The Player Penalty (SteelTrack Racing #3)

15-Lily

Richmond Raceway

“Quals are boring, aren’t they?” Sarah asks from where she sits beside me.

“I suppose so.” It feels rude to answer otherwise. It’s an integral part of the sport, even if it doesn’t interest me.

The loudspeakers blare Julian’s number, and my ears perk, which Sarah notices.

“You should join our celebration next week,” she says.

“What celebration?”

“The one for Matteo. Julian organized it. Jake is doing a sign-off at the dirt track, and we’re going to test him in a truck race to see how he performs.”

Julian never said a word. “That sounds exciting.”

“He said you have a new job on Fridays. That’s spectacular, way better than watching these guys go in circles. You want to join?”

I want to go home. “Tell me when, and I’ll be there.” It’s the only polite response.

∞∞∞

For some reason, I imagined finding a pair of naked women hiding under Julian’s bed. Instead, his trailer is empty, and there’s only me. It’s not home, and it’s not comforting, but it’ll do. Besides, he invited me for dinner, and canceling so late is rude.

He organized a party without me, and I probably shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve been friends for months now, and in all that time, he’s kept me separate from every part of his life. The lone exception is that race to see his friend, Matteo Diaz, and that’s been it.

The generous interpretation recalls his claim of possessiveness towards me. It could be Julian enjoys my company the most when it’s only the two of us, and perhaps it’s unfair to accuse him of more.

It’s also possible I’m merely a spare friend. Is that what we’re called? Most people remember discovering a person they considered a close friend did not feel the same towards them.

I want to go home. Unfortunately, that means a trailer with Dad, which is nearly as awful.

Except he’s in a meeting with Boone Rivers for at least another hour.

I leap from my chair and head to the door, only to be blocked by Julian’s oversized frame.

“You were leaving,” he says. “Well, don’t. We’re having dinner, and I’m not cooking for one.” He grabs my shoulder and moves us further back into the trailer. “You promised to tell me about your first day.”

I repeat the same story given to Dad the day before. It’s only one day of work, so there isn’t much to tell. “It’s not a surprise to see how much children can accomplish when given needed accommodations.”

“You went there, didn’t you?”

“My final three years, yes. My problem wasn’t the curriculum; it was the rest of it. Extra time and individual instructions. The public schools weren’t great with that part.” I don’t share the loneliness of that time with anyone, not even Julian. My father saw my weekends and school breaks so he could guess my friendless state. Julian probably could as well, if he considered it. That’s not likely because it requires you to be on the receiving end of a spare friendship.

Julian slips off his shoes before pulling down the top of his fire suit. The undershirt is next. “Give me a minute to change.”

His hair catches the light, so the copper in it glows. Julian claims his hair was brighter as a child and darkened as he entered puberty, and now it reminds me of cinnamon. Matched with his square jaw and crisp blue eyes, it’s no wonder there’s always another woman.

Dr. Lambert asked if I was attracted to him, and I stuck to the friend label. She asked if I wanted dates and relationships, too, and the answer was an undeniable yes, even if I didn’t speak it out loud.

“I always wondered about your hair color. It was so dark out last time it was difficult to tell. My guess was bright red, but it should be darker, shouldn’t it?”

“You see it every day.” Julian yanks the hair on his head like it could have magically changed colors. “You mean my chest?” He glances down, pulling his neck back as if surprised by what he sees. Either that or confused by my reaction. “Every guy has chest hair, some of us more than others.”

His is the perfect amount.

“I wondered sometimes.” My opportunities to see have been remarkably slim, and the chance to see up close approaches zero. “That was rude.” My instinct to apologize is now at war with a desire to wiggle out and change the subject. “I’m sorry.”

Confusion paints itself across his face until his expression slowly changes. Julian’s features relax as he looks up from his body and at me. “I’ll say yes if you ask me.”

I want to go home, yet my feet stay rooted to their spot, two leaded weights unable to respond to my commands. “I want to know what you feel like.”

Julian looks past me to the trailer’s open window. It’s already twilight, so we’re lit up for anyone who might pass by. “Come with me.” He leads me to the narrow bedroom, protecting us from passing traffic. It’s small enough that I’m still partially in the hallways. “To give you privacy.”

“Yes, but….”

“You’re the one I care about protecting, Lily.” Julian strokes my chin and removes the rest of his fire suit. My eyes stay glued to his. “Here.”

He places my hand flat in the middle of his chest.

“You’re warm.”

“Those suits can be an oven.” Julian’s hand covers mine, gliding it up towards his neck and across his shoulder. “Keep going.” His voice roughens in a way I haven’t heard before.

His broad shoulders are the same as I remember from that long-ago night on the beach, strong enough to hold me between them. I stroke down one arm and back up, enjoying the play of his muscles, the way they flex and straighten from my touch. The hair thins and disappears along his shoulders, reappearing as golden whiskers on his throat and chin. They prickle at my teasing and become silk when I stroke in the opposite direction.

My throat tightens, and I momentarily pause. Julian’s breathing quickens and grows shallow. Each intake causes his chest to expand and his abdomen to tighten. I touch one nipple, and it grows slightly under my fingertip.

Our eyes meet again, and Julian guides my hand lower and lower. I swallow, willing my body to relax because otherwise, I might faint entirely away.

The soft skin of his abdomen hides stiff muscles that barely give at my touch. The dark hair narrows into a trail. My heart thunders.

Velvet. I lower my eyes, finally permitting myself to see the part of him I’d carefully avoided. Dark velvet, but somehow harder than his chest. Less forgiving. I ghost a finger down his shaft, unsure of what to do next.

“Like this.” Julian wraps his hand over mine, and I stroke with enough pressure that he hisses and releases me. “That feels amazing.”

I let go. “Thank you for allowing me to...” What? Receive my first lesson in sexual education? I refuse to say that.

“For almost getting me off? Don’t mention it.” There’s an amused hitch in his voice at the end before it softens. “I might get off on it a little, knowing I’m the one you trusted enough to ask.”

This isn’t the first time Julian alluded to his pleasure when giving me something, not physical objects, but more intimate moments, such as when he helped me lose my fear of the ocean.

“You won’t tell anyone,” I say, and realize it comes out as an order. “Please.”

“I won’t tell anyone, you know that. What happens between us is for us.”

I step back, and any boldness in me runs away. It breaks our spell as Julian dresses, choosing a tshirt from one of his old races and a pair of black sweats. He even dressed with the same confidence on display when my hands explored his body.

“What’s for dinner?” I ask, not caring but feeling the need to break my silence because the alternative is admitting my world is shaking.

Dr. Lambert asked if I had feelings for him. I want what the women he hooks up with have, and that’s all I’m prepared to admit to.

“Nothing fancy. Chicken, noodles, and salad. It will be ready quickly if we both cook.”

Julian grabs my hand to guide me back into the kitchen. There’s even less space than his bedroom, with a stove, sink, and a strip of countertop between them. The person who invented the cliche about cooks in the kitchen was thinking of precisely this moment.

“There isn’t enough room for both of us,” I say.

“Plenty of room. You make the salad.” He pulls out a head of lettuce, quickly following it with a carrot and tomato. Julian doesn’t realize he’s setting them on the stovetop.

“I’ll be in your way.” Despite this, I get out the cutting board and take over the little counter space available. Behind me, Julian watches, saying nothing. “Is everything else already prepared?”

“You’ve never been in my way, Lily, not even once,” he says quietly and comes up behind me. His arms encircle my body as he pulls me back against his chest. It’s the same position Julian held me in the night he took me into the ocean. “Look at that. There’s plenty of room. We fit together perfectly.”