7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
“ Y es, yes, yes,” I say in excitement, watching the view count climb on the video series I posted on YouTube an hour ago.
“Practicing for later? Why don’t you add my name and maybe an ‘oh my God’ too.” The silky smooth voice jars me and my mouth drops open when I realize who just said that absurd comment. Griffin is standing in the doorway, a perfectly pleased smirk on his face.
“Uh, excuse you? Maybe you should stop with your sexed up thoughts and run along now. I’m busy.” I’m trying my best to hide my surprise. Maybe this is Griffin “playing nice” because Paul threatened his spot on the team. He better work at it a little harder.
“Admit it, Shelby. You’ve fantasized about me making your pretty little mouth ache from the bad language you’re so prone to. You know I would give you exactly what you need.”
My jaw falls open, but I quickly snap it shut. “What the fuck are you talking about? Where is this filth even coming from?” I set my laptop on the couch and stand, hating the height difference with him towering over me while I sit.
Griffin laughs. “You’re so easy to fuck with. Paul says we’re leaving in twenty. Get your shit and be ready.” A grin still stretches his face when he turns to leave.
Ho-ly shit. That was the most unexpected Griffin interaction I could have imagined. And now that he’s planted the idea in my head, all I can think about is what he would do to my body, to me, with his. As strange as it is to say, I’m turned on by his sexualized comments. And I hate it.
What would he do to my mouth? Punish me for my bad language, evidently. Do I want to be punished for anything? Hell no. But when Griffin said it, the words dripping like warm honey over barbed wire, part of me wanted it. And by it, I have no clue what he had in mind, but my brain is eager to fill in the blanks. I can just imagine his cock filling my mouth, a punishing rhythm established as he uses me to satisfy his needs.
Whoa, what the actual hell am I thinking? I do not want Griffin, cock or otherwise, anywhere near my mouth. Do I?
I shakily pack my laptop into my backpack and walk out into the garage in a daze. My cheeks feel flushed and my eyes glazed with the lusty thoughts that won’t leave me alone. I have been pretty vanilla and mostly satisfied in my relationships. The kink he just introduced to my brain should not make me as horny as I feel right now. I’m better than that. And he was just messing around, anyway. He wanted to fuck with me and throw me off, he said so much himself. I shake off the wobbly thoughts and get angry, because it focuses me. Who does he think he is talking to me like that?
“Hey, there you are,” Ryan calls as I exit the garage and look around.
The two trailers are loaded and the quad-cab trucks are idling, ready to hit the road. I gravitate toward Ryan, feeling far more comfortable and sane around him than Griffin, who just upset my axis and sent me reeling. There are no weird sexual thoughts concerning Ryan, which makes him safe.
“Did you bring your stuff with you, or do you need to stop by the apartments first?”
“I have everything here. I’ll go grab my bag real quick.”
“Hop in, I’ll grab it and we’ll load everyone up.”
I climb into the backseat of the black pickup I’m standing by and slide over for Wyatt to follow. Cole climbs in the front seat and Ryan gets behind the wheel. I look over at the gray pickup and see Paul behind the wheel with Ezra and Griffin riding with him. Marny has left in her own car, and I don’t know if she’ll be joining us at the races or not.
We head north toward the American Drift League Streets of Long Beach course. It is one of two non-racetrack races we will be competing at. San Jose Grand Prix is the other. They set up the course along the streets and get a completely different experience from the races than you would on a traditional track.
It’s about a forty-five-minute drive, which we pass by talking strategy and favorite cars and drivers. I pull out my GoPro and tape a few videos, thinking I can create an “On The Road to the ADL California Championships” video with this kind of thing. I throw in a few comments here and there, but I’m keeping my car knowledge to myself for the most part .
We unload the cars and our gear at the pit of the Long Beach track just in time for Griffin and Wyatt to run off to their meeting. Ryan, Ezra, and Paul do some last minute checks on the cars while we wait. They will have a tech inspection at some point to make sure the cars are fully functioning and ready for the competition.
“So, Shelby, you’ve been asking the rest of us all day, so now it’s your turn to answer questions. What’s your story?” Cole asks, crossing his arms over his chest. I squint as I look up at him. He’s so tall it seems like no matter where he stood, I’d always be looking into the sun.
“Where do you want to start?” Again with the questions. Marny was safe. Cole? I have no idea.
“You’re from the Bay Area, right?”
“Yeah, San Jose. I’ve lived there since I was three. We moved around a bunch before that, but it’s home to me.”
“Is there anyone at home who is missing you now that you’re living in Newport?”
Is Cole asking if I have a boyfriend? He runs his hand through his light blond hair and gives me a cool look, like he’s not sitting on the edge of his seat waiting for my answer. I stall, tapping my bottom lip with my index finger to mess with him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“No one special. My dad and brother, and some friends. But I’m already enjoying the change.”
He smiles a little, his eyes losing the tightness of a moment before. “So, what got you into cars? You are obviously comfortable driving The Beast,” he says, referring to the Nissan 350Z. “You said you were a drag racer before picking up drifting. Do you race for profit, or pleasure? ”
“Who said I race?” I play it cool, but I’m dying inside. A huge part of me wants to tell him all about my car builds and my past track victories, but I still feel like I need to keep that part of my life secret, because it all points back to Jensen Performance.
I’m wondering now if it’s even worth it to keep it all a secret. It’s not like these guys are going to think less of me for growing up in a car shop, but they would probably treat me differently once they know who my dad is. Anyone in the car world has always changed how they looked at me once they found out about me being the daughter of the legendary Hank Jensen, five-time NASCAR champion. For now, I harbor my secret like a fugitive and hope it doesn’t come out anytime soon.
“Don’t play the dumb blonde card. I thought you said you weren’t just eye candy? You’re obviously experienced behind the wheel and that doesn’t come easily. Where have you driven?”
I shrug my shoulders in defeat and look at my feet. I guess I can give him this much. It’s going to come out sometime, anyway. “I went through Skip Barber’s race programs at Laguna Seca Raceway a few years ago. Before that, I was hustling the local street races until the cops cracked down and made illegal street racing super dangerous. San Jose doesn’t have a close track, so I go to Sacramento, Sonoma or Monterey for track time. I’ve never driven down here in SoCal before.”
“No shit, Skip Barber? Those programs are legendary. No wonder you had complete control of the Z. But they’re expensive. What kind of work did you do while in college to afford something like that? I know his three-day programs are like five grand a pop, and if you did more than that, it would be crazy expensive. ”
I roll my lip with my teeth and avoid his stare. “My dad paid for it. He...values good racing technique, and didn’t have time to do it himself, so he sent me to Skip.”
At the time I hadn’t thought twice about the price of the classes, and Dad hadn’t batted an eye when I asked him. At eighteen, he thought I was finally old enough to take the classes seriously. Henry had taken the courses at sixteen and I died of jealousy as a sad thirteen-year-old who had watched the Fast and Furious franchise too many times. It’s funny how he wouldn’t pay for my college classes, but he was all over making sure I wouldn’t embarrass the family name with crappy driving skills.
“Must be nice. My folks could never afford anything like that. I had to get a job at a carwash in high school to afford my first car. I found a second gen Mitsubishi Eclipse GSX with a blown transmission. I had to save for another six months before I could get a new transmission in the thing and even drive it. What was your first car?”
I bristle at his accusation that I haven’t had to work for anything. If only he knew, but then I’d have to fess up to more than I’m willing to share.
“I’m still driving my first car. It’s a Volkswagen GTI turbo diesel. It’s tiny and fast and good on gas, which I have always had to pay for myself. I also have to maintain the German sucker, changing my own oil and spark plugs and everything.”
I leave out any mention of my actual race car, the Black Sheep Mustang, as I am sucked into a memory of one of my dad’s many learning lessons.
I finally meet Cole’s eyes. “I got a flat driving to my winter formal dance when I was a sophomore. My date didn’t know how to change a tire, and when I called my dad for help, he said ‘what the hell are you calling me for, Shelby? I taught you how to do that when you got your license. Man up and get that shit fixed and go to your stupid dance.’ I had to change my own tire in a formal dress and heels. I’m pretty sure I was flashing the entire street whenever a car drove by and the wind picked up my skirt.” I smile. Even though Dad had seemed cruel at the time, I felt incredibly proud of myself for successfully changing my own tire.
“Wow, your dad seems...intense. And it sounds like your date was a pussy. He made you drive and couldn’t even pretend to figure it out?” Cole shifts restlessly next to me. Apparently, that would not have been his style.
I grimace. Kyle had been everything my dad and brother weren’t. He was intellectual, soft spoken, and romantic. I liked him well enough, but eventually I realized I wasn’t in the relationship for the right reasons. I never liked him as much as he liked me, and even though I loved the attention, he couldn’t hold my attraction.
My next boyfriend, Shawn, had been the complete opposite; an older bad boy who was rarely available and made me wonder if he liked me nearly as much as I liked him. I felt like the luckiest girl alive that he had picked me. Two months of dating felt like a roller coaster of the best kind of emotional torture. Until he took my virginity in the backseat of his Chevy Nova, and then two days later, my former best friend Kylee’s. I was so mad that Kylee would sleep with him when she knew we were together. She told me to get my head out of my ass and that any girl would have done the same had Shawn offered. I was shocked and weary of not only asshole guys, but my so-called friends as well at that point. It took me a while to be ready to date again, and kept me from making too many good girlfriends.
My junior year, I finally noticed Brad. He had been in a few of my classes, but we never talked. One day, he started asking about assignments, and it struck me that he was actually cute and funny. Brad was also safe. He was a jock, but not the star player, with enough brains in his head to do well in school. He appreciated me and never pushed me to go further than I wanted. I was holding out after being used by Shawn. Brad was patient and kind, and when I finally said I was ready to try again, he made it special. Or at least he tried to. There is only so much you can do as an inexperienced seventeen-year-old who lives at home, but at least it was in his bedroom and not the backseat of a car. Brad lasted a good six months before I tired of his easy-going nature.
The summer before my senior year, I met Rocco, a lifeguard at the local pool. It sounds cliché, but damn was that a fantasy come to life. We made out in the locker room and even snuck in after hours to skinny dip. Apparently, I wasn’t his only summer fling, and once again I was devastated by a stupid guy who cheated.
I entered my senior year with a vow to not get my heart broken again. That was going well until Noah transferred in, all the way from Connecticut. He was new; punk, bookish, and brooding, giving all of us sunny California girls heart attacks with his cold charm and unsuspecting dry humor. I tried to ignore him, but he was in several of my classes, and when he asked to study together, I couldn’t say no. We did very little studying, but we both managed to pass all of our tests .
That’s about the time I dyed my hair black. I did it so my dad would stop seeing me as the spitting image of my mother, which seemed to break his heart, and to be more like Noah’s ideal of perfection. He wanted a girl who was raven-haired and pale, reading Gaiman and Vonnegut, a Donnie Darko aficionado and lover of post-hardcore bands like Pierce the Veil and A Skylit Drive.
Unfortunately, Henry scared him off. Big brothers do that when they catch a punk kid with his tongue ring down their little sister’s throat on the front porch. Henry went out of his way to chase Noah off, following us on dates, coming to school to “have lunch” with me, and even set up a text campaign to annoy him. Noah ended up ditching me for an easier to date alt girl with purple hair. Henry said it was for my own good, but I didn’t talk to him for over a month.
College was a string of insignificant faces and places and beds. Some lasted longer than others, but nothing was earth-shattering or memorable. I have a habit of getting hurt by a bad boy after growing tired of nice guys. There seems to be no middle ground for me, which is why I haven’t put much thought into dating since graduating and spending the last two years working full-time in the shop.
“Earth to Shelby. Where’d you go?” I blink rapidly and look up at Cole. Looking around, I notice the cars are gone, so they must be at the tech inspection. I was seriously out of it.
“Oh, sorry, just got lost in my thoughts.” I untwist my hair from my bun and comb my fingers through the tangled tresses.
“Yeah, really lost. I was talking to you for a few minutes and I don’t think you heard a thing. ”
Cole ruffles my head, sending my hair into my face in a tangled cascade. I slap his hand away and sweep my hair out of my eyes. Boys. They can’t help but touch you when they’re the least bit interested. It’s like elementary school, where they chase you around the playground and steal your toys so you give them attention.
I smile crookedly at his silliness. “Wow, my bad. What were you saying?”
“I said we plan to go out Saturday night after the races. There’s a club here in Long Beach that we hit last year and thought was good. It’s sort of an unofficial season opener party, and a bunch of the race teams go. You’ll definitely want to be there. I’ll point out potential sponsors if you want to work your magic.”
I brighten and think of the opportunities that will be available this weekend. “Yeah, totally. I’m so down to let off a little steam and network.”
“Good. We’ll have a fun time. The team likes to party pretty hard after the races, since the weeks leading up to, and the events themselves, are super stressful. It will be a new side of the team for you to see.”
“Hopefully even better than what you have already shown me.” I smile and gently elbow Cole in the ribs. He bumps me back with his and laughs.
“Oh, Paul has a box of hero cards in the truck for you, want to see them?”
“I have a hero card? I thought those were just for drivers?”
“I haven’t seen them, but now I’m curious. Let’s go see. ”
Cole leads me over to the black truck and roots around in the bed until he pulls out a plastic tote with promo written on it in permanent marker. He unclasps the top and opens a few boxes.
“Here we go.” He opens the box labeled Shelby and freezes. “Damn, girl, these are smokin’ hot.”
I reach under his arm and grab the box he’s holding, pulling my promo away from him. Glossy eight by ten sheets have several of my photo shoot images placed on the front, with the Smoke and Mirrors logo and team info artfully splashed along the bottom. I flip the sheet over and am met with a stunning photo of me lying on my stomach on the carbon fiber hood of the Supra. My head is supported by my hand that is gracefully messing up my hair. I have a pouty, pissed look on my face as my ass looks perfectly spankable against the setting sun. This was right before Griffin barged onto the set and we wrapped, but damn, it’s the best one of the group I have seen so far.
Cole whistles. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a total asshole, but this is what you look like all made up? You’re hot in your hoodies and jeans, but that is out of this world. I need one.” He reaches for the box and snags a sheet for himself before I can stop him.
“Don’t you dare beat your meat to my pictures. If I hear one comment that leads me to think that has happened, I will cut your balls off myself.” I point my finger at him and work on my best menacing glare. There’s very little I can do to intimidate him, but I try anyway.
Cole places my photo and his hand over his heart, a look of mock sadness playing across his all-American good-looking face. “You would think I’m such a pig? No. I’m going to frame it. Here.” He roots in the box I’m holding and finds a Sharpie. “Sign it for me.”
I laugh, but he looks serious, the marker waving in my face. “Okay, you big dork. But only so I can practice my signature should anyone else want me to autograph something.” I take the Sharpie and the sheet, signing Shelby Elise and adding a little heart on the bumper of the Supra.
“Perfect. The rest of the guys will be so jealous. Oh, looks like Wyatt and Griffin are heading back with the cars. Now that tech and the driver’s meeting are done, we can leave soon.”
I follow Cole to the cars where Ryan, Paul, and Ezra are waiting. Cole triumphantly holds the hero card above his head like a trophy. “I got Shelby’s first signed hero card, suckers.”
Ryan and Ezra both grab for the card, but Cole holds it out of reach, which is easy as he is probably six foot four and his arms reach even higher. I look over at Paul, who is smiling at me.
“You like them?” Paul separates himself from the group and meets me.
“I didn’t know you were going to make those. They’re beautiful.” I squeeze his forearm in thanks.
“We need promo for our favorite promo girl to sign. That backside is sick, right? It was the very last photo of the first shoot. The others I stuck on the front were awesome, but I couldn’t let that one be made any smaller than an entire page. I think they’re eye-catching and will keep Smoke and Mirrors in people’s minds.”
“Shelby, girl...I’m at a loss for words. Is this why Griff has been an asshole to you all week?” I look over and find Wyatt pointing to the backside of the card .
My eyes dart to Griffin, who looks away, his arms crossed over his chest and a mean scowl turning down his full lips. He should really smile more. When he laughed at me earlier, his face took on a completely different shape and made me think he could be even more attractive than I already find him. He has obviously seen the photos. Hell, he was there in person. I nod at Wyatt and shrug, like what can I do?
“You can lie on my car any damn time you want to. In fact, if you have any more photo shoots, you better believe I’m going to be there. To support you, of course,” he tacks on, the dimples popping in his cheeks.
I shake my head, turning back to Paul. “Did you have something you wanted me to wear, or is the shop tank top still good?”
“Oh, thanks for reminding me.”
He reaches into the promo tote and shuffles stuff around until he finds a black plastic bag. It’s not very large, and suddenly, I’m worried about what he has planned. He hands the bag to me and smiles sheepishly.
I reach inside and pull out a shiny, stretchy purple top that looks like it will hit just below my boobs, with a zipper up the front and a big scoop over the chest area. It has stretchy three-quarter sleeves that are connected by a strip of fabric that will rest just below my collarbone. The Smoke and Mirrors logo is splashed across the strip at the top. The second piece I pull out is a black, slinky miniskirt with the shop logo across a purple band at the bottom and vertical purple stripes down one side. At least this will cover my ass better than the bikini bottoms or boyshorts I wore for the photo shoots did.
“It’s way better than some of the outfits I have seen for promo models. Thanks for that.” I smile at Paul, knowing it wasn’t cheap to have this produced specifically for me. “Any swag or promo material you want me to hang out, or info I can rehearse tonight to share with people who come by our booth?”
“Yeah, I’ll have this tote ready for you with key chains, stickers, and flyers. We printed up thousands for the season, so give them to everyone tomorrow. We are on home turf here and could very well get some shop business. Oh, and I got you an umbrella with our logo on it so you can stand with the drivers for photos and at signings. It’s a common practice, and I wanted to make sure the team has access to every possible marketing opportunity.”
“You think of everything, Paul. Now, boots or heels? I’ve seen both at events like this.”
“You’ve got nice legs, show them off in heels.”
“Easy enough. So, what do we do now? Head to the hotel?”
“Yeah, let’s wrangle the team and head out.”