He kisses my forehead tenderly. I look up at him. Yeah...I could probably change and still meet Rachael in time for the movie but I just don’t feel like going out now. He places his hand underneath my chin and gently lifts until my lips are pointing upwards. Our lips meet and we share a kiss—slowly, tenderly at first before it picks up momentum and passion.
Suddenly his hands are everywhere. First my sweater comes off as he tears it from my body. He grabs the hem of my mini and with surprising strength pulls it up and over my head. As it drops to the floor he begins kissing my neck and the tops of my shoulders. Goose bumps break out and a thrill of pleasure springs from his lips and tongue and travels up and down my spine giving me the chills.
He pauses for a second, allowing me to unbuckle his belt and when I can’t get his pants undone fast enough he pushes my hands away and does it himself. He shoves me up against the wall and rips my thin lacy black bra from my breasts. For some reason, by the end, I’m pleading with him to forgive me for provoking him to hit me. How fucked up is that?
The Bank of America 500, Present day…
We have high hopes for today’s race. Two days ago, Marco turned in his fastest qualifying time ever. This is the best start Marco has had since his rookie season when he won the pole on his second ever NASCAR race. During the final pre-race team meeting today they were doing everything but toasting champagne over his victory that many think is already in the bag. Marco is back in the new and improved number 7 car and they seemed to have found the sweet spot with the new engine and they’ve been turning in lap times a full three seconds faster than the previous three months.
I’ve got all kinds of thoughts running around in my head as I climb the stairs up to the spotter’s stand. Harvey invited me to watch the race with him again and I accepted the invitation. It’s a hot one though. According to the official thermometer it’s 93 in the sun and I have a feeling it’s going to get a good ten degrees hotter by the time the race is over. The nice thing about hanging out in the spotters stand I don’t have to wear a safety helmet like the pit crew and I can loosen up the collar of my Nomex suit and let it breathe a little.
I scan the cars lined up all nice and neat waiting for the national anthem and those four famous words: “Gentlemen, start your engines.” I count four rows before I come across the number 7 car. Marco is lined up on the inside of the gold and green number 111 car. I have no idea who it belongs to, but I do know that Marco would have had to beat him in order to get the inside spot on their number 5 row. I’m just about to ask Harvey who the other guy is when the National Anthem begins. I face the flag and mouth the words as my heart begins to hammer in my chest. Finally I’m starting to feel the pre-race excitement that the whole crew has been talking about all week. Harvey looks over at me.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks with a huge smile on his face.
And just like that the entire arena is filled with the thunderous roar. I can feel the throaty engines rumbling in my chest and it just makes my heart pound even harder. I watch with renewed excitement as the cars begin going around the track following the pace car. I look over at Harvey as the pace car pulls off the track and the race begins in earnest. I wonder if he has lost that feeling of excitement that brought him to the track the first time. Looking at him now, I’d guess his first race was a little over forty-three, forty-four years ago. I bet that when he was a little boy he probably dreamed of racing as well. I wonder if he ever raced. Because of the vast knowledge you have to have as a spotter it only makes sense that he would be a former wheelman. I’m just about to ask him when he lets loose a long string of four letter words before ripping his headset off and throwing it as far as he can throw off over behind the spotter stand. Seeing my bewildered expression he stops mid rant.
“He blew up the engine,” he said before making his way to the stairs.
Feeling completely crushed, I follow him down and back to our pit box. Going from a state of extreme excitement to crushing defeat in an instant is more than a little difficult to handle. At least when your car completes the race it’s a softer let down when you lose, you see it coming. To blow up your engine on the first lap is completely unexpected and utterly depressing. So many high hopes and so much work just went up in smoke! I totally get why Harvey reacted the way he did.
I reach our pit box just before Marco comes jogging up. He’s sweaty, out of breath, and has an ugly look on his face. He pauses for a second like he’s looking for someone. I’m just about to say, I’m right here, when he makes a beeline for the corner of the pit box where crew chief Alanzo is standing. Just before Marco reaches the two men he lowers his head and shoulders and charges Alanzo. He hits the man squarely in the chest and they go flying head over heels. At first the pit crew just stands there in favor of letting the two men work out their differences, but when it looks like Marco intends to do far more than just work it out, they all intervene and pull the two angry men apart.
“What the fuck was that?” yells Alanzo. He is bleeding from a split lip and it looks like his eye has begun to swell.
“Thanks to you we’ve lost the only engine we have!” Marco rages.
Now here’s a side I have never seen. He is normally calm, collected, and doesn’t let the little stuff get to him. I guess he considers this the big stuff. Other than ruffled hair it appears that Marco was doing all the hitting and that’s why the crew intervened. Smart move. Just because fists are no longer flying doesn’t mean the situation has been diffused. For the next 45 minutes or so fingers are pointed, accusations fly as crew members attempt to make sense of what just happened and what they’re going to do about it.
The team has just a matter of weeks to field a car for the FEDEX 400 at Dover International Speedway. As to whether that is possible or not depends on which crew member you ask. Since me and Rachael’s day is over we head back to her trailer to pop a few cold ones and stay out of the heat.
“So how are you?” Rachael asks as she passes me another Corona.
“Fine,” I reply.
“Fine, really?”
“What do you mean?” I ask. I’m not sure what she’s getting at.
“It’s just that you seem to be doing the same thing with Marco that you did with Danny.”
So this is what the brews are all about. She wants to know about me and Marco. She’s concerned I’ll get hurt like before.
“This is different, Rachael. No one is slapping me around or screaming and yelling. He respects me and I respect him, so please don’t compare Marco with Danny.”
“It just looks like—”
“So he’s got a little temper on him...who doesn’t? He’s passionate about racing and doesn’t like it when someone from the pit crew ends his race almost before it even gets started. I’d be pissed too."
“I’m just looking out for you, Carrie. I don’t want to have to put you back together again after some asshole rips you apart like Danny did.”
“Not going to happen, Rachael. Now let’s just forget about Marco and relax. The next two weeks are bound to be a little crazy. And to tell you the truth, I could use a little break from Marco and all the drama so let—”
A sudden banging on my trailer door puts an abrupt halt to our conversation. Now what? As I walk over to the door I can feel my shoulders begin to tense up and my heart quickens.
“Who is it?” I holler.
“Doc, it’s me. Lemme in.”
I turn to Rachael. “How’d he know I was here?” I hiss at her. Her blank look tells me everything. She has no idea what he’s doing here either.
“What do you want?” I holler through the door.
“I need to be seen by my doctor,” he replies.
“Doctor Collins is gone for the day,” I reply, knowing full well that he means me and not literally his doctor. “What’d you do, sprain a toe or something?”
“Just let me in.”
“Let him in already!” Rachael says. “Otherwise we’ll never get rid of him.�
��
I unlock the door and Marco just about falls in. He must have been practically leaning up against the door.
“So what’s so urgent that it couldn’t wait till morning?” I ask as he barges in.
He looks around the room, spots Rachael, then says to me. “In private please. You know...doctor patient confidentiality and all...”
“She’s part of your medical staff too,” I protest.
“Carrie!”
“Fine,” I reply. “Let me get my stuff.
“You sure you want to do this?” Rachael asks me when she catches my eye.
“Yeah I’m sure,” I reply. She shakes her head at me.
Marco follows me out the door and over to my trailer. We go inside and I direct him over to my couch. Hopefully he behaves himself this time.
“What’s so important that it couldn’t wait till tomorrow?” I ask him.
“Aren’t you going to at least sit down?” he asks me. “I promise I won’t bite.”
“You did the last time you were in here,” I reply, looking at him with a meaningful expression.
“I think I did a little more than just bite, it memory serves me correctly.”
My face suddenly begins to burn as the memory springs to life in my mind. Yeah, that was a memorable time.
“So why are you here Marco?” I ask again.
“After the day I’ve had...we’ve had, I figure we both could use the company.”
“Look, why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I jump into the shower.”
“Go right ahead, Doc.”
Without giving it a second thought, I go to the back of my trailer, strip down, and hop into the shower. I wash up quickly. I don’t want to give Marco enough time to start thinking that my trip to the shower was an invitation for him to join me.
Ten minutes later I emerge, clean, refreshed, and wearing a pair of shorts and a comfortable tee. I walk back into the living room. He’s got the TV on, tuned into the Speed channel. They’re doing a broadcast about NHRA drag racing. I walk into the room, a comment about the TV frozen on my lips as I drink in his naked body sprawled out on my couch. I hold my breath as I stand there, letting my eyes sweep over his muscular frame. His muscles are well defined without being grossly muscular. He obviously spends time at the gym, but he hasn’t made a career of it. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as my body begins to respond to the sight of him. I knew bringing him here tonight was a bad idea.
“Finished looking?” he asks.
His sudden voice makes me jump. Busted. I had no idea he saw me standing here. Then, as if he can read my mind he explains.
“It’s your TV that did you in. I can see your reflection, Doc. Now why don’t you come over here and make yourself comfortable.”
“You know, I just took shower so you wouldn’t have to deal with my sweat. What makes you think I want anything to do with yours?”
“Oh you do,” he replies with his insufferable confidence. “You’ve been standing there for...” he pauses and looks at his watch. “You been standing there staring at me for a half a minute now. I’m pretty sure you’ll put up with my masculine scent, Doc.”
Shit, he’s right. I want him, dammit. I slip my shorts down over my hips, but leave my panties in place. He has to work a little for it. I pull my tee over my head. Should have worn a bra. I walk over to him and stand directly in front of the TV. His reaction is nearly instantaneous. I sit on the edge of the couch, determined to make him make the first move. He does. He shifts a little to the left and cranes his neck so he can see around me. Damn him! Just as I am steeling myself to resist his nearly absent charms my hand encounters his swollen member and I can’t help but caress him.
“Well you didn’t hold out long,” he says, grinning mischievously.
That’s it. I let go and smack his thigh, quite a bit harder than I intended to. He winces, then grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me against his hard body. Our mouths find each other's and our tongues tangle to the tune of the Speed channels expose on drag racing. I lose my grip on Marco’s shoulders and he inadvertently bucks me clean off the couch. I can’t quite get my arms in position to break my fall before my head meets the tiled floor.
18 months ago…
My head hits the floor with an audible crack. It’s hard enough to scramble my brains and make me wonder what the hell I’m doing lying on the floor dressed in an evening gown. I open my eyes to a blurred face looming over me. I press the palms of my hands to my eyes and rub vigorously before opening them again. This time the picture’s clear, crystal clear. An ugly grimace replaces the ever-present smile on Danny’s face. He’s bleeding from a split lower lip and I have to wonder, did I give that to him? I start to get up but a polished shoe on my chest forces me back on the hard tiled floor. I don’t understand, what could I have possibly done to deserve this kind of treatment. I must have royally fucked up!
Danny wipes his mouth on the pristine white sleeve of his dress shirt; it leaves a long bloody trail mixed with saliva.
“I-I’m s-sorry,” I stutter.
“Sorry?” he asks. “Sorry for what?”
“For what I did,” I reply. I’m not even sure at this point what my awful transgression was, but it must have been significant.
“You don’t even know,” he says with a sneer.
No, I don’t. And I don’t understand how such a loving, good man could look at me this way, and with those eyes. They’re blazing with hate. I have to try to get through to him or he’s gonna really hurt me this time.
“Look Danny, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not myself right now. I should treat you better, I know. Please forgive me...”
My voice trails off. I just don’t have any conviction behind what I’m saying and I wonder if he can pick up on it. My head is pounding. I must have a knot the size of a grapefruit judging by the pain I’m feeling. He takes his foot off my chest and this time when I move to roll over on my side he doesn’t prevent me. Slowly, with great care, I bring my knees up to my chest, then roll sideways to where I’m on my knees. My elbows and head are still on the cold tile. I open my eyes, turning my head slightly to the right. I can see my fiancé’s shoes. He hasn’t moved a muscle to help me stand up. I raise my head from the floor, then I straighten up. I’m on my knees still, but I’m halfway to a standing position. I turn my head and look up at him. The rage seems to be gone from his eyes and now he’s just looking at me absentmindedly, almost curiously, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m up to. I will myself to ignore my pounding head and grab the kitchen countertop to help me stand. Once on my feet, I’m still a bit wobbly, but my head actually feels a little better.
Danny looks at me a moment longer then says, “Get me a beer will ya?” Then he just goes over and sits down on the couch and turns on the television and just like that, it’s like nothing ever happened.
Present Day…
I sit up, stunned and more than a little disoriented. Instantly Marco is at my side apologizing.
“You okay babe? I’m so sorry. I got a little carried away. Won’t happen again, I promise.”
“What? I sure hope it happens again,” I reply. “Well, not the head hitting the floor part, but everything else, yes.”
He fawns over me for a few more minutes then helps me back on the couch where we spoon, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking. Why can’t Marco be an investment banker or a doctor or lawyer? Why do I have to fall in with another driver? He seems different though, and I have to repeatedly remind myself that he is not Danny. Not even remotely close. But if he is okay why is it so damned hard to convince myself of that? The pit box! That’s what’s really bothering me. Not the fact that my head hitting the floor caused another flashback. It’s the fact that in the heat of losing a race, blowing up his only car, in the blink of an eye he goes from mister nice guy to mister beating-the-crap-out-of-his-crew-chief kind of guy.
When is that latent anger going to be turned on me?
; Chapter Seven
Delirious
“Once you’ve raced, you never forget it… and you never get over it…” Richard Childress
Carrie
Atop the Spotter’s stand at the Food City 500, Present Day...
“How’s Marco running?” I ask.
I’ve just joined Harvey and the other spotters for today’s race. It’s a little cool for my taste up here. The ground temperature is 56 degrees, but the thermometer up here is a good five degrees cooler. When you factor in for the constant breeze today that must put it somewhere around 50 degrees. I’m sure the drivers are loving the weather today, and with no rain on the horizon it’s going to stay this way.
“Not bad actually.” Harvey responds. “He’s staying just ahead of the pack and out of trouble. You see him there?”
He hands me an extra pair of binoculars. It takes a second, but I finally zero in on the number 7 car right next to number 8. I can’t help but feel the anxiety watching Marco race. I’m not so much afraid he’s gonna die in a wreck as I am he won’t finish the race. Every time he doesn’t finish it affects him and his level of confidence. If he can’t finish a single race before Daytona, how’s he going to have the confidence he needs to win the big one? Short answer, he won’t, and that’s the reason for my nails being worn down to the nubbins. If the team disbands and Marco loses his ride I’m pretty sure no team will touch me. Race car drivers are extremely superstitious. A nurse that is always on the losing team won’t be allowed within a hundred yards of any other team.
“Hey, look at that!” shouts Harvey, pointing at Marco.
I follow his finger till I see Marco. His bumper is glued to the number 8 car, they’re tandem racing. It’s given them just the right amount of speed to begin moving up.
“How far back is Marco now?”
“Fourteen and fifteen, on lap nineteen.”
“Long way to go,” I reply.
The next several hours are almost unbearable. Marco is racing like his late father. He’s turning some amazing lap times. Now, with only ten laps to go, number 8 has the number 4 spot and he’s got the number 5. This will be his best finish in a long time if he can just hold on. There is one thing I am curious about. I wait till Harvey is finished talking to Marco before I talk.
Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance) Page 5
