Racer
Page 45
“Racer,” I laugh, and he runs his thumb along the back of my arm as he starts leading me back to our tent.
I shiver head to toe, side to side; even inside of me there are tiny delicious shivers.
His mom is telling something to his dad close to our tent, and he’s smiling, laughing at something she says. He’s an older version of Racer, a little thicker, with blue eyes as dark as Racer’s, two dimples, and a bit of silver at his temples. I feel my stomach clutch in yearning, and I never realized how much I want that. What his parents have.
“Your dad’s a DILF.”
Racer bursts out laughing, then shoots me a jealous look. “Thanks. I really didn’t need to know that.”
“Well, it’s true.”
He smiles and shakes his head, and I resist the urge to reach out and grab his fingers and tug him back to me and kiss him, tell him that I want that—the kind of relationship his parents have with each other—with him, and I’d never, ever, wanted it before in this way.
As we walk forward, his mom looks at me and pulls away from his dad.
She studies me as she approaches, and a part of me feels vulnerable—because I’ve never been studied this way by another woman. By a mother figure. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from my mom, and she never did really look into my eyes—my expressive eyes, as Racer calls them—and try to figure out what was up with me.
His mom looks at me. “Remy told me you were with Racer at the hospital. Thank you for taking care of him.”
“Oh god, you don’t need to thank me at all.”
“Yeah, well”—her lips tilt a little—“I know it’s frightening.”
I nod, dropping my eyes.
“I could tell you that it’s always worth it. But sometimes it’s hard; it’s hard for the both of you. He wants to be better, you want him to be better, and sometimes there’s nothing either of you can do but hang on and ride the wave. And it is a wave. It passes. And then the water is calm again, and you can see the reflection of what you have, and that’s when it’s worth it. Every wave is worth it because one wave doesn’t reflect the whole ocean.”
A tear slips and I wipe it away.
I glance at Racer and see him sitting with his dad, his racing suit covering his thick thighs and the sleeves tied at his waist.
I want to go to him, I want to put my arm around him and tell him that I can’t deny it, that he’s my guy, that we don’t get to choose the tests we will have in life, all we can hope for is to pass every one, and to hang on to those who matter, those who love and love you back. I want to tell him that maybe I don’t deserve him, that I’m not as strong as his mom. But that I want to be. That I want to learn.
“You’re a sweet girl. You’re stronger than you think,” his mom says.
“It’s just that it all comes at you together. Like it’s never a single wave; it’s always two or three. My dad …”
I swallow, and she comes to sit by me and puts her hand on mine. “You can talk to me, really.”
“Thank you.” Another tear slips, and I wipe it away.
We’re silent for a moment as his dad and Racer walk up.
“Mr. Tate,” I greet, on my feet.
“I think we can skip to the part where you call me Remington.” He shakes my hand.
“Or Dad.” Racer’s gruff voice reaches me.
I feel my mouth part in surprise and maybe even a little excitement, and when he looks at me with a dark primal glimmer in his eyes, I feel myself blush.
His father slaps his back. “You’re in trouble,” he whispers to Racer, winking at him.
Racer suddenly is staring at me so possessively I feel a little bit impaled on the spot. A little bit … fucked. In the best ways. He moves up to me, and his body heat envelops me as we watch the other cars on the track as his parents head to their seats.
“I talked with your mom.”
“I know.”
“I embarrassed myself. I got super emotional.”
“Lucky her.” His voice is low and husky, tender.
I laugh.
“I’ve fallen for you, so hard, harder than ever. I’m obsessed with you, Racer. With everything about you. Your hot bod, and your gorgeous eyes, and your confidence and how fun and good you are,” I say, breathless at my admission. “And I’m really scared.”
He curses under his breath and laughs a bit, one hand running down that gorgeous face before he looks at me sideways, his blue eyes twinkling as he reaches out and embraces me, pulling me to his side. He peers down at my face. “I’d have given anything to hear you say that.”
“Anything?” I ask with a frown.
“Anything.”
“Not the championship,” I tease.
“Not that or what will I impress my girl with?”
“You don’t need to impress me.”
He reaches out to rub his thumb along mine. I lift my index finger, and he takes it in his and draws me close, and then his big hand is engulfing mine.
His sister comes over, and Racer signals.
“And that’s my sister Iris, as you know. Pain in the ass, this girl,” he says as she comes over, and he rumples her hair and she scowls at him, but looks at him with love in her eyes.
“There’s nothing as exciting as this, but this is absolutely nerve-wracking, I don’t know how you do it,” she says.
“I’m asking myself the same question and coming up blank,” I admit, laughing.
“Racer!!” I hear his family yell from the stands, even to where my dad and I stand in our pit area, waiting for Racer to get weighed and the official results to be announced.
“U.S. rookie driver Racer Tate is drawing the crowds today at the F1 Grand Prix at the Circuit of Americas, and with his first-place finish, something formidable is happening, and that is that the top, record-holding team of most F1 championships has something to worry about …” the announcers are saying, and I smile to myself, my chest swelling with pride as he finally steps off the scale, removes his helmet, and heads straight for me.
I’m already up on my toes, waiting for the quick peck on the lips he always gives me before he lets the rest of the team hug and congratulate him.
Except this time he reaches for my hand and draws me to his crowd, “Let’s go out to dinner. All of us. On me.”
The dinner with his family is fun, and delicious (we’re at a famous U.S. steakhouse and eating protein and carbs like starved people), but it’s also a little crazy. We occupy nearly half the restaurant, and between my brothers and father trying to get to know his parents and sister, I barely get to see Racer—we’re both too concerned with our parents getting along to pay attention to anything else.
Racer ends up heading over to where my brothers are, and I get a chance to talk to Iris, who I instantly like because she not only looks like him, in girl version, but because she seems genuinely sweet and concerned for him.
“Dad told us you helped my brother when he was at the hospital. I think that’s great of you,” she says, still seeming to be wary around me.
“I’d have killed him if he didn’t tell me,” I admit, scowling at the mere thought as we have the best steak and potatoes I’ve had in ages.
“Really?” She laughs. “Most girls wouldn’t want to bother with these things. I know twenty-two-year-old girls who are out just partying and having fun, not as driven as he is.”
“I’m not most women. And I love him,” I admit, saying the last with emphasis.
After that, she seems to warm up to me. “Is he a bully?” She glances at her big brother with love in her eyes but seems to want to have something to talk about with me. “He’s such a bully with me, always scaring off any guy who wants anything with me,” she complains. “I even promised him that one day, when he really liked a girl, I’d scare her away too. But I don’t want to scare you away.” She pauses, her voice softening. “You’re good to him. I’d never seen him hooked on a girl. Never would be with the same one for more than a night out or two.”
Her gaze turns wistful, and my heart is melting in my chest, then Iris goes on laughingly, “But for my pride’s sake, because once he scared away a guy that I really liked—I need to say that I at least tried to scare you away. So please know that he’s terribly bossy. And so confident it’s irritating because I’m quite awkward and the opposite.”
I shiver head to toe, side to side; even inside of me there are tiny delicious shivers.
His mom is telling something to his dad close to our tent, and he’s smiling, laughing at something she says. He’s an older version of Racer, a little thicker, with blue eyes as dark as Racer’s, two dimples, and a bit of silver at his temples. I feel my stomach clutch in yearning, and I never realized how much I want that. What his parents have.
“Your dad’s a DILF.”
Racer bursts out laughing, then shoots me a jealous look. “Thanks. I really didn’t need to know that.”
“Well, it’s true.”
He smiles and shakes his head, and I resist the urge to reach out and grab his fingers and tug him back to me and kiss him, tell him that I want that—the kind of relationship his parents have with each other—with him, and I’d never, ever, wanted it before in this way.
As we walk forward, his mom looks at me and pulls away from his dad.
She studies me as she approaches, and a part of me feels vulnerable—because I’ve never been studied this way by another woman. By a mother figure. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard from my mom, and she never did really look into my eyes—my expressive eyes, as Racer calls them—and try to figure out what was up with me.
His mom looks at me. “Remy told me you were with Racer at the hospital. Thank you for taking care of him.”
“Oh god, you don’t need to thank me at all.”
“Yeah, well”—her lips tilt a little—“I know it’s frightening.”
I nod, dropping my eyes.
“I could tell you that it’s always worth it. But sometimes it’s hard; it’s hard for the both of you. He wants to be better, you want him to be better, and sometimes there’s nothing either of you can do but hang on and ride the wave. And it is a wave. It passes. And then the water is calm again, and you can see the reflection of what you have, and that’s when it’s worth it. Every wave is worth it because one wave doesn’t reflect the whole ocean.”
A tear slips and I wipe it away.
I glance at Racer and see him sitting with his dad, his racing suit covering his thick thighs and the sleeves tied at his waist.
I want to go to him, I want to put my arm around him and tell him that I can’t deny it, that he’s my guy, that we don’t get to choose the tests we will have in life, all we can hope for is to pass every one, and to hang on to those who matter, those who love and love you back. I want to tell him that maybe I don’t deserve him, that I’m not as strong as his mom. But that I want to be. That I want to learn.
“You’re a sweet girl. You’re stronger than you think,” his mom says.
“It’s just that it all comes at you together. Like it’s never a single wave; it’s always two or three. My dad …”
I swallow, and she comes to sit by me and puts her hand on mine. “You can talk to me, really.”
“Thank you.” Another tear slips, and I wipe it away.
We’re silent for a moment as his dad and Racer walk up.
“Mr. Tate,” I greet, on my feet.
“I think we can skip to the part where you call me Remington.” He shakes my hand.
“Or Dad.” Racer’s gruff voice reaches me.
I feel my mouth part in surprise and maybe even a little excitement, and when he looks at me with a dark primal glimmer in his eyes, I feel myself blush.
His father slaps his back. “You’re in trouble,” he whispers to Racer, winking at him.
Racer suddenly is staring at me so possessively I feel a little bit impaled on the spot. A little bit … fucked. In the best ways. He moves up to me, and his body heat envelops me as we watch the other cars on the track as his parents head to their seats.
“I talked with your mom.”
“I know.”
“I embarrassed myself. I got super emotional.”
“Lucky her.” His voice is low and husky, tender.
I laugh.
“I’ve fallen for you, so hard, harder than ever. I’m obsessed with you, Racer. With everything about you. Your hot bod, and your gorgeous eyes, and your confidence and how fun and good you are,” I say, breathless at my admission. “And I’m really scared.”
He curses under his breath and laughs a bit, one hand running down that gorgeous face before he looks at me sideways, his blue eyes twinkling as he reaches out and embraces me, pulling me to his side. He peers down at my face. “I’d have given anything to hear you say that.”
“Anything?” I ask with a frown.
“Anything.”
“Not the championship,” I tease.
“Not that or what will I impress my girl with?”
“You don’t need to impress me.”
He reaches out to rub his thumb along mine. I lift my index finger, and he takes it in his and draws me close, and then his big hand is engulfing mine.
His sister comes over, and Racer signals.
“And that’s my sister Iris, as you know. Pain in the ass, this girl,” he says as she comes over, and he rumples her hair and she scowls at him, but looks at him with love in her eyes.
“There’s nothing as exciting as this, but this is absolutely nerve-wracking, I don’t know how you do it,” she says.
“I’m asking myself the same question and coming up blank,” I admit, laughing.
“Racer!!” I hear his family yell from the stands, even to where my dad and I stand in our pit area, waiting for Racer to get weighed and the official results to be announced.
“U.S. rookie driver Racer Tate is drawing the crowds today at the F1 Grand Prix at the Circuit of Americas, and with his first-place finish, something formidable is happening, and that is that the top, record-holding team of most F1 championships has something to worry about …” the announcers are saying, and I smile to myself, my chest swelling with pride as he finally steps off the scale, removes his helmet, and heads straight for me.
I’m already up on my toes, waiting for the quick peck on the lips he always gives me before he lets the rest of the team hug and congratulate him.
Except this time he reaches for my hand and draws me to his crowd, “Let’s go out to dinner. All of us. On me.”
The dinner with his family is fun, and delicious (we’re at a famous U.S. steakhouse and eating protein and carbs like starved people), but it’s also a little crazy. We occupy nearly half the restaurant, and between my brothers and father trying to get to know his parents and sister, I barely get to see Racer—we’re both too concerned with our parents getting along to pay attention to anything else.
Racer ends up heading over to where my brothers are, and I get a chance to talk to Iris, who I instantly like because she not only looks like him, in girl version, but because she seems genuinely sweet and concerned for him.
“Dad told us you helped my brother when he was at the hospital. I think that’s great of you,” she says, still seeming to be wary around me.
“I’d have killed him if he didn’t tell me,” I admit, scowling at the mere thought as we have the best steak and potatoes I’ve had in ages.
“Really?” She laughs. “Most girls wouldn’t want to bother with these things. I know twenty-two-year-old girls who are out just partying and having fun, not as driven as he is.”
“I’m not most women. And I love him,” I admit, saying the last with emphasis.
After that, she seems to warm up to me. “Is he a bully?” She glances at her big brother with love in her eyes but seems to want to have something to talk about with me. “He’s such a bully with me, always scaring off any guy who wants anything with me,” she complains. “I even promised him that one day, when he really liked a girl, I’d scare her away too. But I don’t want to scare you away.” She pauses, her voice softening. “You’re good to him. I’d never seen him hooked on a girl. Never would be with the same one for more than a night out or two.”
Her gaze turns wistful, and my heart is melting in my chest, then Iris goes on laughingly, “But for my pride’s sake, because once he scared away a guy that I really liked—I need to say that I at least tried to scare you away. So please know that he’s terribly bossy. And so confident it’s irritating because I’m quite awkward and the opposite.”
