Chapter 15 Dean
FIFTEEN
DEAN
I slam my hands down on my steering wheel after running out of fuel.
Damn it!
I pull back into the pits and climb out of the car.
I’m frustrated about how the day went and ended, but I’m still glad Sanford was the one to win.
Knowing him, there’s going to be a big party at his place to celebrate.
He always has to celebrate with a bang. Especially since he rents a house with Taylor and Drew Clarks.
It’s going to get wild.
When Katarina approaches me for a post-race interview, for once I don’t feel the urge to run, or grit my teeth and bare it. Normally, I’d be pissed about losing the way I did. My anger has gone almost as quickly as it came; it’s a new feeling, but one I think I like.
“Dean, how do you feel about the outcome of the race?”
“It sucks that we didn’t get the finish we wanted due to running out of fuel, but glad that Chase got the win. He earned it.”
“You had a bit of a battle with Regan at the end there. Are you surprised there wasn’t any retaliation from last week?” Katerina asks.
I’m about to answer her question when I see Regan climbing out of her car, helmet still on.
I watch the scene in slow motion as she removes her helmet and takes her hair out of her low ponytail.
It cascades around her shoulders, the lights around the track reflect off of it, as if the sun were still out, causing it to glow around her. I lick my lips at the sight.
“Dean?” Katarina’s voice pulls me from my trace, forcing my gaze back to her.
“Huh? What was the question?” I ask. Katarina gives me a mildly annoyed face. How can Regan distract me by just removing her helmet? I’ve got to get a fucking grip.
“How do you feel about Regan not retaliating from last week?” she asks again, her tone professional, but the annoyance I saw in her face still there. I’m still keeping an eye on Regan; she’s talking with her team as they start to pack up the pit box.
“Oh umm—we talked it out and are on better terms now. Excuse me.” I leave without really finishing the interview, but I need to talk to her, need to be near her. It’s a feeling that I’ve never had before—for anyone. It’s almost too much for me to keep inside, and in this public space—I have to.
I grab two waters from the team cooler at my pit stall and walk toward Regan.
She’s pulling off her racing gloves with her teeth and dear god, why is that so hot?
By the time I’ve reached her, she’s tied her fire suit around her waist with the sleeves, cinching her waist in.
The tight, sweatproof undershirt clings to her body, showing the dips in her waist and the curves of her breasts.
I quickly shake my head to clear the thoughts I’ve been thinking and hand her one of the water bottles. She looks at the water and back to me, confused. Hesitantly, she takes it.
“Umm—thanks.” She opens the bottle, cracking the seal, and goes to take a sip, but stops. “It’s not poisoned, is it?” she asks, looking at the bottle again, holding it up to the light.
“No, it’s not.” I chuckle. “Good race and thanks,” I say, taking a drink from my own water to prove it’s not poisoned.
“Thanks, you too. But what are you thanking me for?” Finally, she takes a swig from the bottle. Some of it rolls down the corner of her mouth, and my next thoughts are anything but nice.
“Racing me cleanly.” I lean against the pit wall, and she follows suit next to me. We are close enough that I can smell her scent again, that sweet vanilla. “I thought you still might be angry about last week.”
“I thought about it,” she says with a smirk. “But I didn’t want to stoop to your level.”
Nerves start to build in my chest. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I’m asking her out or anything. I just want to invite her to the party, which I’m sure Sanford has already sent out invites for.
“Since Sanford won, there’s going to be a party at his place.” I fiddle with the label on the water bottle, slightly peeling it off. “You should come.” I glance up and she looks happy that I extended the invitation.
“Chase already sent out the invites. Probably from victory lane,” she jokes.
I laugh because she’s probably right about that. She’s usually not at parties, I’m not sure why, but I’m hoping she’ll at least come to this one.
“Leslie and I will be there,” she confirms. I notice that she’s fiddling with the sleeves of her fire suit. Is she nervous? Because of me? The party?
“I’ll see you there, then.” As I walk away, I can feel her gaze still upon my broad shoulders, taking me in.
I like it. I like it maybe a little too much.
I bring in one of the kegs that Chase asked me to pick up, and place it in the kitchen of the house that he rents with Drew and Taylor.
The ranch style home is open concept with the living room leading directly into the kitchen.
The speaker on the mantle with the TV plays music with the bass thumping in the background, but since the party really hasn’t started, it’s not too loud yet.
I make a second trip out to my truck to bring in the second one, placing it next to the first.
“Hey, man, where do you want these?” I ask Chase, a bit out of breath from carrying the heavy barrels.
“I’ll help you bring them outside.”
Together, we bring the kegs out into the lawn next to a table with Solo cups on it.
The backyard is large, plenty of space for all the games they have already set up, cornhole, darts, even an extra table for beer pong.
The neighborhood is nice enough, and it's not too far from uptown Charlotte, either. So, partying in or out is an option.
I follow Chase back up the deck and grab some beers from the coolers there for everyone before the rest of the partygoers are due to arrive. All four of us cheers and take a drink from our cans.
“Congrats again,” I tell him, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Thanks. Sorry about your finish,” Chase says.
I shrug. “Yeah, what can you do?” I say, nonchalantly. All three of them just stare at me, wide eyed and in shock. “What?”
“Who are you and what have you done with Dean Dixon?” Taylor asks with a laugh.
I scan all of them. They all look like I just told them I have a tail. Is it really that weird that I’m not angry about it? I didn’t realize that I get angry about losing so much. I just prefer the feeling of winning. Who doesn’t?
“I don’t know. I mean, it sucks, don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of races left and time to catch Brady. I also wanted to keep a level head while Daniel and his family were there today, I guess.”
“Okay, Dixon. We’ll let it slide this time,” Chase says with a sly grin. “But we’re watching you.”
“Always watching,” Taylor says, using his best Roz voice from Monsters Inc.
I toss my head back and laugh. The front door opens and people start to pile into the house, all carrying some kind of snack or drink for the evening.
Soon, the counters are full of food that everyone is snacking on, and the coolers are full to the brim with every kind of drink you can imagine.
The party is in full swing, and I’m outside playing cornhole with Ian, Drew, and Greyson.
Ian and I are killing them. I’m so focused on my next shot that I don’t notice that anyone else has come outside until Drew calls for Regan and Leslie.
Most of the party is still inside since it's a bit humid out tonight, but that hasn’t stopped us.
“Hey! Brady, Leslie, wasn’t expecting y’all tonight,” Drew says.
I pause mid throw, watching as Leslie and Regan pad down the deck stairs and into the yard.
Regan looks stunning in a green summer dress that stops mid-thigh and hugs every inch of her perfectly.
It dips a little low in the front, showing the swell of her perfect breasts.
Shit. What am I even saying right now? A six pack of Modelo dangles from her fingers with one already opened.
“Yeah, we were invited by Chase,” says Regan a little timidly. Almost like she isn’t sure about being here.
In that dress, she should definitely be here.
“Dixon! Throw the fucking bag already!” Greyson shouts from the other side of the cornhole boards. I forgot we were even playing. I throw the bag with ease, and it slides into the hole with a swoosh.
“That’s game,” Ian says, pumping a fist of victory into the air.
“Anyone call next game?” Leslie asks. Regan give her a slight glare. Clearly, she doesn’t want to play, but agrees anyway.
“You can be on my team, Brady,” Ian says, scanning Regan’s body. The look he’s giving her is gross, like she’s a piece of meat and not a person.
Regan crosses her arms over her chest like protective armor from Ian’s gaze.
“Don’t stare too long, Hicks, you may turn to stone,” she snips at him.
“My bad, Brady.” His sneer returns and I know he’s thinking something he shouldn’t be. I’m disgusted by how Hicks is acting with her.
“Grow up, Hicks,” Leslie quips before I have a chance to say something myself. She’s usually not one to snap back, good for her.
“No need to get snippy, Leslie,” Ian says.
“Shut the fuck up and stand over there. You’re on my team,” I tell him, mainly so he can stay the hell away from Regan. “Leslie, you’ll unfortunately have to stand over there across from Brady.”
Everyone takes their places and the game begins. It’s not a very long game. Turns out, both Regan and Leslie are terrible at cornhole. It’s not like they are even too drunk to play. It’s like watching a toddler play t-ball for the first time—torture.
“Come on, Dixon. One more and we win!” Ian shouts from the other side of the boards.
“Shut up, I got it.” I focus on my shot and throw the bag, arcing high across the dark sky. It lands right through the hole in the board with a whoosh.
“Yes!” Hicks celebrates.
“Thank god!” Leslie says, relieved. “Got any liquor in this place?”
“Right this way, m’lady,” Hicks says with some kind of accent that makes Leslie roll her eyes.