Chapter fifteen
Tyler wanted to kick himself. He was doing the exact opposite of what he asked of Davey, but he just couldn't control himself when the man started kissing and touching him.
He knew he'd be driving soon, so he ordered a water when he got back to the bar. Andy hovered near another booth with some of their other friends, apparently hitting on some of the track girls. Tyler did not want any part of that.
He leaned back against the bar and scanned the area.
The club had a relaxed atmosphere with sports bar shit on the walls and plenty of booths and some tables that had been shoved together to accommodate a bigger party in the center of the large room.
People from the industry hung around, some flitting from table to table to talk to different teams. Tyler watched Davey's manager talking with some other folks.
He didn't seem the least bit concerned that Davey had already left the party.
Then again, other racers had left as well, including Cole.
The racers didn't usually party as much as the rest of the crew anyway.
They had too much pressure on them and most would be flying out the next day, if not later that night.
"Hey there," a soft feminine voice grabbed his attention.
Turning, he saw the bright smile of a small brunette woman.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a short cropped leather jacket, black shirt, black jeans and black boots that were flat instead of the high-heeled kind he normally saw women wearing.
Very little makeup finished her look, which screamed serious.
"Hey, yourself," Tyler said with his own small smile.
"Uh, name's Angel." She stuck her hand out, and Tyler shook it.
"Tyler. Tyler Whitmore."
"Nice to meet you, Tyler. How exactly are you connected to this circus?" He liked her right away. She seemed sincere, yet removed, aloof, but not in a bad way.
"I'm a mechanic for one of the drivers."
"Ahh." She gave him a knowing nod. "Mechanic. Which driver? Can I ask?"
"Sure. Cole Lindt."
"Well, he had a nice finish today. You should be proud."
"And how exactly are you connected to the, uh, this circus?" He flipped his hand in the air, gesturing to the entire bar and what to them represented Supercross.
Angel flipped out a card. Her name was under an incredibly nice picture of a camera on one side and a neat picture of an airborne motocross bike on the other. "I'm a photographer. I'm shooting for for the last few races."
"Cool."
"It is. Can I ask you something, Tyler? Personal, off the record?"
Tyler narrowed his eyes. What could she possibly be interested in him about? "Sure. I guess."
"What's up with Davey McAllister?"
"What do you mean?"
"Get real. I saw the chemistry flying between you two, even across the whole room." She made a gesture to Tyler and then nodded over to where Stewart still sat. Leaning in toward him, she whispered, "I saw you both go out back."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Tyler had thought they'd been careful enough. Perhaps the other motor-heads in the industry didn't notice, but he hadn't known this worldly chick was in the house, and she didn't seem to miss a trick.
"It's okay. I'm not like a reporter or anything.
If you do have something, uh, under cover…
" She wiggled her eyebrows at him, before continuing.
"You're not doing a good enough job at hiding it.
That's all I'm saying." What she said was more than enough to make Tyler very concerned.
They didn't need anyone in their business like that, especially a photographer, and her intrusion pissed him off.
"I think you're being very fucking forward," he practically snarled at her.
"No, I think I'm being a friend." She cocked her head to the side.
"I'm not out to hurt you or him. I just noticed the lovely attraction.
Call me anytime you want to talk or anything.
" As she backed off, her words soothed him, leaving Tyler a bit confused about what this woman wanted.
She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder, reassuringly.
He noticed her nails were neatly groomed, but not polished.
She wasn't flashy in any way, but that came off as self-assured power.
She sure as hell knew more than she let on.
"Um, thanks." His phone buzzed and he looked down at it. Davey had sent him the address. "I gotta go, sorry." He'd worry about how careful they were or were not being later.