Chapter 13 Dean
THIRTEEN
DEAN
When I leave work, I’m thoroughly exhausted.
Not just physically, but mentally, as well.
Seeing Brady has drained me. I pull up in front of the race shop and walk up the stairs to my studio apartment above it.
The owner, Tom Sampson, is nice enough to keep rent fairly cheap for me.
All I have to do is give some extra hours in the shop. A fair price to pay.
I slump down on the futon, trying to relax my body and mind from the long ass day. I absentmindedly rub the spot on my wrist that Brady touched earlier. It’s like I can still feel her warm touch, her small fingers wrapped around my wrist. I wonder what it would feel like on another part of my body.
That sends a jolt south, and I thread my hands through my hair. I really need to get it cut. I can’t be thinking about Brady like that. She’s my rival, I don’t even like her. We’re competing against each other.
I assumed she would still be upset about last week’s wreck. I guess she’s let it go. Maybe I should talk to her about it. Even if it’s just to avoid future physical assaults. She was nice at the diner today, and she did leave that very generous tip.
She looked good, too. Wearing jean shorts that exposed her toned thighs, and a tight red tank top that displayed her womanly curves and breasts.
I don’t usually see her out of her fire suit or team polos.
The way she looked up at me, eyes like pools of caramel, makes me believe that she has good intentions.
The following day after my shift at the diner, I swing by the Brady Racing shop to see if I can find Regan, hoping to clear the air about last week and to thank her in person for her generous tip yesterday.
The two large garage bay doors are open as I pull up and park my truck. The evening air is still warm, even as the sun begins to set. The sounds of large industrial fans whir loudly inside the shop to keep it cool.
I spot her reaching into a toolbox to switch out a socket on the ratchet she’s holding. She starts to lay back down on the flat roller to roll back under the car. Before she pushes herself under, I call out to her.
“Brady! Hey!”
She stops and sits up, but doesn’t stand. She looks confused at my presence here. I guess I don’t blame her for that. At least it’s confusion and not anger. Maybe we can have a civil conversation.
“Dixon?” she asks.
She’s wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt that’s covered in grease and dirt. It hugs her curves, just like the tank top at the diner. Her blonde hair is up in its usual ponytail, not down like it was yesterday.
I lick my lips, taking her in. Why am I noticing her body now? I realize I’ve just been standing here, ogling her as she crosses her arms over her chest, starting to look annoyed.
Say something, you idiot.
“I wanted to thank you for your tip yesterday at the diner. And apologize for last week’s antics,” I finally say, stuffing my hands into my jean pockets.
A look of surprise crosses her face as she stands, wiping her hands on her jeans. Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman wipe her dirty hands on her jeans before. It’s kind of, dare I say—hot.
Did I say hot? No. No.
Stop thinking that Regan Brady is hot, you fucking fool.
“Oh, you’re welcome. I told you, if you need it, I’m happy to help where I can.
” She smiles, and I know she’s being genuine.
That smile shows a dimple on her cheek that I haven’t ever noticed before.
Has it always been there? “As for last week,” she continues, walking toward me, “I was pissed, but looking at the replay later, it was clear that the air shifted between our cars, and you never made contact. I’m sorry I punched you.
That wasn’t the right way to go about it. ”
She holds out her hand for a shake, and I give a small smile before taking it.
That buzz from the contact of her skin returns with her touch.
Hands that look soft, but have calluses on them all the same.
My jeans tighten behind the zipper, all from a damn handshake.
I’ve raced with this woman for two whole years, so why is it just now that I’m noticing how beautiful she is?
Or have I been ignoring it? I cough and let go of her hand, though something inside really doesn’t want to let her go.
“I would have done the same thing,” I chuckle. “I know you want to help, but I’m okay without it. I can do things on my own.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” she says in a softer tone as she takes another step closer.
A whiff of her scent catches me off guard, her shampoo I think.
Vanilla mixed with the grease on her shirt and pants.
“I do appreciate the apology, Dixon. Not something I expected from you.” Me either.
She catches my gaze, sending more sparks through my chest. I take a step back, hoping putting some distance will snuff out that spark, stomping it out before it grows into a wildfire.
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. It’s a one-time thing, Brady.”
That dimple appears again as she smiles. God, it’s fucking gorgeous. I fight the urge to reach out and rub my thumb across it.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I need to get out of here.
“Of course. You’re my rival, after all,” she says in a slightly teasing tone.
“So, see you on the infield?”
“Yeah, see you, Dixon.”
She goes back to what she was doing and disappears under her car. I scrub a hand down my face, wondering what the fuck just happened. I hop back in my truck and head home. My thoughts are still spinning around Regan.
Regan? Brady, just Brady.
I’m walking through the garage at Charlotte Motor Speedway to meet with Daniel and his family. I’m really excited to have them here. I pulled some strings and got the pit passes, and they will be in one of the nice suites to watch the race.
I walk over to the gate and nod at the security guard to let them pass through. I crouch down so that I’m eye level with Daniel.
“What’s up, big guy?” I ask, raising my hand for a high five that Daniel eagerly gives. He’s still connected to an oxygen tank that he is dragging behind him. “You ready to get an exclusive tour?”
He nods in excitement. “Yeah! I want to see everything!”
I lead them into the garage, showing them the car and introducing them to the team. They all give high fives and even let him use an air gun on the tires.
Daniel and his parents are all smiles. I love that I can bring this kind of joy to someone else. I take them out of the garage and bring them to the pit box, helping them climb up.
“This is where Steve sits throughout the race, giving me all the information I need from his fancy computers to help me be faster than everyone else.”
“That’s right,” Steve says as he climbs to the top of the box. “He has to listen to everything I say. That’s why being a crew chief is so much better than being a driver,” he says with a wink.
Steve takes his headset and places it over Daniel’s ears. He starts to get into all the technical aspects of his equipment. Daniel seems really into it. Maybe he’ll become a crew chief someday. Daniel’s mom taps me on the shoulder while Daniel is fully engrossed in what Steve is explaining.
“Thank you so much for doing all of this. He has been so excited about it since you and Regan visited the hospital.”
“It’s no problem at all, Mrs.—” She stops me.
“Tara, please.”
“It’s no problem, Tara. I’m glad he can have this experience. I have it set up so you have a personal suite for the race.”
Tara leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek.
I’m surprised, but I grin at her. It’s a motherly thank you peck on the cheek.
It feels nice to have a bit of that motherly energy swarming around me.
I get it from Ms. Rosa a lot of the time, but it’s nice to have it come from someone like Tara.
It makes my heart ache missing my own mom, wishing that she would be here supporting me like she and my dad used to.
We exchange more thank yous as I leave them so I can suit up for the race.
I’m walking back to my hauler to get ready for our pre-race meeting, and see Brady coming out of her own. She gives me a nod that I reciprocate, and then she’s heading toward me with a hint of a smile on her face.
There’s that dimple again.
“Was that Daniel from the hospital that I saw you giving a tour?”
I nod. “Yeah, I set them up in a personal suite for the race today.”
Her smile grows and that dimple deepens.
“That’s so nice of you. Good luck today.” She walks off toward her pit stall. I rake my fingers through my hair, still wishing I’d gotten it cut, and exhale a breath. My heartrate has skyrocketed, and I’m willing it to come down.
Fuck, I’m in big trouble.