glances at me and then Faith. “Let’s get this show on the road. Shall we?”
Faith walks at her father’s side while I follow closely behind. The rhythmic sway of Faith’s ass has my full attention. It’s not a casual walk but is filled with class and oozes femininity. I imagine she has been a good girl her entire life, falling in step with whatever her daddy wanted.
I don’t blame her either. If I had Mr. Ridley as my dad, I probably would’ve been a goody-two-shoes too. Instead, I’m stuck with a mother who is who knows where. I get random texts from old friends that she’s been spotted and is still alive. I tried to save her life more than once. I tried to get her into rehab, but she didn’t want to change. Every time I got her off the streets and sober, she always found her way back to her first love, which lay at the bottom of a bottle.
Roscoe Ridley is a fool for not understanding what a lucky bastard he’s been. He has a loving father and a sweet sister and all the money a guy could ever need. He grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, never had to worry about a goddamn thing. He was handed a racing empire just because he was born into the right family.
He did not have to claw his way to the top.
