by Hart, Lane
“Good. We can take my bike.”
“No way. I need to look nice, not like I’ve shoved my finger in a socket and blown up my hair. Either you drive us in a car, or I’ll drive myself in dad’s Beemer.”
“I have a car,” I admit with a wince. It wasn’t one I was planning to show her, but it’s better than driving Martin’s little roadster.
“Great, then I guess you can be my chauffer like when we were kids. Your mom made you drive me everywhere and you absolutely hated it.”
“Yeah, I did. It was impossible to pick up girls with you riding shotgun looking like, well, a supermodel.”
“Not sorry,” she responds with a half-grin.
“So, what do you have scheduled for tomorrow?”
She narrows her emerald green eyes. “Were you listening in on my call?”
“Yes.”
Zoe huffs, but thankfully answers me. “I booked another signing event and photo shoot at the local racetrack.”
“Oh yeah? I loved that place when we were kids. I was convinced that I was good enough to race in the Grand Prix.”
“I remember,” she says with a puff of laughter. “You used to act like a race car driver on the highway too, scaring me to death.”
“Still do,” I admit.
I’m about to ask if I can take her to the event when Zoe beats me to it. “Yes, you can come with me, but only if you promise to be on your best behavior!”
“I’ll try.”
“It’s going to be a long, hot day outside,” she warns.
“I’m used to the heat. I’ll be fine,” I assure her.
“If you say so.”
“I do. So, what do you want to do tonight?” I ask, wishing she would say get naked with me but knowing it’s a longshot.
“I want to go down to the beach and take a swim in the ocean after it cools off. It’ll actually be a legitimate reason to wear a bikini for once.”
Zoe dripping wet in a bikini will be like hell on earth. And I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I deserve the torture for what I did to her. “Sure, we can do that,” I agree, my voice husky.
Lifting her eyebrows, she says, “Maybe I was planning to go alone.”
“Hell no. Swimming alone is dangerous. I’m going. End of discussion.”
Chapter Eight
Zoe
Strutting around in a bikini in front of Winston may become a new favorite hobby of mine. He obviously wants me. I’ve been around enough horny men to know that look, the one where they look desperate, pissed, and hungry all at the same time. Too bad he’s in for a week of disappointment. He may insist on staying at the house with me tonight, but it wouldn’t matter if we were sleeping in the same bed, naked. There is no way I’m going to fuck him.
Even with his sunglasses covering his eyes as he sits on the back deck steps, I know he’s watching me. I can feel the heat from his stare as I wade into the crashing waves, enjoying the fresh salty air and the cool, wet sand sinking under my feet. He can look all he wants, but I’ll break his fingers if he tries to touch me.
He hurt me so bad that I never recovered from his harsh words dismissing the night we were together, telling me I meant absolutely nothing to him. He was everything to me and I cried for so many weeks, I still can’t believe I won the modeling competition with my puffy red eyes. Those makeup artists worked some serious magic.
As the sun begins to set, casting a shadow over the beach, I decide I’ve had enough for now and start walking back to the deck steps.
“Excuse me,” I say when Winston doesn’t budge from the stairs to let me through.
“You don’t look happy,” he says without moving an inch.
“What?”
“Are you happy, Zo? Because you don’t look like you are.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” I mutter.
“When you were younger, you smiled all the time, not just for the cameras but like you were genuinely happy.”
“Men don’t want naked women smiling at them because it makes them feel insecure, like they’re laughing at the size of their tiny dicks.”
“I don’t mean just in photos,” Winston grumbles. “You’ve looked unhappy since you got here.”
“Maybe that’s just because you won’t leave me alone!”
“Do you really hate me that much?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer, making his jaw clench even tighter. “Now let me get by. I’m ready for bed.”
“Bed? It’s not even nine o’clock!” he huffs.
“I had a six a.m. flight,” I say in my defense. “It’s been a long fucking day.”
Apparently, Winston is finally satisfied with my answer because he stands up, putting us toe to toe.
“What time do you have to be at the racetrack tomorrow?”
“Eleven.”
“I’ll be ready to go at ten thirty and if you leave without me, I’m going to be pissed,” he says.
“Okay. But I’m driving Dad’s car tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
“Fine. Goodnight,” I say before I slip around him to climb the stairs that lead to the back door of the house.
“Night,” Winston replies from behind me, and then I hear his heavy footsteps as he follows me back inside.
Chapter Nine
Winston
It’s really fucking hard to sleep knowing Zoe hates me.
I toss and turn in the full bed from my teenage years, wanting to barge into her room next door to shake her and make her listen to me when I tell her the truth about all the shit I said to her ten years ago.
But it’s too fucking late. She’ll never forgive me even if she does believe me. Lying to her is almost as bad as hurting her.
Still, I can’t stop the thoughts from churning around in my head all night instead of falling asleep. Which means that Sunday morning I am in a foul fucking mood, even grumpier than usual, sipping a cup of coffee when Zoe struts into the kitchen. At least she’s wearing more than a bikini, but the sleeveless, black-and-white checkered flag dress hugs her curves so tightly I’m not sure how she can breathe in it. Her tits are pushed up together, overflowing from the top, making her cleavage look like a landing strip designed for a tongue or a cock. My tongue or cock, more specifically, since I don’t want to think about any other man touching her.
“I’m ready when you are.” Zoe sweeps her long brown curls behind her shoulders like she’s afraid they’ll obstruct the view of her tits. “Unless you changed your mind?” she adds when I don’t move or respond. I’m still staring at her breasts and fantasizing about licking them, just like tons of other guys will be doing soon…
“Oh, I’m fucking coming,” I tell her as I get to my feet. “Give me a minute.”
I need to go brush the bitter taste of jealousy from my mouth, along with the coffee. Not to mention unzip my cramped jeans to give my hard cock a little room to breathe until I get it under control.
It’s going to be a long fucking day.
* * *
There are as many, if not more, men at the race track than there were at the dealership, waiting to see Zoe. Most are probably here for the race that starts at one o’clock, and getting a photo with her is probably just the cherry on top of their Sunday morning.
By some miracle, I manage to stand a few feet behind Zoe and not break any hands while she talks to asshole after asshole. I do take a sick pleasure in photobombing most of the pictures. Try beating your dick with my angry mug in the background, fuckers.
Between fans, Zoe glances over her shoulder, like she’s checking to see if I’m still there.
And hell, I don’t know if she would prefer for me to get lost or if she’s relieved I haven’t left.
* * *
Zoe
“Who’s that dude? Your bodyguard?” a young guy with brown hair brushing his shoulders asks while I sign his Playboy from when I was on the cover a few years ago. I’ll need to bathe in a huge bottle of sanitizer as soon as this is over.<
br />
“What dude?” I ask when I hand him his magazine and follow his line of sight. Of course he’s referring to Winston’s grumpy ass. “Oh, don’t mind him. That’s just my stepbrother.”
In his leather biker cut with his arms crossed over his chest and dark sunglasses over his eyes, he looks incredibly menacing. And highly annoyed.
“He looks very…protective,” the guy observes. I would’ve used the word angry to describe him.
I didn’t ask Winston to come with me. I warned him it was going to be hot as fuck with nothing to do but stand around and wait in the blazing sun. Still, he came and hasn’t moved an inch in almost two hours.
“Don’t mind him. He’s just grumpy because he wants to fuck me,” I tell him honestly.
“Huh?”
“Smile for your photo!” I tell him cheerfully when I hook my arm around his elbow and turn him toward the photographer.
“Got it. Next!” the photographer says, shooing the young guy away as two older men approach.
“Big fans,” the first one says, flashing me a yellow, toothy grin.
“Thanks,” I reply, keeping my fake smile in place. “Do either of you have anything you want me to sign?”
“You can sign my dick,” the second says, grabbing himself through his denim shorts as they both chuckle.
“Sorry, but I’m guessing Zoe wouldn’t even fit on it,” I reply.
Both of their grins fall as they look at each other, trying to figure out if that was meant to be insulting. It was.
“Just because you’re hot doesn’t mean you have a right to act like a cunt,” the first guy finally says before the second one in the denim shorts grabs my jaw and gets in my face. His eyes are scarily empty, like some sort of psychopath, as he hurts me while he squeezes. “Let’s see how little you think my dick is when I shove it down your—”
He doesn’t get to finish his threat or say another word. As soon as Winston yanks him back, putting him in a chokehold with this thick arm pressing against his neck, he thankfully lets my aching jaw go.
“Whoa, man!” the yellow-toothed hick says as he moves in to try and grab Winston’s arm. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Winston drops him to his knees with a hard elbow to the gut.
“Get these bastards out of here now!” Winston shouts over to the guys working security at the front gate who come rushing over. They stand around, unsure what to do, until Winston tells them, “They assaulted Zoe!”
“Oh, well, time to go,” one of the security guards says as three of them grab up the two jerks and walk them toward the exit.
“We’re paying customers! You can’t make us leave!” the one who grabbed me yells.
“We didn’t assault shit!” Yellow Teeth declares.
“You don’t have a choice. Either leave on your own or the cops will escort you down to the police station,” I hear the guard explain as they take them out.
“You okay?” Winston asks me, his chest rising and falling with his panting breath.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Reaching up to my jaw, I rub my finger and thumb on either side where I can still feel his harsh grip.
“You sure?” Winston bends down to see my face closer and I’m thankful for the sunglasses covering my eyes so he can’t see them welling up with tears.
“Yes! I can’t believe you…”
“Don’t even think about biting my head off for getting them tossed out!” he growls.
“I wasn’t. Jeez. Will you let me finish?” His jaw ticks but he doesn’t say another word. “I was going to say I can’t believe you did that, but that I’m glad you did. I’m…relieved you were here.”
“Oh,” he mutters, sounding surprised.
“I’m still not going to sleep with you,” I say, just to try and lighten the mood. Mostly, it’s a reminder to myself because seeing his tough, protective side is seriously hot.
“Is that really why you think I stepped in?” he asks, his hands braced on his hips.
“It was a joke, Winston! Calm down.”
“It’s almost one o’clock so I hope you’re about done for the day,” he grumbles. “I’m not sure how much more I can take.”
“I am,” I agree, even though there are still a dozen or more men in line. I’m just not sure I can handle one more jackass staring at my boobs or hiding their hard-ons with my photos. “Now, it’s time you get to have a little fun.”
“Me?” Winston asks.
“Yes, you. Come on,” I tell him, grabbing his hand to drag him over to the stands.
“Where are we going? To watch the race?”
“Sure, we can stay,” I agree when we come to a stop at the gate that wraps around the track. “First, though, we’re going to race.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
I nod to the two stock cars sitting side by side on the track. “They’re not Formula One but you were right; you’re too big for those anyway.”
“I don’t get it.”
“We’re going head to head, five laps in those cars, to see who gets to take home the checkered flag.”
“You’re kidding,” he says. “Why would they let us do that? What if we fucking wreck them?”
“Guess that’s a chance the owners were willing to take,” I tell him, withholding the fact my payment for today’s signing event is collateral in case we do run them into the wall or each other. Jesus, now I’m thinking about us ramming into each other, minus the cars. “So, are we going to do this or not? If we are, it has to be now before the race starts.”
“Fuck yes, let’s go,” Winston agrees with a rare smile. “Just one question.”
“What’s that?” I ask, leading him to the gate guarded by security to get us on the track.
“What do I get when I win?” he asks, his grin widening.
“Who said you were going to win?”
“You’re too careful. You won’t put the pedal to the metal.”
“That’s what you think. Have you seen my heels?” I remark. “And if I win, I want you out of our parents’ house while I’m there. No more sleepovers.”
Winston’s face falls, like what I’m asking for is the worst thing imaginable.
“Deal?” I ask, offering him my palm to shake. “Clock’s ticking.”
“Fine,” he agrees, taking my hand and squeezing it. “But if I win, you have to come home for Christmas this year.”
“What?” I scoff. “Christmas?”
“Yes, Christmas. Your dad and Deb miss having you home. It’s not the same without you.”
“Okay,” I say with a heavy sigh. “If you win, I’ll come home this year for Christmas.”
“Then let’s fucking do this!”
* * *
Winston
I notice immediately these cars are different from the ones used in regular races. For one, they’ve got a passenger seat. “I’ll be riding with you,” a small, lean man says as he walks up to me, holding two helmets.
“You going to be my chaperone? Make sure I don’t do anything too crazy?” I ask him.
“Yeah, these things are set up kind of like driver’s ed vehicles. I got a brake on my side, stuff like that. Helps people keep from going into the curves too hot.”
“So, you guys have cars set up just for this? This is something you do frequently?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, folks come out and pay to ride around before most races, get a little thrill. That little lady you’re with asked us to get two cars set up and let you two rip around for a few laps. It’s not like a real race or anything though, we can’t have you two swapping paint out there. I hope you understand.”
“Oh absolutely, man,” I reassure him. “Can we go out first though to make sure they’re behind us?”
“If you can get wedged into the driver seat, heck yeah,” he says.
“I gotta make sure we come in first, even if it’s a technicality.” I grin at him as I throw a leg through the window and then bring up my other one, struggling t
o wedge myself into the car. I can see Zoe is still talking to the fellow who will be riding with her, so I think if I can get myself in here, I can surely bust out an early lead.
Once I’m in the car and get my helmet strapped onto my head, I drop the car into neutral and keep the clutch in while I crank the engine. I’ve never heard a car roar like this one, and I can feel the barely restrained power of the massive engine throbbing throughout the car.
“She said you know how to drive a clutch, so just drop her into first gear and take us on out onto the track. You know how to listen for when to shift, or you need to keep an eye on the tachometer?”
“I can play it by ear,” I reassure him as I ease the clutch. The car jerks violently and leaps forward, then the tires let out a pitiful squeak as I give it more gas before we finally begin to ease forward.
“Hey, where are you going?” I hear Zoe yell before we’re out of earshot.
“Ha!” I bark a laugh. “Let’s go before she tries to catch up!”
I run through the gears as we get out onto the track, and only seconds later, we’re roaring down the straightaway at over one hundred miles per hour.
We make it through the first two curves, but once we’re on the back of the track, I see Zoe’s car coming out of the curve. “Holy shit, she’s really hauling ass back there!” I snort.
“Yeah,” the fellow riding with me says as he cranks around in his harness to take a look. “I’ll bet her monitor is pissing himself. She went really high in that curve.”
“She won’t try to pass us, will she?” I ask in concern. I’m having a great time, living one of my personal dreams, and I would hate to mess up the car. I would hate it, but I’ll do it to make sure I beat Zoe in this race.
“She might try,” my copilot shrugs. “The monitor with her will probably hit the brakes on that though.”
“Well, let’s make sure it won’t be an issue.” I grin as I drop back a gear and slam the throttle down. The engine roars and the car leaps forward so powerfully it feels as if it wants to take flight. I see my passenger gently tap at his brake pedal as we head into the next curves, but when I hold the car steady right in the middle of the track he seems to relax, and we rocket back down the front stretch.
