20. Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
“ L ooks like we just have one driver advancing to the top four bracket. Wyatt was edged out by fucking Charlie Sweeten. That bastard keeps messing with our points. We need to put him out for good,” Paul tells me when he gets back to the booth.
“Are you talking about staging some sort of accident to befall him? Is this the Godfather, drift style?” I laugh at Paul’s expression of consideration.
“No, we just have to figure out a way to get past him if our guys have to compete with him again. He’s been hitting top four at each event, and it’s driving me crazy. I guess I’m still just pissed about the damage he did to the Supra at Long Beach.”
“Yeah, me too. When is Griffin up for his top four race? I hope he makes it to the finals.” I pick at my cuticles as I wait for Paul to check his phone for the schedule .
“Looks like just a few more minutes. Want to go down and watch? I can handle the booth, and I know you haven’t seen too many races yet.”
“Totally. Thanks, Paul. I’ll take swag with me to hand out while I’m in the stands.” I hunt in the booth and pull out an armful of purple lanyards with our info on them. I head off to the grandstand as fast as my super-high shoes let me, edging through the VIP only area with my all-access team pass to get a good spot near the front.
“Hey, baby, you can sit here if you want,” I hear called from behind me.
I ignore the catcalls and toss a few lanyards out to the crowd. A few women throw them back at me, hissing about not wanting any cheap crap from fancy whores. I ignore the insults and grudgingly pick them up. I redirect their course so they don’t come back at me from mean ladies intent on making my job harder. Women can be such bitches.
When the top four races are announced, I head higher into the stands for a better vantage point. Griffin will be going in the second heat, against Hiro Yoshida. The first pairing will be Charlie Sweeten and Mason Bauer of TW Motorsports. I pay special attention to see how Mason drives, but only because he may be going against Griffin later. Right, that’s the only reason I’m more interested in this race. Mason won last week’s Sonoma competition overall. And of course I want Charlie to lose.
The judges will watch both races and then give their score, or ask for one more round to determine the winner if a race was too evenly matched to call. Drifting is unlike other motorsports because each race is scored by Olympic style judging, rather than who finishes first .
The Line judge looks for the ideal path a vehicle must take on course and is marked by inner clipping points and outer clipping zones that are set up to push the driver to use the entirety of the course. The Angle judge monitors the overall slip angle the driver uses during each heat, awarding points for pushing the limits in as many places as possible. Transitions from one corner to the next should be as smooth as possible and steering adjustments should be minimal mid-corner. They can award up to twenty-five points, with an additional ten points each granted for style. The designated Style judge looks for the overall smoothness and excitement of the run with aggressive flicks, closeness to walls, degree of difficulty, fluidity, and extreme closeness to the lead vehicle, all for a total of thirty points that can be awarded. This all adds up to give each driver a maximum score of one hundred points.
The racers are lined up for the first heat, with Charlie leading first. I watch them maneuver the course, with Mason doing a fantastic job applying pressure as the chase car. They seem really evenly matched after the first race. They switch, with Mason leading and Charlie chasing, and this time you see just how much sliding power the fifty-fifty weight ratio of Mason’s FR-S has compared to Charlie’s heavy, newer model Mustang. Stock, the Mustang would handle like a drunk through the corners, but it has been powerfully modded to have advanced him this far.
The crowd immediately starts chanting “one more time” when the race is over, thinking it was too close to call and needs a third round to determine the winner. I shake my head, knowing Mason took that race. The judges don’t give in to the crowd and give Mason the higher points and send him to the top two round. I jump in my heels and pump my arms, happy Charlie lost and hopefully won’t make the podium with a fourth place finish. It all depends on the loser of the next round and their total points. A round of heckling and boos for the judges comes from the audience, but they settle down when Hiro in his Nissan Skyline GT-R and Griffin in the Supra line up.
I clutch the lanyards in my hand and hold my breath as they take off, Griffin playing chase to Hiro. Griffin and Hiro create a dance of automotive excellence, staying tight together through the turns and pivoting within inches of each other. Griffin gets a few better lines, but Hiro chooses to keep him locked in the follow position with calculated placement to avoid being passed.
They finish their first pass and line up for their second. Griffin takes off, setting an impressive speed that Hiro lags behind. I just hope it’s not too fast. He starts the turns and gets a sick angle on the curve, fully in control of his car, even at the elevated speed. Hiro just can’t catch him and is forced to stay much farther behind than would be desired for his style points. As long as Griffin doesn’t break his drift or lose his line, he should be good. They cross the finish line and I already know Griffin has won. The judges concur, sending him ahead to face Mason. Unfortunately, Charlie came in third with higher points awarded to him than Hiro received.
There is a delay between the last race and the finals, so I walk up and down the stands, tossing more lanyards to anyone who hollers or holds up their hands. People love free junk. At least they can put their keys on the end of these glorified purple necklaces. I get asked to pose with a few people, but when the final round is called, I tell them I have to cheer on my team and they leave me alone.
Having seen Mason drift already, I worry for Griffin. They have similar enough styles, and are both extremely aggressive when chasing. One wrong maneuver and either could bump or cause a crash. Griffin gets to lead first this round, and does an excellent job of keeping Mason securely behind him, even if he has to sacrifice some of the better lines to do it. The judges won’t give him fewer points for that because he is defending his lead position, but the style judge could knock him if he doesn’t at least make it look good. And does he ever make it look good.
Graceful and controlled, he sends his car sideways around turns that initiate dance-like movement and precision. Mason does great keeping up, and I can’t even imagine how the judges will score this. The second round, Griffin chases, and puts immediate pressure on Mason, who gets up to speed right away. I cringe and hold my breath as I think they will knock into each other during transitions, but Griffin manages to flow safely behind Mason and still get a better line in my opinion. When they finish, I hope the judges don’t call for one more round because I need to know now.
I hurry down the grandstands toward the track where Griffin and Mason are now parked facing the stands. I make it through security to the grid, wanting to stand with my driver, regardless of his placing. The crowd goes crazy when Griffin is awarded higher points just as I spot him getting out of his car and throwing his fists in the air. He looks over and sees me coming. He meets me halfway to throw me over his shoulder and spin me around, most likely flashing my ass to everyone in attendance. The crowd screams and applauds, loving this new celebration from him that doesn’t involve mocking his opponent. Griffin sets me down and I hold his hand in the air, proclaiming him the winner to cheers and clapping.
“Good job, superstar,” I say to him, my smile stretching wide and happy laughter bubbling out of me.
“Did you get to see the finals?” His helmet is finally off and tossed into his car, and his eyes are lit up and sparkling. I would love to kiss him right this instant, but that would so not jive with my professional-in-public declarations.
“Yeah, I saw all of the final four races. You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
“It was bound to happen. I’m better than these suckers.” He puffs out his chest and raises his hands in triumph to more cheers.
“Easy, tiger, you have sponsors who want to see you behaving, remember? Why don’t you drive me to the pits and we can celebrate later?” I rub his shoulders and usher him toward the Supra. He lets me, which is a surprise.
“Buckle up, babe. I feel like donuts.”
“Not too much. Just enough for the fans to get a kick out of it.” I feel like a freaking grandma, making sure he follows the rules, but someone has to be the voice of reason during his victorious high.
Griffin lights up the tires in a smoky burnout. I can hear the crowd roaring over his engine and screeching tires and I can’t help the smile that’s making my cheeks hurt like crazy. He zips onto the track and does a few figure eights, then gets the car into a crazy donut that circles round and round with smoke billowing up around us. He stops, smokes the tires again, and finally heads back to the pit. Okay, that wasn’t so bad. As long as someone can be the calming factor for him, I can see him tempering his celebrations. Or losses, as it may come to.
“We’re halfway through the series, and you have already won a competition. Last week you got third. I bet you can keep hitting the podium for the final three races and get enough points for the Pro Championships.” I reach over and massage his thigh, just possibly brushing his crotch in my efforts.
“Baby, don’t tempt me. I want to snatch you out of this car so badly, bend you over the bumper and rail you till we both come. I can’t wait for shit to settle down tonight so I can do just that.”
“As long as you behave in public, I’m happy to give you anything you want. You want me bent over and naked and dripping wet for you? Or how about my lips wrapped tight around your cock while I look up your body until your cum spills from my mouth? How about a little shower sex, or maybe sitting on the bathroom sink in front of the mirror so you can watch yourself sliding in and out of me. Any way you want to have me, I want it.” Griffin’s hands tighten until he’s white-knuckling the steering wheel and shift knob.
“Fuck, Shelby. You’re making me so fucking hard right now with your dirty little mouth. Why do you want this to be a secret, again? I’d like nothing more than to pull you over my lap right now and swat that perky little ass for all the nasty things you’re making me think.” He comes to a stop at our pit area and turns off the engine.
“You know why, and don’t screw this up.” I eye him as my smile simmers on my face. He looks as hot and bothered as I feel, and I love being able to tease him like this. I unbuckle my harness and open my door, letting Ryan help me out of the low car .
“That wasn’t as bad a celebration as I was expecting. I think you are good for our guy,” Ryan says to me with a smile before turning to Griffin.
My smile falters a little. Does he already suspect I’m sleeping with Griffin? No, he can’t. He must mean that I was good for him just now.
“Way to go, man. That was a sick race.” They exchange high fives and the rest of the team congratulates Griffin on his win.
As we are loading up the trailers after the podium presentation, Wyatt offers to walk me back to the booth so we can help Paul break things down.
“Seems like Griff liked having you track-side for his race. I’ve never seen him win and not call his opponent a pussy or do some other vulgar demonstration of his drifting prowess.” I search Wyatt’s face for any hidden meaning or emotions, but only see vague interest.
“I just told him he couldn’t fuck up with our new sponsors watching. I’m surprised he listened to me. I was actually expecting much worse from him.” I twist my long hair into a rope and pull it over my shoulder. Sacramento is hot today, and my neck is sweaty from my hair lying heavy on it.
“Yeah, well, seems like all of us would do anything you say.”
“What do you mean?” I scrunch my face in confusion. I’m not sure where Wyatt is going with this.
He shrugs his shoulders as he looks at me with his pretty blue eyes behind those glasses. “What you say flies with us. Everyone on this team would say how high if you asked us to jump.”
“You’re crazy, that’s so not the case. I’m just here having fun and helping out the team. I don’t have that kind of power over anyone, and definitely not the kind of sway you are suggesting. ”
I wonder if Wyatt is telling the truth as he sees it, or if it’s actually true in general. It does seem like Paul is happy to take any suggestion I offer and run with it. Griffin just had the best display of winning celebration I’ve seen from his career, all because I reminded him to behave. But that doesn’t mean I have any particular power over the group, as a whole.
Wyatt catches my shoulder, stopping me. His voice is soft and deep as he says, “You’ve got a lot of power and you don’t even know it. Just be gentle, okay?”
I shake my head. “Power is given, not taken. I can’t have anything that someone isn’t willing to give me. Are you saying you’ve given me some kind of power over you?” I’m not sure this conversation is sticking to the team now.
He takes my chin in his hand for a moment before dropping it and moving forward again. “Sweet thing, I’d give you anything you wanted from me. All you have to do is ask.” And with that, we reach the booth and Wyatt leaves me by our table to help Paul dismantle the tent.
I stare at him curiously, wondering just how much I’ve encouraged him in the few weeks we’ve been working together. Does he think I have stronger feelings for him than the friendly, team-based relationship I’ve been trying to foster? Probably, and it’s most likely stemmed from him being so nice and me lapping up the attention like a starved cat.
Well, shit.