Six #2
“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” I tell Joe as I shake his grease-stained hand.
“The pleasure is all mine. Looking forward to working with you this season.”
I smile genuinely at him.
Why couldn’t the rest of the team be this welcoming?
I walk a slow lap around my car, taking the sight of it all in. Reaching out, I run my hand over the top of the door frame, feeling the raised lettering under my fingertips. It’s so surreal. My signature on my race car.
“This is incredible,” I marvel.
“It’s going to be a great season, Sawyer. It will be a lot of hard work. I’m sure there will be some bumps along the way, but, just so you know, I believe in you.”
I thought nothing could tear my attention away from my car until Jackson uttered those words.
Maybe it’s seeing my car and the realization that this is actually happening.
Or maybe it’s because when I look at Jackson now, I no longer see that Penthouse Prick from the elevator or the asshole from the garage.
I see my future in him. He’s the one who sought me out once he saw my tapes. He’s the one who believed in me when almost no one else did. I see genuine enthusiasm when he speaks to me about my racing, and I believe every word that he’s saying.
“Thank you, Jackson. You really have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that.”
“Good. I’m glad,” he offers, his eyes connecting with mine for longer than I should like.
Don’t let him look at you like that. And stop liking it so much. What would Daniel think?
I’m the first to look away, and I clear my throat as I try to clear my head.
“Well, um…,” he clears his throat as well, “you need to get suited up. You can change into your new racing suit in the garage. There’s a button on the wall that will close the door.”
Jackson hands me my new helmet, then I walk back to garage number seven. I push the button to shut the door, and as it closes me in, I bask in this sensation. In the feeling that I’m here. I’ve finally made it to the future that I’ve busted my ass to reach.
That first day of practice was one of my best days on the track in my entire life. I pushed harder than I ever had before. I blasted the memory of the looks on my teammates’ faces from my mind, and I took to the track with more zeal than even I knew I had in me.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to matter much to them. Jackson continues to remind me they’ll come around, but over the past few practices I’ve come to realize that I don’t care whether that happens or not. Let them hate me. They can’t affect the way I drive. I won’t let them.
They may not like me, but they will respect me.
I let my mind wander while out for a walk with Daniel. It’s our usual Sunday routine: a light lunch at one of our favorite nearby restaurants followed by a walk. It reminds me of earlier on in our relationship.
Every Friday when Daniel would come home from college, we would grab takeout from one of our favorite restaurants, and we’d eat it on the beach. It was the best part of my week, no matter how routine it became. But I don’t look forward to any routine involving Daniel any longer.
Just when we’ve entered the lobby of our building, I hear my name being called. I recognize the voice immediately, and a ball of dread drops quickly into the pit of my stomach.
“Sawyer!”
I don’t want to stop. I want to pretend I didn’t hear it and keep walking.
I’ve been dreading this meeting since I told Daniel I signed with Powell Racing.
Unfortunately, Daniel halts his steps and turns his attention toward the voice.
I know as soon as he locks eyes on Jackson by the way he grabs my hand in a vice grip.
My mind is fighting between attraction to Jackson and fear of Daniel.
Jackson, by the looks of things, has just come back from a jog.
His sleeveless shirt has sweat stains down the front of it in the shape of a “V”.
His muscled arms are tanned, and he’s showing off a couple tattoos.
The way his gray sweatpants hang from his hips rouses a feeling inside of me that I haven’t felt in years.
I force the thoughts from my mind as quickly as I can.
I watch as Jackson’s face falls slightly at the sight of Daniel’s hand wrapped around mine. Is he jealous?
Where the hell did that come from?
No, that’s such a ridiculous notion. There is no way that someone like Jackson would have any type of feelings for me.
That’s not what you thought at the track the other day when he stared deeply into your eyes ...
“Jackson, hi. Sorry I didn’t see you.”
“No problem.”
I watch out of the corner of my eye as Jackson and Daniel silently size one another up. This is bad. Whether Jackson is into me or not won’t matter to Daniel. He thinks every guy wants to get with me regardless of the complete lack of interest I show in every man that I meet.
The fact that Jackson and I will be working closely together is going to eat away at Daniel. Another box ticked for Daniel’s distaste of my driving career.
“Jackson, this is my boyfriend, Daniel. Daniel, this is Jackson. He owns Powell Racing.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jackson offers Daniel his hand.
“Delighted,” Daniel replies with vitriol and sarcasm on his tongue, refusing to shake Jackson’s hand.
“Well, thank you for saying hello. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”
With that, I tug at Daniel’s hand, and he follows me to the elevators.
I pray that Jackson can take a hint and won’t follow us.
I press the up arrow, and it takes everything in my power not to turn around to see if Jackson is still there, all the while feeling Daniel’s displeased stare searing into me.
JACKSON
I can’t stop the snarl from forming on my face, watching her walk to the elevators with the man she’s with. Her boyfriend. I know nothing about him other than the fact that I don’t like him.
He’s possessive. He latched onto her hand quicker than a lion attacking a hyena when he noticed me calling out for her.
There is an evilness in his stare that worries me.
I want to follow them onto the elevator, but the uneasiness that is radiating off of Sawyer in waves keeps me from doing so.
Instead, I cross behind them and turn the corner so I’m out of their view, and they can’t see me watching them.
“You didn’t mention that your owner was so good looking,” Daniel snaps at her.
“Oh?” she responds, cocking her eyebrow in question. “I didn’t even notice.”
“Oh, come on, Sawyer. You can’t tell me that you’re not the least bit attracted to him.”
“He’s my boss, Daniel.”
“So am I,” he pins her in place with his stare.
She tries shaking off his claims, trying to make him see that they’re so outrageous so he’ll drop it. But an abuser doesn’t work that way. They don’t drop things or forget about them that easily.
“He’s out of your league, anyway. And he looks like the type of shallow asshole that goes for women who have much more sex appeal than you do.”
My blood boils hearing him talk to Sawyer like that.
I now know where all of her self-doubt comes from.
Why is she with someone like him? She’s a badass who, obviously, can take care of herself.
A woman like her could have anyone she wants.
I was wondering why she had such a chip on her shoulder. I guess now I know.
She’s not the snobby, rich girl I’d thought she was when I first met her. Her attitude is just a defense mechanism. She probably uses it to keep those who would cause her boyfriend to feel threatened at bay. She needs to keep the world at arm’s length to save herself from him.
Well, she’s not going to get away with it when it comes to me. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll make sure that she knows exactly how important she is. How talented she is. How much we need her on our team.
How beautiful she is.
I can’t think about her like that, though. Not only is she spoken for, no matter how pathetic of a person he is, but I can’t put myself out there like that again. It’s been a long time since Kristen, but my wounds still burn from her betrayal.