Smokin' & Spinnin'

by Miller, Andrea

  He beams at me. “That was fucking awesome!”

  I smile. “Uhh…it’s awesome for now, until the driver that you wrecked comes over to kick your ass!”

  Ryan gives me a “yeah right” look and laughs as he slides out of his #62 Chevrolet. “Shit happens!”

  The reporters scramble at the sight of Ryan and shout rounds of questions. I interject, “One at the time, please! Ryan will answer all your questions!” The reporters take heed and begin to act more graciously.

  “What happened with Greg, Ryan?”

  “I guess he checked up into the corner. It all happened so fast.”

  I laugh to myself. Bullshit! I stand to the side as Ryan continues his post-race interviews. In the middle of the interrogations, my cell phone begins to ring. I am not sure how I even hear it, but I take it out of my back pocket. The number is unfamiliar, so I step away from the chaos to answer it.

  “Whitney,” a recognizable voice calls out sternly to me. “Garrett Carter. May I please speak to my son?”

  My heart skips a beat. How does Garrett have my cell phone number?

  “I…um…Hi…Yes, sir! Just one moment, Mr. Carter.” I walk over to the crowd that has gathered around Ryan. I push through and gain his attention, holding the phone down closely beside me. I raise my hand to the reporters as Ryan watches me warily and completes his sentence. As soon as he finishes, I interject. “That is all. Ryan has an important call to take. Thank you all very much!”

  The reporters groan, but quickly disperse. Ryan raises his eyebrows at me as I hand him my cell phone. I mouth “Garrett” to him. He grabs the phone and walks away. I can tell he is speaking animatedly with his father and wonder what it is about, but I cannot tell with his back to me.

  With his gorgeous megawatt smile, Ryan turns back to face me. I watch him as he speaks to his father. Ryan is beaming from ear to ear. Whew! I was worried there for a moment by the sternness in Garrett’s voice.

  Ryan walks toward me, then suddenly stops. I hear him say, “Hold on, Dad.”

  I watch him as he pulls the phone from his ear and reads the display. He continues walking to me, and his demeanor automatically changes. The look on his face is frightening. My heart flutters.

  He holds the phone back up to his ear. “Dad, I gotta go!”

  What is wrong?

  Ryan takes the phone from his ear again and hastily hits the end button. Then, in one quick movement, he tosses the phone at me. I act fast, but I am unable to catch the phone before it hits me square in the chest.

  “You have an important text message, Whitney!”

  I jump and look at him, confused. Ryan gives me another angry look and walks away.

  I follow behind Ryan as best as I can, but he is pissed. I steal a quick glance at my phone. I swipe the home screen and select “messages.” There is a new message from Colton Johnson. Shit!

  _________________________________________

  It’s been two weeks. Can I see you?

  _________________________________________

  Oh my…Damn! I try in vain to catch up with Ryan, calling out to him. “Ryan,” I shriek for the third time, and he finally turns around. His face is about fifty shades of red. “Look, I can explain…” I plead with him. I look around to make sure that we don’t have an audience. Ryan remains quiet, no doubt too angry to speak. It makes me nervous. I shift from one foot to the other. “Is there somewhere we can discuss this?”

  “This”—he waves his hands in the air as we stand in the dark rows where the buses in the infield are parked—“is as good as it gets.”

  I look down at my feet not knowing what to say at all.

  Ryan explodes. “At least I know you haven’t seen that motherfucker in two weeks!”

  I look back up at him like he has slapped me. “It wasn’t like that, Ryan!”

  “No?” he retorts. “Then how about you tell me what it was like? You said you weren’t seeing him!”

  “Ryan!” I exclaim, flustered. “Can we please get out of here? What if there is someone listening?”

  Ryan grabs me by the arms and pulls me in between two buses. “There!” he shouts. “Go!”

  “Colton…he asked me out. Well, we actually went out for drinks before, but it was not a date or anything.”

  Ryan raises his eyebrow at me in disbelief.

  “I swear!” Colton wanted me to go out with him again, but I told him that I would not risk my job. We had to work together, and it was against GCR policy for us to be involved,” I say, out of breath. “I asked him to give me some time, but I didn’t mean anything by that. I just needed an out.” I look at him intently, praying to God that he believes me.

  Ryan rolls his eyes and turns to walk away.

  I shout at him, “Ryan, don’t you dare walk away from me!”

  He looks over his shoulder, stops briefly only to say, “Go home, Whitney!” and continues to walk away.

  For once, I want to cry, but the tears won’t come. Shocker! I feel like someone has struck me in the back with a two-by-four as I stand in the middle of the buses. I hear a rumble of thunder that lets me know the predicted thunderstorm is beginning to roll in. I look down at my watch. I don’t have the time or luxury to continue this discussion with Ryan. I have to get to the airport, so I don’t follow after him. I just let him go.

  I watch, defeated, as Ryan disappears into the sea of motor coaches. All I can think is, Damn it! Damn Colton! Damn Ryan! Damn it all! I want to throw down and kick and scream like a toddler.

  Another round of thunder breaks me from my internal temper tantrum. I have got to get out of here. I stalk back to the hauler, praying all the way that I can make it to the airport in time and that my flight is not delayed by this weather. As I enter the hauler, my phone prompts me again with an incoming message alert, Colton again.

  ___

  ???

  ___

  I roll my eyes at the message, but I don’t respond. I look up from my phone to find Bobby watching me intently from the counter. It appears he is jotting some notes in his race log, and I have disturbed him.

  “I…um…I am sorry if I interrupted you. I just need to get my bag.”

  Bobby smiles and nods. “That was a hell of a race, wasn’t it?”

  I nod enthusiastically. It really was. “The best so far,” I say to Bobby. “Well, of course, it is only my third one.” I laugh. “I have never seen anything like that. It’s so…” I wave my hands in front of me, desperately seeking the right word, and Bobby finishes my sentence for me.

  “It’s a rush.”

  “Yes!” I exclaim, and I point my finger at Bobby. He laughs at me.

  “You know, Whitney…I have been trying to process these last few weeks and make heads or tails of Ryan’s recent turnaround.”

  I nod, verifying that I am following the conversation.

  “And the only common variable that I can come up with is you!”

  What! I snap my head back to attention. My eyes widen. “I don’t know what you mean, Bobby.”

  He continues, “Ryan’s first top-ten finish of the season was the first weekend that you were at the track as his PR manager after Annalise left.”

  My blood boils at the sound of her name. Bitch! I look at Bobby with shocked surprise. I am not sure what he is getting at.

  “I may be old, Whitney,” Bobby says, “but I am far from stupid. I have witnessed some noticeable changes in Ryan in the past few weeks, all for the good. And for all intents and purposes, I hope he maintains it.”

  I mutter under my breath, “I’m not so sure.”

  Bobby laughs, “He is a stubborn old bastard, just like his daddy. He will come around, though.”

  I blush and look down at the metal floor. Suddenly, I am scared. Does he know? If Bobby knows, then who else knows?

  I look back up. “Bobby…I…”

  He interjects by throwing up his hands. “I am not sure what you’re doing, if you’re doing anything at all, but whateve
r it is, it’s keeping Ryan in the top ten. And frankly, I don’t give a shit. Just keep him from smoking and spinning. That is all I give a damn about.” I jump at Bobby’s expletive outburst.

  I smile nervously, but at the same time, I feel the need to reach out and hug him. I take Bobby by surprise as I reach out and grab this big old bear of a man by the neck and pull him into an embrace. Even though I can tell he is surprised, he wraps his arms around me in return. Instantly, I feel better.

  I just make it to the airport. My flight is barely given clearance as the thunderstorms roll in behind me. I stow my bag in the overhead compartment just as the flight attendant calls for all electronic devices to be turned off. You know, that is not a bad idea. I am going to turn off this cell phone and not turn it back on until Monday morning. No calls, no texts, and no e-mails. It will all wait until Monday because finally I have a day off. Praise the Lord!

  All of a sudden, Brooke comes to mind. Shit! I told her that I would spend tomorrow with her since I have not seen her in a week. I fire off a quick text to her.

  ___________________________________________

  Long nite in Kentuck! Plane delayed. Exhausted.

  Call you tomorrow when I wake up.

  ___________________________________________

  I hate to lie, but I need some time to myself tomorrow. I press send. I have been across the United States in three weeks, and I need some rest. I switch my phone to off and feel like a thousand pounds have been lifted off my shoulders. Who knew one little device could harbor such emotions of anxiety and stress?

  I try in vain to get comfortable, thankful that the plane ride this weekend is a short one. I fail. The airplane reaches a cruising altitude, and I switch on my iPod. I decide to select a playlist. I don’t want to leave a shuffle selection up to fate, especially after the night I had.

  I select the John Mayer playlist. This is safe, maybe? “Back to You” begins to pipe through my ears. I swear. I cannot win with this device either. The remainder of the flight epitomizes that song. No matter what I do, my thoughts come back to Ryan. Our argument tonight, the late night at his home, the night he showed up unannounced at my apartment, it has all happened so fast. I guess now it is over just as fast. But, it is probably for the best. I sigh as I try not to think about that.

  But my thoughts don’t relent. They make me angry instead. I am upset that Ryan would not listen to my explanation. I told him the truth about Colton, and I have done nothing wrong. He can be mad all he wants, but now I am mad because he’s acting like a child.

  But, why would he get so mad? Why would he care, unless he is jealous? Wait a minute…I mean, surely not. He has a new girl every week at the track. This is just a passing fling for him. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable.

  In the midst of all that has happened, I have not had a chance to think myself. Actually, I did not think at all when I jumped into bed with Ryan, where it might lead or how long it might last. He will eventually move on, Whitney, I scold myself. And I am right, it is only a matter of time.

  Chapter 20

  Ifinally reach my apartment shortly after midnight. I am so exhausted from the weekend and my internal conflict that I am nauseous. I throw my bag down in the kitchen and lock the door behind me. I peel my clothes off down the hallway and leave a trail into the bedroom. I am not getting a shower because I am too exhausted to stand up. I pull on an old Georgia Southern T-shirt and clean underwear. If you can’t take a shower, clean underwear is always the next best alternative.

  I walk into the bathroom and remember that Brooke gave me a supply of Ambien to help with the jet lag that I experienced from Sonoma. I think I might need one now. I am so exhausted that I shouldn’t have a problem sleeping, but I want to make sure. I don’t want to spend the night tossing and turning and thinking about him. So, I grab the bottle and shake one out, then take a sip of water out of the faucet to wash it down. There! I have the day off tomorrow, and I plan to enjoy it. I barely make it to the bed before I am out like a light and glorious sleep befriends me.

  A slight pounding noise breaks me from my deep, drug-induced sleep, but I am too blissfully serene to care. I roll over and hug my cool pillow as I succumb to the wonders of modern medicine again.

  * * *

  After what seems like years, my eyes flutter open. I feel rested, but I am in a state of not being able to wake up, not to mention slightly disoriented. A loud pounding noise breaks me from my present state. What is that? I toss and turn, trying to regain my blissful slumber, but the hammering continues. I sit up in my bed warily. It takes me a beat to realize that someone is knocking on my door.

  I struggle to my feet and pad down the hallway in a daze as the knocking turns to pounding. What in the world? Still dazed, I open the door.

  “Jesus Christ, Whitney!” Ryan shouts at me, infuriated. I wince as he pushes me back inside and closes the door behind him. The door clicks, and Ryan booms again, “Where in the hell have you been?”

  It takes me a few minutes to process his words because I am still stoned from the Ambien.

  “Whitney!”

  I shake my head. “What?” I shout. “Where do you think I have been? What does it look like?” I look down at myself and realize that I need more clothes on.

  Ryan walks over to the island in my kitchen to put down his cell phone and keys. “What is wrong with you? Whitney, did you take something?” he asks, turning back to me.

  I give him my devilish grin. “Ambien!”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “How long have you been asleep?”

  “I don’t know…What time is it?” I fumble.

  “Whitney, it is nearly three o’clock in the afternoon!”

  Holy shit! That is some good stuff right there.

  “Oh! I don’t know…a couple, twelve hours, maybe fourteen.” I raise my eyebrows at him innocently, knowing full well that I am about to incite another riot.

  “Jesus, Whitney! No wonder you haven’t answered my calls or messages! And I have been pounding on your door since nine a.m.! What if someone saw or recognized me?”

  I am mad now. Ryan has barged into my house again, unannounced, and woken me up from my glorious sleep. “Don’t you dare start with me! I am—was—exhausted. You pissed me off, and I wanted to be left alone! So, I turned my phone off.”

  Speaking of my phone, where in the world is it? I start looking around at my bags that are scattered around on the floor, lying right where I left them early this morning. I lean down to grab my carryon bag, and I can feel Ryan’s eyes on me.

  “What are you looking for?” Ryan asks, aggravated.

  “My damn phone!” I reply, mirroring his tone.

  I quickly find my iPhone and press the on button until it lights up. I steal a quick glance at Ryan, who is watching me intently. I walk over, place my phone on the island beside his, and roll my eyes at him all at the same time. He reaches out abruptly and pulls me into his arms.

  Ryan runs his hand around my neck and up into my hair. Instantly, I go weak at the knees. “You made me mad too, but I was worried about you!”

  Oh my!

  Ryan searches my face. “You need to wake up. Do you need something to drink?” he says, but he does not turn me loose. He leans over to press his lips against mine. I place my hand across his chest and press firmly to stop him.

  I can feel his pectoral muscles against the palm of my hand, and my breath hitches in my throat. No matter how mad at am I am, I cannot resist him, but I’m going to try. “I am still pissed at you! So don’t think you can waltz in here, sweep me off my feet, and everything is fine.”

  I pull back from him, but Ryan holds me firmly in place. Slowly he smiles. “I want to be so angry with you, but for the life of me, all I can think about is making love to you.”

  I blush. And then I go weak in the knees again. Damn! How does he have this power over me? And like him, I can’t stay mad at him either. I shake my head and look down, not knowing what to say. Ryan gently pla
ces his hand under my chin and pulls my face up to meet his.

  As he leans in to kiss me, a series of loud cell phone message alerts come through. It sounds like a chorus of electronic tones signaling new e-mails, voicemails and text messages. I look up at Ryan and then over to my phone. He pulls my face back to him. He leans into my body again, but this time holds me in a tighter embrace. He presses his soft lips to mine. I run my hands up into his brown hair and sigh against his kiss.

  Then, all of a sudden, our embrace is interrupted by another loud knock on my door. We both jump back. Shit! My apartment is like Grand freaking Central Station today. I leap out of Ryan’s embrace and rush over to the door.

  “What the hell?” Ryan exclaims as I go to look out the peephole.

  I have a deep pool of dread in my stomach because I already know who it is. I look through the peephole and confirm my suspicions. It is Brooke and Matt. Double shit! I turn back to Ryan and shoo him away.

  “Who is it?” Ryan whispers.

  “Brooke,” I hiss.

  “Whitney!” Brooke shouts from outside of the door.

  I jump again. I turn back to Ryan and mouth, “Go, go! To my bedroom! Just hide!”

  Ryan turns sharply on his heel and disappears just as I hear Brooke fumbling for her keys. I snatch open the door.

  “Whitney!” Brooke exclaims. “Where the hell have you been?”

  I jump back at her outburst. What is with these people? Jeezus.

  “Where does it look like I’ve been?” I throw my hands down at my clothes—or lack thereof.

  Brooke barges through the door, and Matthew follows behind her like a whipped dog. She is carrying a garment bag that looks to be packed full of clothes. Suddenly, I remember what we were going to do today. She was bringing me clothes to try on for Daytona week. Crap! I watch as Brooke tosses the bag onto the coffee table.

  “What are y’all doing here?” I say.

  “Whitney, I have been trying to call you all day, and I panicked when I couldn’t reach you!”

  “Why? Didn’t you receive my text message?” I question her, recalling the last message I sent to Brooke before the plane departed.