17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
T wo sleepless nights and I look like a haggard beast. There is no amount of concealer in my Bliss-approved bag of tricks to cover the dark rings under my eyes, or the splotchy, sallow color of my skin. I text Paul and Ryan, letting them know I’m working from home today. There’s no way I’m showing my slutty face around S&M. Not until I’ve figured my shit out and know how to handle this new shift in my once solid resolution to not cross lines with anyone on the team.
Griffin left my apartment while it was still dark. He made good on his promise to have me again, and each time I was saying his name as I came. When I was too exhausted and spent to move, he placed kisses up and down my spine. Before I fell asleep with his fingers tracing lazy trails over my skin, I told him he should go. He quietly got up, dressed, and then hovered over me for a moment like he was going to kiss me goodbye. I turned my head into my pillow instead. I heard the door softly close as he left.
I slide on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, order a pizza so I don’t have to leave for food, and pull my laptop onto the couch. I binge on cheesy, greasy, carb-filled perfection and self-loathing while I scan all of the comments from our videos and updates from the weekend.
I’ve been shooting out as much content as I can while at the competitions and it seems to be going over well. Pit tour videos, short interviews with vendors, and even videos asking the attending fans to tell us what they love about drifting are all bringing people to our sites. Fans love seeing themselves, and big names from the industry, in the videos.
I have emails from a handful of sponsors I spoke to while in Sonoma, so I immediately reply and ask for more details on what they are willing to offer. Jim from Forden has finally gotten back to me, and I am floored by their offer. Race tires, for both cars, for every race, and for practice. Since good tires are two hundred bucks a pop, and can literally be shredded after fifteen minutes of drifting, this is amazing. Just to put things in perspective, our cars go through several sets of tires before they need to fill the gas tanks again.
I quickly send an email to Paul, letting him know about this new sponsorship. Then I contact Aaron at Sky Candy Media printing to let him know we are really going to need new decals and to ask for the final wrap designs. When my inbox is no longer pulsing with new emails and needing immediate responses, I close my laptop with a sigh. I change into running clothes, tuck some cash and my key into the pocket of my shorts, and head outside .
I run down Jamboree, across the Pacific Coast Highway, and over the bridge to Balboa Island. I’ve been wanting to explore Newport Beach since I got here, and this is literally the first time I’ve had a chance during the day. I grab a green juice from the Juice Crafters on Marine Avenue, sipping away the horrid things I did to my body this morning with pizza while I walk around the quaint little neighborhood. It’s mostly restaurants and kitschy shops, but they’re cute.
I take the ferry across the channel to the peninsula, and walk through the closed fun zone tourist area complete with carnival rides and signs for whale watching excursions. I can feel the cool breeze from the ocean, so I follow the salty air until I reach sand. I walk all the way to the end of the Balboa pier, past the diner at the end, and just stare out into the Pacific Ocean as I lean against the railing. The wind whips my ponytail around my face as the sunshine heats my skin.
I feel centered when I’m near the ocean. It’s a huge, writhing monster, but it makes me feel secure. I know there will always be waves that break along the sand in a rhythm dictated by the moon. I know it will always be more powerful than I could ever imagine. I know the ocean is not to be trusted.
Like my body, where Griffin is concerned.
I sit on a bench and just stare at the turquoise ocean, the seagulls that fly with gray wings just out of reach, the beach sparkling and bright, the houses that crowd the shoreline. I sit until I feel like my mind isn’t a mess and I can go back to my life and face reality with a tiny bit of clarity. I gave in. I slept with Griffin. I crossed a line I had drawn for myself, and I’m still not sure what to do about it.
But I have a plan .
It’s nothing special, but I think it will help me deal with this craziness between us, and help me find peace with everyone else so the tension I’ve created doesn’t rip the team apart. It could be the flimsiest plan I’ve ever come up with, but it’s better than nothing.
I walk back across the peninsula, take the ferry away from my new sanctuary, and leave Balboa Island. I run back up the hill to PCH, cross the busy intersection, and make my way up the hill on Jamboree until my legs are burning and I don’t think I’ll be able to go any farther. But I keep running all the way to the shop where I find Ryan and Paul working on the Supra.
“Hey, didn’t think we would see you today,” Paul says, wiping his hands on a cloth as he smiles at me.
“Did you seriously take today off because it’s nice out? Slacker,” Ryan jokes, torquing a bolt back into place. It looks like they are getting things all straightened out with the motor and have the turbos in place now. I’m glad I already got an appointment for Garrett Chang of Kustom Fab to come out tomorrow to do the intercooler piping he offered.
“I just needed a little perspective. I really did work this morning, but I spent the afternoon coming up with a few ideas that I want to run by you guys.”
“Well, go on ahead. I like your ideas, and so far, they have all worked out in our favor.” Paul sets down his cloth and motions toward the office. I follow him in, plopping on the spot I’ve carved out as my own on the plaid couch while he rolls his office chair around to sit across from me.
“I used to be a Mas Boost girl up in the Bay Area, and I have some connections to the company still. I saw my regional director at the Sonoma competition, and we got to talking. They haven’t sponsored any drift teams before, but it turns out they want to branch out into more motorsports competitions. They have already made themselves a household name for motocross and rallycross fans, so it’s the next step for them to cross over into drifting. I haven’t gotten through to the actual people who would approve it, but I want to get the team a Mas Boost sponsorship. It would be purely financial, since they are an energy drink company and don’t really have any parts for us to use. I’m thinking we could ask for them to pay our race entry fees, maybe our race and travel gas, and get branded fire suits and helmets for the guys. I think that would be more than fair in exchange for promoting their brand on the cars. Especially if our guys keep making it to the tandem rounds or hitting the podium. What do you think?”
Paul is sitting quietly, his mouth hanging open but no words coming out. He drags his hands across his face and through his short hair. He finally shakes his head, as if to chase off a daze and looks at me again.
“Are you serious? That would be amazing. They’re a growing company and getting more recognition every day. Are you sure you could make this happen? I mean, even if it didn’t go through, I really appreciate you using your connections to try to work something out.”
“Well, I’ve already spoken to the marketing director, who needs to clear it with someone over her head. I proposed to them everything I mentioned to you, as well as some more financial help. If we ask for more and get it, cool. If they give us less, that’s fine, we’ll still have what we wanted in the first place.”
“Wow. If we have even a little help with fees and gas, it would go a long way. And you just got us race tires from Forden. Pretty soon it will just be the team’s travel costs and some of the build that I’ll need to cover, and that’s cake. Damn, girl, you never cease to amaze me.”
“Well, it’s my job, isn’t it? I’m here to get the team noticed, bring in those sponsorships, and make life easier for everyone.” I keep to myself the fact that I’ve begun to cause problems that I’m feeling guilty about. I’d rather not throw myself under the bus for that one just yet.
Paul lets me leave after repeating how excited and thankful he is for what I’ve been doing for the team. I just keep telling him I’m happy to do it. This is only one part of my plan. The next part is going to be a whole lot trickier to make work. And it could blow up in my face in so many ways, but I want to try it. I need to.