The Rookie vs The Ace

1. Brayden

I stand on the track, breathing the hot summer air into my lungs. Goddamn, I love that smell. Oil and sunshine. Maybe even a little sweat.

There’s nothing better than being at the track. I love every single part of it. The sound is even better than the smell, as racecars slide around the curve and race by. There’s no race today. I’m here today with my agent, Jenny, to meet with the race team owners.

Apparently, they’re thinking about adding a rookie to the team. As long as they keep their head down and their nose clean, I don’t give a fuck. I’ve been on this team since I was a rookie myself—ten years now.

Jesus, I’m getting old.

I scrub a hand over my face and try not to think too much about the fact that we already have three guys on this team and wondering why they’re bringing on someone new.

Thirty-one isn’t that old, but in the world of entertainment—which racing is—they’re always looking for the new up and comer.

It’s fine. I can share the track. My ego isn’t nearly as large as some people I race with. Axel Lennon for one. Talk about an ego. I’m surprised he can fit that big head into his helmet. He’s mellowed out a little over the years though—especially now that he’s a married man.

Married to another racer, I might add. Sebastian is all right though. Not usually a cocky bastard like his husband, but that doesn’t mean he’s not competitive. Not at all. We all want that win.

Doesn’t matter if it’s our first win or our hundredth. It’s all the same to us.

I hear the rumble of a motorcycle and turn my attention to where it’s coming from, annoyed that anyone would dare bring a motorcycle out here to interrupt the zen the track was providing.

I don’t recognize the rude rider as he parks his bike and climbs off. All I see are tight black jeans and black boots. The guy looks to be a pretty good size. The white t-shirt he’s wearing doesn’t hide the bulge of his biceps, which flex as he raises his arms to slide the black helmet off his head.

“Looks like the rookie is here,” Jenny says, not bothering to take off her black sunglasses as we both watch the newcomer.

I watch in horror as the guy slides his helmet off and then saunters over to us. No. No fucking way.

The rookie is the actual Rookie of the racing world. Carson Hayes.

A twenty-one-year-old pain in my ass.

He walks over, definitely loving his little reveal, a sly smile on his stupid pretty-boy face. His brown hair should be all smashed down by his helmet, but somehow it looks immaculate, with the longer locks on top blowing in the breeze. “Brayden,” he says smugly and then looks over at Jenny. “My favorite agent.”

I can’t see her eyes, but I know she’s rolling them. That pretty-boy bullshit doesn’t play with Jenny. She doesn’t like anyone, which is one of the many things I respect about the woman. “Carson. Behave,” she says deadly calm, but his lips only turn up in a wider smile.

Miles Tanner, the owner of the racing team, makes his way over to us with a huge smile on his old, weathered face. “Carson, my boy. You made it.”

Carson beams at Miles. “Of course, sir. Thank you for having me.”

Gag.

No way is Miles hiring this asshat. He’s a child. A fucking toddler. And even worse, he’s a dirt-track racer. He doesn’t know this track.

“Did you know about this?” I keep my voice low and aimed only at Jenny.

She purses her lips and gives me a clipped nod but doesn’t turn her attention to me. No—she’s already in full negotiation mode as she talks to Miles about contracts and first-year bonuses. This is not happening.

But it is.

It so is.

Carson should really get the hell away from me right now, but instead, he only moves closer to me. His elbow nudges my side. “Don’t look so grumpy, old man. It’s not like they’re hiring me to replace you.”

A sharp knifelike pain activates in my side, but I do my best not to show how direct that hit was. “Like you could,” I bite out. “Don’t you have to be at least sixteen to drive a car? Let alone race one?”

He cackles at that, totally unbothered, because he’s a cocky little shithead who drives me crazy. We aren’t in the same racing circuit—at least we weren’t—but because of his good looks and cocky-ass attitude, which seems to make the women swoon, we’ve been in several photo shoots together promoting the overall sport of racing. And we frequent the same charity events—especially since we both live in the Kansas City area.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” He’s too calm and way too damn happy. It annoys the shit out of me. “I’m sure you’ll still be some fan’s favorite.”

Asshole.

I grit my teeth and try to remain calm as Miles and Jenny’s attention moves back to us. “Well, it sounds like a done deal,” Miles says proudly as he pats Carson’s shoulder. “Let’s go sign some papers.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Carson agrees happily.

Miles then moves to me, patting my shoulder with his heavy hand. “What do you think, Ace? Ready to show this rookie the ropes?”

Jesus Christ. No.

I’m about to tell him where he can shove his goddamn ropes when Jenny nudges me with her boney-ass elbow. “Of course he is. That’s what a true legend does.”

I glare at her, but she’s just as bothered as Carson was, which is not at all. I’m losing my damn edge.

“Fantastic.” Miles pats me again, and I resist the urge to growl at him like an angry dog. He directs Carson toward the offices, along with some fancy lawyer types, and Jenny tells them she’ll be there in a minute.

I know I’m getting a talking to even before she removes her dark sunglasses and her eyes meet mine. “I don’t need to tell you to behave, right?”

I want to get snippy, but honestly, Jenny scares me just a little bit. I mean, I’m not risking my balls to throw her any type of attitude, and it’s not like this is her fault anyway. We’re both her clients. This is a huge opportunity for Carson, I know that. Of course she’s going to go after it for him.

“Nope,” I say instead.

She nods. “He’s good, Brayden. I know you don’t believe that, but he is.”

I can’t help the dismissive snort that escapes me. “Good? He’s a child. He’s a dirt-track racer.”

She huffs and rolls her eyes at that. “You racers and your fucking snobby attitudes about types of racing. I’ll never understand that shit.”

I smirk, and she rolls her eyes again. “I’m not his teacher.”

“You’re the one with ten years of racing under his belt. What happened to camaraderie and all that shit?”

“I’m not teaching him, Jenny. It’s not my goddamn job.” And yeah, sure, I’ve taken plenty of racers under my wing over the years. I don’t mind that in the slightest, but when they’re arrogant little shitheads that call me old man? Hell no.

She puts her sunglasses back on, sliding them over her eyes gracefully. “Do what you have to do, but if you play nice, the odds of your contract being extended are much higher.”

I grit my teeth again. She did not just say that to me.

But she did, and we both know why. My image is growing tired. The team has been thinking about dropping me for years now, according to chatter, and now that they have their young new hothead signed on, they don’t need me.

Unless I’m willing to help said hothead.

Now I just have to decide if it’s actually worth it or not.