Smokin' & Spinnin'

by Miller, Andrea

  I sit up and look at the roses and breakfast again. He does care on some level, no matter what my subconscious might say. I stand up shakily and walk over to the table. The breakfast smells heavenly. Before I sit down, I reach out and finger the gorgeous white roses that grace the table. So soft. Hmmm, I wonder. Why white? Doesn’t each color stand for something? I will have to ask him. No, don’t even go there, Whitney! He probably doesn’t even know himself. Just leave well enough alone.

  * * *

  Ryan was right. After a good breakfast, Advil, and a hot shower, I feel good as new. Plus, my anxieties from this morning seemed to have passed. As I approach the pedestrian tunnel, race adrenaline begins pumping carelessly through my veins. I am filled with exhilaration as I jump out of the Escalade and bid Max good-bye.

  Today is a huge day, qualifying. This is as big, if not bigger, than the race itself since the time trial decides how each car will start the race. There are fifty cars on the docket today, but only forty-four will make the cut. Ryan has secured a morning qualifying position, while Garrett will take his turn in the afternoon.

  We have events scattered throughout the day, as if qualifying wasn’t enough. At lunch, we have a photo shoot with Ryan’s car for the race. It has a special paint scheme to celebrate the Fourth of July. Then, we have a meet and greet in the Sprint Fan Zone at 1:00 p.m., and lastly, a ribbon cutting and cocktail reception for the new opening of the Carter Racing Legacy display in the Daytona 500 Experience. It makes me exhausted just thinking about it all, but I can’t think about anyone or anything right now. I have a job to do.

  The hauler is quiet. Everyone must be over in the garage. I place my duffel and my garment bag in my usual spot. Since today is so hectic, I won’t have time to go back to the hotel to change before the reception. I will have to change into my cocktail dress here.

  I set out to the garage to see how close we are to Ryan’s qualifying slot. When I arrive, everyone is gathered around Ryan’s car as he sits inside. Bobby is talking animatedly and waving his hands in the air, which I’m sure means he is giving Ryan a lecture. I laugh.

  The sound of my laughter causes everyone to turn in my direction. I flush, then smile.

  Bobby walks over to me. “It is almost his turn, and then he is all yours!”

  I laugh at him. “So soon?”

  Ryan interjects. “I can hear y’all, you know!”

  I smile at Ryan. “I would be worried if you didn’t,” I snap, then turn back to Bobby. “How is the car?”

  Bobby sighs, “It is good, real good, probably the best car we’ve had all season, but if hothead doesn’t keep his britches on and learn to be patient, we are all screwed!”

  I almost choke on Bobby’s response. Ryan gives us both a disapproving look and then fires the engine to his number #62 Chevrolet. We watch and laugh at his expense as he backs his car out of the garage to proceed to pit road.

  Bobby and I stand in the garage and watch the monitor as Ryan takes the track for his warm-up laps. I take a deep breath.

  “It has gotten to you, hasn’t it?”

  Bobby’s question takes me aback, and I blink rapidly, trying to process his question. Did he say “it” or “he”?

  Bobby quickly clarifies. “Racing, the adrenaline?”

  I take another deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “Yes, it has.” I smile.

  “Ryan really does have a great car for Saturday, and I just hope he can keep a clear head about him. We need a win badly.” Bobby sighs.

  “I understand.” I nod, then turn my attention back toward the monitor as Ryan gets the green flag for his qualifying lap.

  Bobby is very tense, and I can’t hear the words that he is muttering under his breath. Ryan is moving effortlessly through the turns and then fires down the back straightaway. The monitor displays his current speed versus cars that have already qualified. Unfortunately, I don’t have a clue as to what they mean or how Ryan relates.

  Ryan sticks the car down low, very close to the apron, as he navigates turn three, then turn four. He guns the car out of the last turn, then fires across the front stretch.

  As Ryan crosses the start/finish line, Bobby lets out a throaty and exaggerated, “Yeeeaaahhh, baby! That’s what I am talking about!”

  Bobby fist pumps the air and sets off. I look back at the monitor, and Ryan has posted the fastest time trial so far, but there are still many more to go. It will be late afternoon before the final pole position is determined. So far, it looks good for Ryan. I turn to retreat back to the hauler, when a firm arm snakes around my waist. I step back, stunned by the touch, and am pulled into the arms of Colton Johnson.

  My eyes are wide with surprise, which he laughs off. I try in vain to wriggle from his grasp, but he holds me tighter.

  “You never texted me back last week,” Colton says softly in my neck. He is very calm, but something about his statement is very menacing.

  “I…I turned my phone off when I left Kentucky and didn’t receive your message until the next day.” I mumble the lie very unconvincingly. In the distance, I can hear a car making its way to the garage, and I fear its Ryan.

  Colton’s embrace makes my stomach roll with nausea. I fight off the urge to convulse because Ryan now owns my body, and any touch other than his is just repulsive. I try to pull away from Colton again, but he tightens his grip on me once more. This time it starts to hurt.

  My pulse quickens as Colton leans over and whispers into my ear, “I don’t take well to being ignored, and I have been waiting a long time, Whitney.” I can feel his lips move against my skin, and his breath is hot on my face. Colton’s words and his manner send fear radiating across my body.

  I gasp, not knowing what to say, and the inevitable happens. Ryan pulls his car into the garage. I look away from Colton and meet Ryan’s cold gaze. I can tell he is very angry from witnessing Colton’s grip on me. I try again to step out of his reach, failing again.

  “Colton, now is just not the right time,” I say softly, looking at him and watching from the corner of my eye as Ryan climbs out of his car.

  Colton plants a chaste kiss on my cheek, then releases me with such force it causes me to stumble backward. He smiles a curt smile, slightly turns his head to acknowledge Ryan, nods, then walks away just as Ryan reaches my side.

  “What the fuck was that about?”

  Ryan’s tone stuns me. “I…I…” I fumble for the words, still in shock about the encounter with Colton. “It was nothing,” I say, trying to defuse the situation.

  “It sure as hell didn’t look like nothing,” Ryan snaps and walks away.

  I can’t breathe. What just happened here? Colton completely flipped the switch on me. What a terrible misjudgment of character on my part! I gasp in desperation from this exchange with Colton and now a very angry Ryan Carter. Here we go again…

  * * *

  I step back into the hauler. It is empty except for Ryan, who is perched on a stool with his head leaning back against the wall. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

  I wait for a few minutes, then say, “It’s time for the meet and greet.”

  Ryan abruptly opens his eyes, and his expression tells me that he is still radiating anger. He jumps down from the stool and walks past me in a huff. I follow suit behind him silent but frustrated.

  After we take a few hundred steps in silence to the Sprint Fan Zone, I finally say, “He was angry with me because I didn’t text him back last week.”

  Ryan stops cold in his tracks. “I don’t give a damn what it was about, but I don’t like it. I don’t want him near you, much less have his hands all over you. Do you understand me?”

  I step back, shocked by his sudden outburst. Whoa. Jealous much?

  Before I can respond, Ryan explodes again. “You know, I don’t even care right now! I have too much on my plate and way too much at stake for this bullshit.” He waves his hands in the air for effect, then turns and stalks away. My shoulders fall in defeat. He is so unbelie
vably stubborn, but he is right. I let him go.

  There are cars still waiting to qualify as we take the final shots of Ryan with his Fourth of July–themed Chevrolet. I can tell he is still mad even though it has been several hours since the incident with Colton. I have tried to give him some space because I know he is anxious about the qualifying times. So far, he still has pole position.

  As soon as the photographer wraps, I leave quietly to go to the hauler and get my clothes to change for the cocktail party at the Daytona 500 Experience. Brooke brought over a beautiful short black cocktail dress for the reception. I am excited to wear it. It is a fit and flare with layers of black ruffles that start at the waist. Oh! And let me not forget about the gorgeous black-and-silver Jimmy Choos that Brooke has let me borrow. I am surprised she didn’t make me sign a waiver to wear them—or that she didn’t come back to the apartment and take them back after our fight. I laugh to myself.

  I take my bags and set off for the ladies’ room in the VIP area to change. It is quiet, and I have the bathroom to myself. It would be so nice to have a shower to wash off the Florida humidity, but it wouldn’t last for long since I am going right back out in it. I spread out my makeup and find a plug-in for my CHI iron. After washing my face, I hoist myself up on the counter, trying hard not to think about how wonderfully this day started and how it has progressed. What a disaster! I hope that I can salvage the evening at the Carter Legacy opening. I completely redo my makeup and try in vain to take the frizz out of my brown locks with not much luck. Reluctantly, I pull it back in a loose, high bun. A few short layers fall in tendrils around my face thanks to the heat. This is the best I can do for now. I step into one of the stalls and strip down. The cool air feels good on my naked body, and I lean against the cool metal stall door to steady myself and my nerves. I have half a mind to just hide in here for the rest of the night. Wouldn’t that be nice? Would anyone even notice?

  I slide into the black dress, and it fits me perfectly. I take out my flip-flops for now. I still have to walk back to the hauler, then over to the Experience. While the Jimmy Choos look good, they are hell on the feet, and I wouldn’t dream about ruining Brooke’s shoes. Our friendship is a different story. It seems like I’m doing a great job of jeopardizing it these days. I sigh. I take out my cell phone to send her a quick text.

  ____________________________________________

  Can we have dinner next week? I need to talk to you.

  _____________________________________________

  I hesitate over the send button, but only for a moment. Ryan said that I could tell her. I want to tell her. Maybe she can help me sort this all out. I hit send. I gather up my belongings and steal a glance at my phone for the time. I am right on schedule.

  I step out of the hauler and take a deep breath. I have a long walk in these heels, but here goes nothing. Before I can take a step, a blue GCR golf cart flies up beside me and screeches to a halt. The driver lets out a long whistle.

  “Hey Whitney, you clean up good!”

  I laugh. It is Justin, a young, sandy-haired crew member who can’t even be eighteen years old.

  “Thank you!” I say politely. “Can you give me a lift?”

  “Of course, let’s go!”

  I sit down in the golf cart, and Justin takes off with a jolt. I have to hold on to the side to steady myself.

  “Sorry!” Justin smiles apologetically. “Can you believe we could possibly have pole position for Saturday?” he says excitedly.

  “I know! It is exciting!” I reply as we pull up to the museum. I take a few seconds to gather my senses before I get out of the golf cart.

  “Have fun tonight! We didn’t get the invite,” Justin says, referencing some of the other crew members. He is basically a gofer, but I can tell he loves his job. Surely, he is happy to do whatever they tell him to do just to be a part of this race team. I can now relate to what a privilege it is to work for a NASCAR organization.

  I smile sweetly at him as I step off the golf cart. “Well, if I had known that, you could have come as my date!”

  Justin flushes about twenty shades of red. I wave good-bye, and he gives me a wink as he takes off.

  Chapter 25

  Iwalk into the Daytona 500 Experience a few minutes early. I produce my team credentials and am ushered quickly through the door. I have only taken a few steps into the museum when I am thrust a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Scared to tell the overexuberant server no, I take a glass. I wonder if it would be impolite to take two. I shake my head. Remember last night, Whitney. We don’t need a repeat, I chastise myself.

  There are a few early partygoers milling around the exhibition hall. I can see the area that holds the Carter Racing Legacy display, but it is covered by a cobalt-blue cape and a huge red ribbon. I take a moment to look at the other displays and am captivated by the rich family history and legacy that NASCAR is enthralled in. It is amazing.

  I am distracted from my reverie by the entrance of a large group of people. I look up from the Daytona display to see Garrett and a beautiful brown-haired woman in her midfifties who I assume is Ryan’s mother, Laura. They make their way into the museum, and a throng of people flock to them. Garrett and Laura greet each one of them warmly and fondly. It makes me feel very comfortable. Garrett makes eye contact with me and smiles curtly. Then, he proceeds to lead Laura over, and my anxiety level is back on the rise. I take a deep breath as he approaches.

  “Whitney,” Garrett says formally, “I would like for you to meet my wife, Ryan’s mother, Laura.” He pauses. “Laura, this is Whitney Parker, Ryan’s new public relations manager.”

  I smile and offer my hand, which she takes and smiles grandly, making me comfortable in their presence. Laura is beautiful and says kindly, “Whitney! I have heard so much about you and how you are making a huge difference with Ryan.” Really?

  I smile, although I’m confused. “Thank you, though it is more than a full-time job.” Both Garrett and Laura look at one another and laugh out loud at my joke. I am sure they can relate.

  Our conversation is interrupted by another beautiful middle-aged woman who steals Laura away into another conversation. I turn back to Garrett, who says, “Speaking of the devil, where is Ryan?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say timidly.

  Garrett nods. “Whitney, it is your job to know where Ryan is at all times, and I expect you to find him now. He is late!”

  I step back, stunned at Garrett’s son-of-a-bitch tone. Whoa! I know now where Ryan gets his tendencies. I nod my head to let him know that I understand, then quickly walk to the exit.

  I walk past several people as they enter the venue. When I am safely outside, I take my phone out of my clutch to call Ryan. I pace as I ring his cell phone. It rings and rings and rings, then goes into his voice mail. Damn it! I turn to walk toward the infield area and walk right into Ryan.

  I step back and stumble. Ryan reaches out and grabs my arm gently to keep me from falling. The sight of him takes my breath away, eases my anxiety, and raises my blood pressure all with one look. Ryan is gorgeous. He is dressed in a black tuxedo. His hair is styled and gelled in a way I have never seen. He looks as though he is about to walk the red carpet at the Academy Awards. I smile, relieved. Ryan looks anxious but relieved now too. Our looks seem to mirror each other.

  “Is my tie straight? I hate this shit!” he confesses, fiddling with his suit.

  He looks flawless, but I touch his tie to add my personal touch. “Your dad is asking for you—no, I should say demanding was more like it!”

  “I bet he is. He hates these events too,” Ryan laughs. “Let’s go.” He leads me back into the venue with his hand on the small of my back, which sends shivers down my spine. As we walk through the door, Ryan leans into the back of my neck and says, “You look gorgeous in that dress. I hope I get the chance to take it off of you later.”

  I smile. Actually, I grin like a jackass because I know that he can’t see my reaction. I am
so relieved that the tension from earlier today has passed.

  The moment we walk through the door, Garrett is standing impatiently, waiting for us. I flush scarlet because he has just witnessed our intimate exchange. He eyes us warily but grabs Ryan immediately and steals him away from me. I sigh as I watch him approach his mother and lovingly embrace her. It warms my heart seeing a softer and gentler side to him. I’ve always heard that you can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats his mother. Maybe that’s just a southern thing, but his action gives me hope that it is true.

  The event is in full swing with a few hundred people in attendance. I mill around the exhibits and stop to talk to the few people I know who from our team. After a few short speeches, Garrett, Laura, and Ryan are called to the small stage to cut the ribbon on the Carter Racing Legacy display. It is beautiful. Immediately, I recognize some of the photographs from Garrett’s collection.

  After awhile, Garrett steps back up to the microphone. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, folks, but I have a very important announcement to make.” He pauses momentarily and raises his champagne glass. “Despite my best efforts this afternoon on the track, I am pleased to announce that my son, Ryan, has secured pole position for Saturday night’s race here at Daytona International Speedway with a new track record of 45.98 seconds! I am proud of you, Ryan!” Garrett looks around the room and raises his glass higher to salute Ryan, who is nowhere to be found—again!

  A round of cheers and applause goes up throughout the crowd. I can even hear Bobby’s loud roar from the back of the room, which causes me to laugh. I scan the room, looking for Ryan, as does everyone else. I am desperate to see his reaction, but I don’t see him. I have lost Ryan again. I meet Garrett’s firm gaze again. Damn! He nods at me from across the room, which reiterates his earlier command to find him.

  I raise my half-empty glass of champagne at Garrett, signaling that I am on the case of Ryan Carter yet again. I hastily make my way to the door, downing the last of my bubbly in one gulp. I drop the glass on a table as I hit the exit door. The Florida humidity has decreased noticeably since the sun has gone down, but the heat is still thick in the air. It is like walking into a brick wall.