Racer
Page 23
He smiles at me, and the smile melts me. I see him pull out his earbuds and connect them to his phone, then unlock it and hand it over.
I don’t know why, but I feel as if I’m peering into his soul as I scroll through his playlist, seeing songs like Walk by Kwabs and True Hardstyler by DJ Zealot.
It feels intimate, especially when I see him keep chatting with my dad but turning his phone around to peer in and see what I’m listening to: Battle Scars by Lupe Fiasco and Guy Sebastian.
At the hotel we check into our rooms. I tell myself I can act grown up about what happened. He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever beheld and girls are panting over him left and right, so he must do this all the time. No need to worry.
Either way, as soon as my brothers dump their pile of clothes to get cleaned in my room, I bathe and change and decide to go and knock on Racer’s door, and I ask him if he has any clothes or requisites.
“No,” he says, frowning at me thoughtfully.
He also bathed and changed, and is wearing comfortable torn jeans and a soft-looking grey T-shirt that licks his body just right.
“Someone should take care of you for a change,” he gruffs out all of a sudden.
I start. “No, it’s … it’s my job.”
“Someone should take care of you for a change.”
No one’s ever said that to me. I exhale, and try to focus on my job and wait there to see if he needs anything.
Racer just frowns.
“Where are you going in that?”
I run my hands down my dress.
“Nowhere. Here.” Shit. Was it too much to change into a dress before coming over here?
“No. Not here,” he says, lips curving as his gaze scans over me. He pushes himself off the doorframe and into his room. “Let’s take you somewhere.”
“Why.”
He stops in the middle of the room to shoot me a get-serious look. “Because you look gorgeous and I want to look at you.”
I melt a little but then jerk at that. “No, I told you, I’m supposed to be sure you behave.”
He gets his keys and wallet and returns in the sexiest walk I’ve ever seen, confident, sleek and lithe. “I can behave at a club.”
“I don’t think so.”
He takes my hand and shuts his door and drags me down the hall.
“Racer,” I groan. “You said you’d behave.”
“I said I could, not that I would. Can you?” He chucks my chin, a devilish sparkle in his eye.
“I don’t know,” I say.
He laughs, then says, pressing the elevator down arrow, “Come on. I’ll drive.”
I tug my hand free but remain standing by his side, crossing my arms over my chest to hide my suddenly very erect and tingling nipples. “Bummer. I really wanted the wheel.”
“Be a good girl, and I might give you a lesson,” he says with a wink that lifts my toes up from the ground.
My nipples are overreacting even more. “I don’t need a lesson, I can drive just fine.”
He shoots me a look, and I shoot him one back as we board and head down to his rental.
I should’ve known it would be a very cool sports car.
The guy rented a blue Porsche, with cream seats, and convertible, to boot. I know the salary we’ve offered him isn’t much and it leaves me wondering just how much money this guy made speed racing.
My brothers rarely will take me out to explore, but it turns out Racer doesn’t have such qualms. We end up in one of the city’s hottest clubs, a two-floor nightclub with pop music on one floor, and rap music on the next—and a gorgeous terrace upstairs that we have yet to discover.
We snag a booth at the far end, where we can listen to music, drink, and talk, and though the booth accommodates about five, Racer is sitting pretty close to me—his arm stretched out along the back of my seat as he sips on a prepared tomato juice (a glass of whiskey the waiter brought by mistake sitting untouched beside it), and I’m too engrossed talking to him to remember I’ve got a shot of tequila waiting on the table too.
“So your dad’s a fighter?”
He nods, smiling a little as he looks at me. The flashing strobe lights above dance across his features, and is it really fair for any man in the world to be this hot and perfect?
No.
I don’t think so.
Plus his dimple is out in full bloom. It’s difficult not to be rendered helplessly enchanted by it.
“Why do you smile like that?” I scowl as if he’s having no effect on me.
He runs his thumb along the bridge of my nose. “Because you’re cute.”
“Don’t patronize me.” I laugh, squirming as he lowers his hand back to the armrest. “Why didn’t you become a fighter?”
“I don’t like it enough. Not like he does.” He shakes his head, eyeing me. “It’s just a hobby to me. A way to blow off steam.”
“Are your parents together?”
“Almost thirty years together. My dad’s in his early fifties. Never looked at another woman after he met my mom.”
I can tell he cares about his family, and it makes me yearn for my parents to still be together, for me to still have a home—with a mother in it, a father, and love to go around.
“And you, Lana?” He lowers his arm and shifts forward, his expression focused.
“My mom left us about … five years ago. It was the worst year of my life. A few months after she left, David …” I exhale, shaking my head. “My dad was very sad for some time. When he decided to move to Europe and start a Formula One team, I don’t think either my brothers or I blinked twice. To me it felt like I had nothing left in Ohio.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Me too.” I glance at my drink, and suddenly feel the need to toss it back.
“Do you think it will be like that for you?” I ask as I set it down. “A marriage like your parents have?”
“I didn’t used to believe that was possible.” A waiter brings me a new glass of tequila, and Racer waits until he leaves before he continues—running his knuckles down my jaw. “Now I just wonder if it’ll be the same for her like it was for my mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mom loves my dad. She’s crazy about him actually. She gets every part of him. Even the shit no one else would get or love about him. That’s pretty rare.”
“You don’t think that someone could feel like this for you?”
“I used to think there was no way that would happen for me, so why try?” He smirks and lifts his drink as if toasting to that, then takes a long gulp, looks at me, and sets his glass back down. “Now I know when it feels this right for you, you better be sure you make her see it’s just as right for her.”
“Why do you think no one could feel like that for you!” I’m nearly affronted by the mere idea.
“Because loving me is a curse?”
“What? Why would loving you be a curse?”
He’s silent, looking at me with that mischievous smile dancing on his lips. “You’re the one who should be most concerned, crasher. Trust me, I’m better from afar.” He shakes his head, that mischievous gleam still in his eyes. “No one can break your heart as hard as I’ll be able to break it. No one could possibly ruin your life the way I can.” His voice is a warning, but there is tenderness there, almost amusement—as if even when he’s issuing a warning, he knows that I won’t listen.
“No, you’re not. You’re better from up close,” I contradict, and his eyes flash when he hears the conviction in my voice, then he grabs my face and leans down, his eyes blazing into me.
“You’re so fucking adorable. I want you in my pocket, so you go everywhere with me and nothing can harm you.” He curls his hand around my nape, smiling into me as he presses his forehead to mine.
“That would be so very wrong,” I part groan, part laugh.
“I’m never wrong, Lana. Ever.” He shakes his head playfully. “Not about anything. And not about you.”
I laugh, feeling giddy and maybe like one shot of tequila plus a little bit of Racer is already enough to take me to the stratosphere, but I reach for my drink and I push it back.
I don’t know why, but I feel as if I’m peering into his soul as I scroll through his playlist, seeing songs like Walk by Kwabs and True Hardstyler by DJ Zealot.
It feels intimate, especially when I see him keep chatting with my dad but turning his phone around to peer in and see what I’m listening to: Battle Scars by Lupe Fiasco and Guy Sebastian.
At the hotel we check into our rooms. I tell myself I can act grown up about what happened. He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever beheld and girls are panting over him left and right, so he must do this all the time. No need to worry.
Either way, as soon as my brothers dump their pile of clothes to get cleaned in my room, I bathe and change and decide to go and knock on Racer’s door, and I ask him if he has any clothes or requisites.
“No,” he says, frowning at me thoughtfully.
He also bathed and changed, and is wearing comfortable torn jeans and a soft-looking grey T-shirt that licks his body just right.
“Someone should take care of you for a change,” he gruffs out all of a sudden.
I start. “No, it’s … it’s my job.”
“Someone should take care of you for a change.”
No one’s ever said that to me. I exhale, and try to focus on my job and wait there to see if he needs anything.
Racer just frowns.
“Where are you going in that?”
I run my hands down my dress.
“Nowhere. Here.” Shit. Was it too much to change into a dress before coming over here?
“No. Not here,” he says, lips curving as his gaze scans over me. He pushes himself off the doorframe and into his room. “Let’s take you somewhere.”
“Why.”
He stops in the middle of the room to shoot me a get-serious look. “Because you look gorgeous and I want to look at you.”
I melt a little but then jerk at that. “No, I told you, I’m supposed to be sure you behave.”
He gets his keys and wallet and returns in the sexiest walk I’ve ever seen, confident, sleek and lithe. “I can behave at a club.”
“I don’t think so.”
He takes my hand and shuts his door and drags me down the hall.
“Racer,” I groan. “You said you’d behave.”
“I said I could, not that I would. Can you?” He chucks my chin, a devilish sparkle in his eye.
“I don’t know,” I say.
He laughs, then says, pressing the elevator down arrow, “Come on. I’ll drive.”
I tug my hand free but remain standing by his side, crossing my arms over my chest to hide my suddenly very erect and tingling nipples. “Bummer. I really wanted the wheel.”
“Be a good girl, and I might give you a lesson,” he says with a wink that lifts my toes up from the ground.
My nipples are overreacting even more. “I don’t need a lesson, I can drive just fine.”
He shoots me a look, and I shoot him one back as we board and head down to his rental.
I should’ve known it would be a very cool sports car.
The guy rented a blue Porsche, with cream seats, and convertible, to boot. I know the salary we’ve offered him isn’t much and it leaves me wondering just how much money this guy made speed racing.
My brothers rarely will take me out to explore, but it turns out Racer doesn’t have such qualms. We end up in one of the city’s hottest clubs, a two-floor nightclub with pop music on one floor, and rap music on the next—and a gorgeous terrace upstairs that we have yet to discover.
We snag a booth at the far end, where we can listen to music, drink, and talk, and though the booth accommodates about five, Racer is sitting pretty close to me—his arm stretched out along the back of my seat as he sips on a prepared tomato juice (a glass of whiskey the waiter brought by mistake sitting untouched beside it), and I’m too engrossed talking to him to remember I’ve got a shot of tequila waiting on the table too.
“So your dad’s a fighter?”
He nods, smiling a little as he looks at me. The flashing strobe lights above dance across his features, and is it really fair for any man in the world to be this hot and perfect?
No.
I don’t think so.
Plus his dimple is out in full bloom. It’s difficult not to be rendered helplessly enchanted by it.
“Why do you smile like that?” I scowl as if he’s having no effect on me.
He runs his thumb along the bridge of my nose. “Because you’re cute.”
“Don’t patronize me.” I laugh, squirming as he lowers his hand back to the armrest. “Why didn’t you become a fighter?”
“I don’t like it enough. Not like he does.” He shakes his head, eyeing me. “It’s just a hobby to me. A way to blow off steam.”
“Are your parents together?”
“Almost thirty years together. My dad’s in his early fifties. Never looked at another woman after he met my mom.”
I can tell he cares about his family, and it makes me yearn for my parents to still be together, for me to still have a home—with a mother in it, a father, and love to go around.
“And you, Lana?” He lowers his arm and shifts forward, his expression focused.
“My mom left us about … five years ago. It was the worst year of my life. A few months after she left, David …” I exhale, shaking my head. “My dad was very sad for some time. When he decided to move to Europe and start a Formula One team, I don’t think either my brothers or I blinked twice. To me it felt like I had nothing left in Ohio.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Me too.” I glance at my drink, and suddenly feel the need to toss it back.
“Do you think it will be like that for you?” I ask as I set it down. “A marriage like your parents have?”
“I didn’t used to believe that was possible.” A waiter brings me a new glass of tequila, and Racer waits until he leaves before he continues—running his knuckles down my jaw. “Now I just wonder if it’ll be the same for her like it was for my mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mom loves my dad. She’s crazy about him actually. She gets every part of him. Even the shit no one else would get or love about him. That’s pretty rare.”
“You don’t think that someone could feel like this for you?”
“I used to think there was no way that would happen for me, so why try?” He smirks and lifts his drink as if toasting to that, then takes a long gulp, looks at me, and sets his glass back down. “Now I know when it feels this right for you, you better be sure you make her see it’s just as right for her.”
“Why do you think no one could feel like that for you!” I’m nearly affronted by the mere idea.
“Because loving me is a curse?”
“What? Why would loving you be a curse?”
He’s silent, looking at me with that mischievous smile dancing on his lips. “You’re the one who should be most concerned, crasher. Trust me, I’m better from afar.” He shakes his head, that mischievous gleam still in his eyes. “No one can break your heart as hard as I’ll be able to break it. No one could possibly ruin your life the way I can.” His voice is a warning, but there is tenderness there, almost amusement—as if even when he’s issuing a warning, he knows that I won’t listen.
“No, you’re not. You’re better from up close,” I contradict, and his eyes flash when he hears the conviction in my voice, then he grabs my face and leans down, his eyes blazing into me.
“You’re so fucking adorable. I want you in my pocket, so you go everywhere with me and nothing can harm you.” He curls his hand around my nape, smiling into me as he presses his forehead to mine.
“That would be so very wrong,” I part groan, part laugh.
“I’m never wrong, Lana. Ever.” He shakes his head playfully. “Not about anything. And not about you.”
I laugh, feeling giddy and maybe like one shot of tequila plus a little bit of Racer is already enough to take me to the stratosphere, but I reach for my drink and I push it back.
