Chapter 12 Regan
TWELVE
REGAN
“So what was that all about?” Cindy asks after we’ve left the diner, leaving a very large tip.
I know Dixon will probably be upset about it, given the way he reacted about asking for help, but I wanted to do it.
I understand that I have financial privilege where others don’t, and I wanted to help since I’m able.
“What was what all about? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady so she drops the topic. With the way I can feel Cindy’s gaze on me, she’s not going to drop it.
“You know what I’m talking about. I thought you hated him?”
“I do hate him, Cin. I’m not a complete asshole, though.”
A few beats of silence pass before she says, “He’s hot, though. Did you see how tight his shirt was? His muscles have muscles, it seems.”
“Ugh, gross, Cin. He’s not hot. He’s my rival.”
I can basically hear Cindy rolling her eyes at me.
“Yeah, sure. All I’m saying is it wasn’t me he was flirting with.”
“Flirting? If you call getting pissed and storming off flirting, then sure.” I’m shocked that she would think Dixon, of all people, would be flirting with me.
Then again, I probably wouldn’t even be able to notice.
Ever since I had a string of bad relationships, I’ve kind of sworn off dating.
Not that I don’t want to date. It just seems guys can be a bit intimidated by me.
Or they are using me to get to my dad. So it’s just easier to not date at all.
Plus, the last guy I dated tore my heart out and stomped on it.
“I know that you’ve had some bad experiences with dating in recent years,” Cindy says, basically reading my mind. “But you deserve to be happy, Reg.”
“I can be happy on my own. I don’t need a man to do that.”
“Sure, but you know, maybe you’d be less grouchy if you got laid on the regular.”
“Hey! I’m not grouchy,” I declare. I pull up to Cindy's apartment and park, but she doesn’t get out of the truck.
“Look, all I’m saying is maybe have a little fun.”
“I’m good, Cin. I’ve got battery operated boyfriends for that.”
She laughs, and we hug before she gets out to head into her apartment.
When I arrive back at home, Dad is on the couch watching last year’s Charlotte race. That race didn’t go well. We had a bunch of mistakes on pit road, and I made some bad moves that ended our day a bit early.
I sit next to him as I watch the last pit stop on the screen; it makes me cringe to remember how it had cost us in the end. “Last year’s Charlotte race?” I ask, though I know the answer.
“Yeah, I don’t want any repeats this year.” He pauses the video. “How was your day with Cindy?”
“It was good. Just had some lunch and did some catching up. Nothing crazy.”
“I’m glad y’all had a good time,” Dad says before resuming the video.
It was nice to catch up with Cindy. I need to remember to make it more of a priority when I’m not too busy. I know she understands when it’s racing season, but that’s no excuse.
I think back to Dixon working in the diner to support himself. I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t want someone to help. It doesn’t have to be from me. From the look he gave me, he was surprised someone he knows showed up there. Obviously, he keeps that part of his life under wraps.
Honestly, he keeps most of his life outside of the racetrack away from the limelight. Other than the persona he shows at the track—I don’t really know much about him.
“Where did you go just now?” Dad asks. I didn’t even realize I spaced out.
“Nothing. Just thinking about the Charlotte race and what we have to do to prepare.”
I don’t even know why I’m lying to him. It’s not like it’s a crime to see people outside the racetrack. But talking to Dixon without any obligation may seem like I want to be friends with him or something, and I do not want that.
A nice hot bath sounds like a good way to relax, especially before race weekend and to let go of what happened with Dixon at the diner. I sink into the warm water, filled with a relaxing bath bomb, giving the room a fresh, lavender scent.
The hot water seeps into my taut muscles.
I didn’t realize how tense I was until now.
The pressure of this season is already taking its toll, and we still have many races left.
My mind wanders back to Dixon in his Meadow Diner work shirt.
How it fit him snug across his broad shoulders and showed off his clearly fit physique.
I start to squirm under the water and bubbles.
My eyes flash open.
I am not getting turned on by Dean fucking Dixon. No, no, no. This is not happening. I squirm again, but even in the water, I can feel how slick I am between my thighs.
The need for relief sweeps over me, and I reach down to my center and rub a light circle around my clit. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the urge to touch myself. It’ll only happen this once. Just to get off quickly. That’s it.
I start to picture what it would feel like with Dean’s body above mine, imagining that my hands are his much larger ones as I continue to play.
I circle harder, faster. I don’t stop until I feel myself on the brink of my orgasm.
The image of his lips on mine sends me over the edge.
I bite my lips to keep from calling out his name, along with any other noises I may make as my fingers slow and finally come to a stop.
Breathing hard, coming down from my release, my endorphins start to wear off and I realize what I’ve just done. I just made myself come to the thought of Dean Dixon and I together. I scrub a wet hand down my face.
What is wrong with me?
Sure, I’ve noticed that Dixon is attractive, but he’s never turned me on before. Maybe I just need to try and keep my distance from him. That has to be it. I’ve been forced to see him so often that my hormones are taking over.
Yep, it’s totally hormones.
I climb out and drain the bathtub, pull on some clean pajamas, and try to make myself fall asleep.