CHAPTER 5 #4
A sliver of guilt stabbed through her. She should probably be writing, but she brushed it aside and sat.
Last night, she’d outlined several chapters of the story she planned to write before she’d read.
Perhaps there would be time for writing later.
If not on the weekend, maybe on the plane or once they returned to Spain between races.
It might be harder to write in her downtime than expected.
Still, she would try as it was important.
“How do you like motorcycle racing so far? Any questions?” Isaac grabbed several cubes of cheese. He popped one in his mouth while he waited for her answer.
“What’s with the swerving in pit lane?” She sat across from him at the skinny table on a cushioned bench. Heat flooded her cheeks because her response had been too abrupt and possibly from left field. She hoped she didn’t seem rude.
He allayed her fears when he laughed. “New tires or fresh rubber is slippery. We do that to rough them up before laps. Fewer crashes. What else did you notice?” His tone was warm. Perhaps he was pleased she’d paid attention.
“You seem happy to be in the top ten and Angel mentioned it several times while you were on the track.” She reached for a piece of yellow cheese. “Is the top ten significant?”
“They combine our free practice times. The riders with the ten best times have an advantage and go straight to the second qualifying session.” He hesitated, perhaps to make sure she was following. “That’s Q2 on your schedule late Saturday. Do you know what qualifying is?”
She shook her head. He didn’t seem bothered by teaching her, and with something so new, he shouldn’t expect her to know this yet. Was he always so patient, or just with her?
Isaac continued his explanation. “Q1 is for all the riders who weren’t in the top ten.
The two with the best times join the top ten in Q2 to compete for the top twelve positions for the race on Sunday.
The fastest rider gets pole position, the position farthest up the grid as an advantage.
Second and third also start on the front row, and so on. ”
Filing away the new information, she’d be better informed for the rest of the weekend. Since arriving at the track, she’d surprised herself by enjoying everything more than she’d expected. If a practice was thrilling, a race would leave her breathless.
“Have you ever had pole position?” The question felt odd on her tongue with the new lingo.
He shook his head with his same calm smile. “Not since Moto2. Vince used to get it all the time. Still does on his favorite tracks, like the Sachsenring in Germany and the Circuit of The Americas in Texas.”
She hadn’t asked about Vince, but his conversation often looped back to his brother. Of course, he’d started from the front. “So, your practice position determines your race starting position.” Interesting.
“Are you sure I’m not boring you with this stuff?” Isaac raised one eyebrow.
It was a sexy look, combined with his wide smile and tousled hair.
“I want to learn about racing so I understand what’s happening. Also, so I can be proficient at my job.” Thinking of her primary job and what she would have to wear, her smile faded.
His voice was quieter when he said, “What’s wrong? Do you regret coming?”
She shook her head. How to explain? She didn’t want to cause a problem, but she wasn’t sure she could deal with this. All of it was beyond her comfort zone, but she was trying.
“No, I mean it,” Isaac said, his voice soothing. “You can tell me. I won’t judge or get you in trouble. I might even be able to help.”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.
“I don’t think I can wear the tight crop top and miniskirt on the grid.
” There, she’d blurted the words. “It’s even smaller than I imagined.
” She swallowed, her face burning as she stared out the window instead of meeting his gaze.
“I came here as an umbrella girl, and that’s the part I’m scared of. Everything else is terrific.”
“So, don’t wear it. Wear your team clothes, like now. You should have a few sets. It won’t bother me.” He shrugged and snagged another piece of carrot that crunched loudly in the now quiet trailer. In the distance, the buzzing sounds of bikes on the track became more apparent.
“Won’t I get in trouble?” Her voice trailed off as she swallowed. Her throat tightened. She didn’t like to do things wrong.
“I bet Catarina has a tip or two that could help dress this up or keep this shirt and wear a longer skirt. As long as you have team colors, you’re fine. She might even have one you can borrow.” He hesitated. “You’ll be beautiful no matter what you wear.”
Tears threatened again with the compliment, but she fought them back. It had been a long time since she’d felt noticed. He’d called her beautiful. The happiness those words created washed over her, and her shoulders loosened as he continued.
“I’ll be proud to have you on the grid next to me, and it will have nothing to do with what you’re wearing. Besides, I’ve never had my own umbrella girl. You’re a big step up from Miguel or my mom. That’s who held it most of the time last year.”
She looked at his face to determine if he was serious. “Your mom?”
He laughed. “She most certainly didn’t wear a crop top, either. Wear what you’re comfortable in. Text Catarina right now. Ask. It’ll make you feel better, won’t it?”
She picked up her phone from the bench beside her.
“My grid outfit is too skimpy. Isaac suggested you might help modify it. Please?” It seemed too formal and stiff, but she hit Send.
“Of course,” came the instant reply. “Hanging with Isaac, huh? Good work, girl.”
Anna’s face burned again as she put her phone back and looked at Isaac, who sat crunching celery with that raised eyebrow. “She’ll help. Thank you.” She didn’t explain the blush.
“Finished eating?” At her nod, he said, “Ready to watch Moto3? We can stand on the wall and watch for a bit. Then maybe walk on the path outside of the fence so you can see more of the track. The grandstands aren’t full tonight, but there’s a sizeable crowd up there.
By Sunday, the grandstands will be packed. ” His excitement was infectious.
At her nod, he got up, checking the time.
“They should start soon.” He held out his hand, and she took it without thinking as they left the trailer.
Her skin tingled at the contact in a pleasant way.
He didn’t release her hand until they climbed the wall that overlooked the home stretch.
From there they watched the smaller bikes, most of them ridden by younger riders, as they whizzed around the track, buzzing like a swarm of bees as they moved around the track in clumps, often three or four abreast as they sped into corners. It looked wild.
She took Isaac’s hand again, when they headed out around the track.
Several times he waved to the spectators in the grandstands, and as they ambled, he talked about his Moto3 days when he was younger—his teammates, his favorite tracks, and the highlights.
Through all of it, she couldn’t help but think how pleasant it was to walk and talk together.
This friendship, or whatever it was, was progressing rapidly. She smiled and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Wasn’t this why she’d taken this job—at least in part?