Chapter 14
Trent
With the chaos in our rearview, Drew and I drove to Gamble Speedway, old-school road trip style.
It was a complete blast from the past with me riding shotgun, hand on the gearstick, while Drew drove too fast. We stopped at a roadside diner for greasy fries and listened to old songs too loud.
When we drove onto the speedway, the entire GearShark crew was already there in full set-up mode.
“You ready for this?” I asked as Drew parked.
He gazed out across the speedway and smiled. “I really am.”
He seemed ready. Not an ounce of hesitation in the air.
“What about you, frat boy?” Drew asked, dimple making an appearance. “You ready to be married to a washed-up driver?”
“Washed-up?” I scoffed. Leaning in, I rubbed a hand over his scruff. “I prefer the term trophy husband.”
He laughed.
“I got you something,” I told him, reaching for the glove box.
“Pretty sure the blow job I got on the way here was enough.”
“Close your eyes,” I instructed.
“For real?”
“I went to a lot of trouble sneaking this in here, Mask. Close them.”
“Fine, fine,” Drew said, lashes fanning over his cheeks.
“No peeking,” I instructed, reaching inside to pull it out.
“What is it?” Dude was so impatient.
I put it in my palm and held it in front of him. “Okay, you can look.”
His eyes immediately flew wide and dropped to the item sitting on my hand.
His teeth flashed. “You already gave me one of these,” he said, palming the magic eight ball.
“Yeah, well, that one was homophobic. Thought we could use a new one.”
Drew laughed.
“Plus, this is a mini. You can put it in your pocket. If Emily asks you a question and you don’t know, you can—”
“Ask the eight.” He finished, repeating what I’d told him the first time I gave him one of these.
“Try it out,” I encouraged.
Smiling, Drew closed his fingers around it and shook it up. “Will me and T be together forever?”
“Ooh, going right to the hard stuff.”
He turned it over so the little triangle inside floated to the surface. After reading what it said, he looked up.
“Well?” I urged.
“Very likely.”
“Look at that. It is all-knowing.”
Drew shook his head. “Still lame as ever.”
“That’s why you love me.”
“Thanks for the gift, frat boy.”
“You’re welcome, baby,” I said, leaning in to kiss him. When I pulled back, I noted someone approaching the Mustang. “Here comes Emily.”
Drew shook his head. “Couldn’t even wait for us to get out of the damn car.”
“I bet she was Sherlock Holmes in a past life,” I joked.
“Nah, she’s like that lady who wrote the gossip in the newspaper from that show our sisters made us watch.”
I pursed my lips, trying to remember.
“You know, with the funny hats.” Drew pointed to his head
“Ah,” I said. “Lady Whistledown.”
Ivy and Rimmel really loved that show Bridgerton. When the new season came out, they had a tea party theme for pancake Sunday.
It was ridiculous, but Andi loved it.
“Yeah, her.” Drew agreed. “Serving tea to the ton.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell the girls you secretly liked that show,” I teased.
“Let’s go before Emily tries to get in the car with us,” he said, tucking his mini eight ball into the pocket of his leather jacket.
I didn’t even have the door closed before Emily was on us. “Drew! Trent! It’s been a while. So good to see you.”
Emily Metcalf was a nice woman who’d worked at GearShark for Drew’s entire career.
She’d broken a lot of stories and spun a lot of headlines over the years.
Honestly, though, every time I saw her, I couldn’t help but think about how she hit on Drew the first time they met.
Was I a bit salty? Maybe. But Drew did love salt on his fries.
“Emily, you age like a fine wine,” Drew said smoothly, giving her a brief hug when she leaned in.
I preferred beer over wine.
“Charming as ever,” Emily purred, turning to me.
“Emily.” I greeted her. “Good to see you,” I said around another brief hug. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been great.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said genuinely.
“And you two? How have you been?” Emily asked. Drew started to answer, but Emily held up her hand, stopping him. “No. Wait. Save it for the interview.”
“Ah, yes, everything we say can and will be on record,” Drew quipped.
“Goes with the badge,” she said, holding up her press pass.
“So tell me about today’s shoot,” I said. “I have to say I didn’t expect such a big crew.”
“As if we’d give our cover models any less.”
Surprise shot through me. “Cover models?”
“Of course. Did you think we would have the most famous NRR driver and his handsome hubby as anything less than a cover story?”
“Well, I expected Drew to be on the cover…” My words trailed away.
“We want you both,” Emily said directly.
“Like together?” Drew questioned.
“Of course. You’re racing’s hottest couple and have been for over a decade now. That deserves a couple cover.”
“A couple cover,” I repeated.
“Just picture it,” a man carrying a camera interjected and gestured in front of him like he was painting a vision.
“Blue skies, the sexy speedway as our backdrop, our award-winning racer in his fire suit, and his sexy, muscled hunk of a husband pulling him into his chest with the wind in their hair.”
“Uh, who are you?” Drew asked, completely underwhelmed.
“David. David DaSilva,” he replied. “I’m the visionary artist for today’s shoot.”
Drew looked at me.
“He’s the photographer,” I said simply.
“But it’s so much more than a photograph,” David said. “It’s the details that matter most. The colors, the pose. And looking at you both, I can see it perfectly.” He turned to Emily. “I want it to have an old-school bodice-ripper feel but like modern and sporty.”
“Ooooh, love that,” Emily cooed.
“A bodice-whatta?” I asked.
“No,” Drew deadpanned.
David and Emily both looked at Drew as if they’d never heard the word no before. Which was obviously a lie. Drew told Emily no years ago. Ahh, good times.
“Ooh!” Emily gasped. “Celebrating a decade of #manlove. Racing’s most-loved couple talks cars, raising a family, and keeping their #trewlove alive.”
“It’s a masterpiece!” David declared.
“Oh God, not the ship name,” Drew muttered.
“Did our brother email you?” I asked.
“Which brother?” Emily asked.
“Never mind.” She didn’t need any more ideas.
“And of course we will be talking about those retirement rumors,” Emily sang.
“It will be iconic.” David decided. “Let’s get you both into makeup and wardrobe.”
“You know, I would love to, but I didn’t bring my suit.”
“Olivia!” David yelled.
A dark-haired woman appeared, carrying Drew’s suit.
“Ron Gamble was kind enough to have it sent over,” David said.
Clearly, no one had ever told him no before.
I laughed.
Drew gave me a look as though I’d betrayed him. It only made me laugh harder.
“Har-har, frat boy,” he retorted. “We haven’t seen your getup yet.”
“Those jeans will do quite nicely,” David said, circling around my body and making a sound of appreciation. “There’s no need for a shirt.”
“Oh, hells no!” Drew roared.
This just kept getting better.
“Well, why not?” David asked. “You married a snack. Why not brag about it?”
“T is not a snack. He’s a whole meal.”
“More like a buffet. One you just keep going back to,” David said out of the side of his mouth. Emily giggled.
My lips rolled in.
“He’s mine,” Drew declared.
Ah, there he is. My possessive bastard.
“Don’t be greedy,” David admonished.
I stepped forward just as Drew did, intercepting him on his way to do bodily harm. Wrapping my arm around him, I spun us both.
“We’re going to craft services to get a coffee,” I called over my shoulder.
“Then straight to wardrobe!” Emily called. “We’ll do the interview after the shoot!”
“Are they insane?” Drew bitched. “That man was practically drooling on your ass.”
“I didn’t notice.”
A rude sound ripped from his throat. “You were practically bursting at the seams.”
Unable to hold it anymore, I cackled. “You should have seen the look on your face.”
“You need to stop working out,” he groused. “We’re old now. You don’t need all those muscles.”
“But, baby, I thought you liked my muscles,” I bantered.
“I’d like them better if people stopped gawking at them.”
“I only notice when you do.”
He snorted. “Lying to your husband is a crime.”
“Oh, look. They brought fries.”
Drew perked up and looked to the display of fries.
A fry-cuterie, if you will. It was actually really impressive.
An entire wooden board covered with steak fries, crinkle cut, waffle, and even shoestring.
All of them were golden and sprinkled with sea salt and garnished with parsley.
Various dipping sauces in containers shaped like tires were nestled in the mounds of potato goodness, while small checkered flags on toothpicks decorated the entire board.
And then, of course, in the center was a large bottle of Heinz ketchup.
“Is this heaven?” Drew asked.
How quickly he forgot about my muscles.
I watched with uncontained amusement as he descended on the fry-cuterie, filling both hands with fries.
“They’re still warm.” He moaned, shoving an impressively large waffle fry into his mouth.
I didn’t bother to point out the heat lamp over the board. I’d just let him live his dream.
“I need ketchup,” he said, turning up his nose at all the fancy dipping sauces. He even bypassed the cheese.
Laughing under my breath, I grabbed the bottle of ketchup, gave it a shake, and then dumped some beside the heaping mound of shoestring fries.
“I fucking love you, frat boy,” Drew said, dunking three fries into the red sauce and jamming them into his mouth.
I patted his ass. “I know, baby.”
I left him to his joy, made myself a coffee, and grabbed him a water.
“I thought that might butter him up,” Emily said, sidling up to me.
“You were right.”
“Think he’ll do the shoot?”
“T!” Drew called. “There’s curly fries too!”
I laughed. “I think he can be convinced.”