Misadventures with a Speed Demon

by Chelle Bliss

“So, Brooks.” Mr. Ridley finally pauses for the first time in the one-sided conversation.

  “Yeah?” My voice cracks as Faith’s hand slides higher up my leg.

  “Your racing career is impeccable, but I want to know more about Brooks the man. I couldn’t find much about your family. Do you mind filling in some blanks?”

  This is the conversation I’ve always dreaded having. Explaining my past and my mother is something I’ve never grown comfortable with, no matter how many times I say the words. The pity always did me in. Sure, I wish shit would’ve been different, but that doesn’t mean I want everyone to feel sorry for me either.

  I push my empty plate forward as I ease back against the booth, staring straight ahead. “Not much to tell, sir. I didn’t have much of a happy childhood.” I can feel the mood around the table change as soon as the words leave my mouth.

  Faith’s grip tightens on my legs, and when I look at Roscoe, he’s no longer glaring at me.

  Mr. Ridley tosses his napkin on top of his plate and rests his hands on the table with a tense smile. “Family is something I take very seriously. I can’t imagine what you went through, but I’d like to know more because it helped shape the man you are today. No matter how shitty it was, without it, you may not be sitting across from me today. I brought you into our family, making you one of us.”

  Faith’s hand slides back near my knee, and the boner I was close to sporting a few moments ago vanishes. Talking about my shitty past is a surefire way to bring everything crashing back to reality and completely suck the pleasure out of any situation.

  “Only for you, Mr. Ridley. It’s not something I like to talk about, but like you said, it’s made me the man I am today.” I force a smile on my face and take a deep breath.

  I know Faith’s now hanging on my every word, her body still as she sits at my side. Roscoe stabs at the meat on his plate but keeps glancing in my direction. Maybe they need to hear my story. I wouldn’t be here without my past. I’d probably be living on the beach, some boring-ass banker, soaking up the rays and banging some hot blonde with implants bigger than my head.

  “My father ran off before I was born, and I’ve never met the man. Don’t much care to, neither. We lived in a small town where everyone knew each other’s business. My mom was an alcoholic. Usually drank our rent money, getting us tossed out of more shitty apartments and motels than I can remember. My favorite times were when she’d pass out on the couch, so I could watch television in peace without her calling me a little fucker for not fetching her more booze.”

  Mr. Ridley shakes his head, tightening his hands into fists. “That’s a damn shame. I hate hearing that. Makes my blood boil. I’d lay down my life for my kids, and I can’t imagine…” He stops and clears his throat. “I don’t want to be rude. It’s not nice for me to talk about your mamma.”

  “It’s fine, Mr. Ridley. She wasn’t really a mother except through birth. She did nothing for me. I see how you are with your kids. Even now, they’re grown, and you shower them with more love than my mother ever showed me.”

  “Dude, that’s awful.” Roscoe drops his fork as he shakes his head and grunts. “I can’t even imagine.”

  I wave my hand in the air, dismissing their sadness for me. “It sucked, but I’m over it. That’s my past and not my life anymore. Or my future.” I turn toward Faith, scared of seeing pity on her face more than anybody’s right now.

  There’s no pity but maybe some sadness lingering near the corners of her eyes. But I see something else…understanding, possibly. “I’m so sorry, Brooks,” Faith whispers.

  No one wants bad shit for kids. They’re the purest, most innocent creatures on the planet. It didn’t matter how many times my mom called me names; I did nothing to deserve her hatred. In her book, my birth was probably the biggest mistake of her life, and she made sure I paid for that honor every single day.

  “Did your mamma sober up eventually?” Mr. Ridley asks.

  “No.”

  His face tightens. “She still in your hometown?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. I stopped talking to her a few years ago, sir.”

  The words sound so harsh coming from my mouth. I mean, we’re supposed to love our mothers more than anything in the world, but she was supposed to love me first and failed at every turn. I could no longer pine for the person I wish she was and needed to leave her in the past where she belonged.

  “What got you into racing?” Roscoe asks like he hadn’t been ready to rip my head off less than five minutes ago.

  I let his earlier anger slide. I can be the bigger man, forgetting what happened before to move forward. I’ll do anything to be part of this team; hell, I’d give my left nut to be part of this family. Dealing with Roscoe was nothing compared to the bullshit my mother put me through. “Tyler, one of my mother’s boyfriends. He was a heavy gambler and used to take me to the track while he placed bets with the bookies. The first time I heard the rumble of the engines, I was hooked.”

  “There is nothing like the sound of the engine and the car coming to life underneath me.” Roscoe grins, almost seeming friendly. “It’s a feeling I can never describe to anyone, but everything about it feels right.”

  I’m almost dumbfounded as Roscoe carries on a regular conversation with me like we just met and the last twenty-four hours never happened. Yesterday, he wanted to tear my head off and stomp on the damn thing.

  Mr. Ridley grips Roscoe’s shoulder and gives him a quick nod. “I knew you were destined to be behind the wheel. When you were a baby, it was the only way I could get you to stop crying. Your mamma would beg me to take you for a drive. It’s a damn good thing we lived in Buxton with the track down the street. The faster I drove, the quieter you were.”

  “I know, Dad. I’ve heard the story a million times.”

  “This one.” Mr. Ridley motions toward Roscoe with his chin. “Always a pain in my ass, but I still love him.”

  I’m green with envy at the easiness of their relationship. I imagine they spent hours bent over the hood of a car, tinkering with the insides until each car was a fined-tuned beast. I wanted that more than anything. I saw my friends running home to spend time with their fathers after school while I did everything in my power to stay out of my mother’s crosshairs.

  “That man Tyler teach you how to drive too?”

  I shake my head, wishing he’d stuck around long enough to teach me a damn thing. Just like every other man my mother got her hooks into, once she bled him dry, he took off and never looked back. “I taught myself at the beginning. After a while, one of the old-timers got sick of watching me mess up and took me under his wing, trying to teach me everything he knew. Bart Williams was the man’s name, and I’ll never forget the look on his face after I won my first race. I’d never seen someone so proud of me. He stood at my side, arm draped over my shoulder, and smiled like he’d just crossed under the checkered flag instead of me. When Bart died from a sudden heart attack on the floor of the garage, I decided it was time to move on and try my hand at the dirt circuit. I’d try my best to make the man proud and make all his hard work mean something.”

  “You are, kid, and he did damn good.” Mr. Ridley nods with an easy smile. “You may not know it yet, but you were born to be a champion.”

  I shift in my seat, my gaze moving between Roscoe and Mr. Ridley, and I don’t dare look at Faith. The compliments and kindness coming from everyone, especially Mr. Ridley, are almost too much for me to handle all at once. “I don’t know if I was born a champion, but I’m trying damn hard to make it my reality.”

  “The first race is in a week. You’ll cut your teeth there, and we’ll see what happens. You have to earn your spot in the main race, but you have a damn good shot.”

  “I’ll make you proud, sir.”

  I want to win, but more than anything I want to make him proud, just like I did Bart.

  “I have no doubt, Brooks. You’ve already impressed the hell out of me.” He turns to Roscoe
and gives him a lighthearted slap on the back. “Roscoe too. It’s why he’s so cranky. You remind him too much of himself. All balls-to-the-wall cocky and filled with hunger.”

  “Something like that,” Roscoe says while chewing his last piece of barbeque chicken. “Then there’s the fact that you’re an asshole.” Roscoe flinches as Mr. Ridley reaches for the check, but I can’t imagine his father ever laying a hand on him.

  “I need everyone at the house tonight at seven,” Mr. Ridley states as he studies the tiny slip of paper. “It’s our annual charity ball, and Faith has busted her hump this year. The wealthiest people in the town will be in attendance, so be on your best behavior or you’ll have your mamma to answer to.”

  “Ugh.” Faith finally releases her hold on my leg. “I can’t stand some of the snooty folks in this town. I love planning the event, but attending it is an entirely different situation.”

  “Just bring your smile, Faith. They love you and will open their pocketbooks with your sweet talkin’. Think of all the children your few hours of misery will help.” Mr. Ridley winks at Faith, but she barely cracks a smile. “Brooks, wear a suit tonight, please.”

  I rub my palms down the front of my jeans as panic starts to set in. “Um.”

  Shit. I don’t have anything high class for an event like this. The closest thing I have is a vintage dress shirt I grabbed from the Goodwill the day I signed the contact for Ridley Racing. Somehow, I don’t think it’s swanky enough for a charity ball with the rich folk.

  “Faith will take you to get one,” he adds as he digs in his pocket. “She’ll have you lookin’ polished in no time.”

  “We may need the rest of the day off to get him in tip-top shape. Is that okay, Daddy?” She bats her eyelashes in his direction with such a sweet smile that she even gets me excited about the idea of shopping.

  “Sure, baby. Whatever you need. Put it on the company card too. I don’t want Brooks spending a dime from his own pocket.”

  “Can I get the afternoon off too?” Roscoe sweeps the napkin across his face, trying to hide his shit-eating grin.

  “No, son. You have enough clothes. I need you in the garage with me this afternoon.”

  Roscoe’s smile vanishes, and the grumbly guy from earlier returns. “Fine. Shopping with Faith is hell on earth anyway.”

  “I’ll get you a new tie, Roscoe.” She smiles at him before finally turning toward me. “Ready? We have a lot of work to do.”

  “Um,” I mumble.

  “Enjoy,” Roscoe says as Faith stands at the edge of the booth, waiting for me to follow.

  I blow out a quick breath, not sure if I’m ready to learn what he meant by hell on earth, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out. How bad could it be, anyway? A few hours alone with Faith could never be a bad thing.

  FAITH

  Shopping with Brooks is an experience I would rather not repeat. The man hates anything that’s not made of cotton or denim. We’ve spent over two hours picking out suits, dress shirts, and ties for him to try on, and he’s bitched and moaned the entire time. He keeps looking at the price tags and sneaking the clothes back on the racks when I am not looking. He seriously needs an overhaul if he is going to hang out with the Ridleys. Dad doesn’t do anything small, especially parties. This is an event the entire town will be talking about for months, and I can’t risk Brooks walking in looking like some small-town farm boy who just climbed down from a tractor. He can pull it off. The man could wear a garbage bag and still look damn hot, but my dad wouldn’t be happy in the least.

  “Let me see.” I pace outside the dressing room, almost wearing a path into the carpet and trying not to lose my cool.

  “I look like an idiot, Faith.” A hanger drops to the floor, and Brooks curses.

  “Get your ass out here and let me be the judge of that.” My profanity earns me a stern look from a nosy saleswoman. I smile and wave, mouthing an apology when all I really want to tell her is to get lost. “I’m sure you look fine.”

  He fills out a ratty shirt and jeans like he stepped right out of a swanky country cologne commercial. Why would a suit be any different?

  “If by fine you mean a complete nerd, then yeah, I pull it off.”

  I roll my eyes and drop my head forward. The man is impossible. He’s full of cockiness and swagger, but throw a stylish suit on him, and he becomes self-conscious. Suddenly the door creaks open, and I hold my breath, waiting for Brooks to emerge.

  First, a bare foot, then a leg covered in black fabric, and then the entire suit-covered man steps out of the dressing room. He’s bathed in the overhead lighting, looking like he stepped out of my wet dream. My mouth waters, and I clutch my chest. I’m speechless.

  He stares at me with his hands tucked into his pockets and waits.

  I gawk. It is all I can do. The suit is pure perfection on him. It hugs the lines of his body in all the right places and makes him look like he just stepped out of a rugged GQ photoshoot about a billionaire businessman who likes to rough it on the weekends.

  “Well?” he says with wide eyes. “I told you I look stupid.”

  “Wait.” I finally find my voice as he starts to walk back toward the doorway. I twirl my fingers in the air with a small smile. “Turn around.”

  I don’t need him to turn around, but the greedy side of me, the one who’s completely attracted to him, wants to see the entire package from every angle. The suit doesn’t wear him in the least bit. If I ran into him on the street in the outfit, I’d swear it was custom made for his body. The black fabric is perfect, and the red tie with the crisp white shirt even makes the scruff on his face work.

  He sighs loudly and pulls his hands from his pockets before turning in a tight circle. “This doesn’t work.”

  “It looks good on you, Brooks.”

  He glances down with his eyebrows drawn together like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “Yeah?”

  I nod quickly and take a step forward to make a few adjustments near his shoulders. “You wear it well.”

  “I feel like my high school principal.”

  I highly doubt his high school principal from the middle of nowhere Tennessee wore a three-thousand-dollar suit a day in his life. I smooth out the jacket and pull the cuff of his dress shirt out a little near his hands. “You look like a million bucks.”

  “I don’t like the red tie.”

  I step back and take in the entire package, waving my hand and dismissing his comment. “Is there anything you do like?”

  “The way the fabric caresses my dick.” He touches himself and closes his eyes. “It’s quite nice.”

  “You went commando?” I raise my eyebrows, shocked he didn’t bother to mention that fact before he disappeared inside the dressing room. Laughter bubbles out of me, and the saleswoman pops her head around the corner, probably about to call security.

  “Uh, yeah. I never wear underwear.” He grabs his crotch and moans softly. “It’s like the softest hands holding me. Kind of like yours, Faith.”

  Right on cue, the saleswoman steps into the dressing room and clears her throat. “Do you need any help in here?”

  “No, ma’am. We’re going to be purchasing a few suits.” I dig in my purse and grab the company credit card. “Why don’t you hold my charge and give us some privacy. We’ll be done in a little while.”

  She snatches the card from my fingers and smiles. “A few suits?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We need an entire wardrobe.”

  She smiles, almost laughing, and her entire demeanor changes. I’m sure she’s already started to salivate after calculating the amount of commission she is about to make on our very large purchase.

  She shuffles backward and dips her head. “Take all the time you need. I’ll close this dressing room off and give you privacy. If you need anything, just holler. My name is Eileen.”

  “Thanks, Eileen.” Then it dawns on me. Maybe Brooks needed to hear someone else’s opinion before he’d finally believe he looked d
amn fine in that suit. “How do you think he looks in the suit? Should we buy it?”

  Her eyes sweep up Brook’s body before she nods her approval. “He’s a stunner,” she says before she leaves the room and closes the door behind her.

  “See?” I cross my arms and know that Daddy will be proud of how well he cleaned up.

  “She’s paid to say I look good. I could probably wear a thousand-dollar hot-pink tutu, and she’d say the same damn thing.”

  I laugh as I picture him making pirouettes in lace and a leotard. “That I’d love to see.”

  Brooks finally moves in front of the three-way mirror and takes a good look at himself. He makes a few faces and turns slightly to the left and then to the right, checking himself out. “Maybe I don’t look like a total asshat.”

  I walk up behind him and stare at his reflection in the mirror. “You’re kind of hot in that suit.”

  His eyes meet mine, and a small smile tugs at his lips. “How hot?”

  “You might get lucky.” I wiggle my eyebrows playfully.

  He turns and wraps an arm around my back, pulling me against him. “Why, Ms. Ridley, I may walk around in this getup every damn day if it turns you on.”

  I admit that just about everything he wears turns me on. I almost hate myself for wanting him. He’s everything I have tried to avoid my entire life but the only thing I seem to crave.

  He leans forward. “Are you daydreaming about me again, princess?”

  “No,” I whisper against his lips.

  He smirks. “We have the room to ourselves.”

  “We can’t.” I push against his chest.

  I know what’s going to happen next, and it could quite possibly land us both in jail. I can picture my god-awful mugshot on the evening news, and it’s not a pretty sight.

  “We can,” he says and walks me backward. “Live a little.”

  His arm is around my waist, and before I can say another word, he covers my mouth with his lips, sweeping his tongue inside and tangling around mine.

  I hate myself in this moment, but that does not stop me from letting Brooks pull me into the tiny dressing room with him.