Always Series Box Set

by Becs, Lindsay

  “Why are you so juvenile?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

  “Whatever you did, I’m glad. You needed a chainsaw to get through it yesterday,” Dave tells us.

  “We didn’t sleep together,” I blurt out.

  Benton, the ass that he is, starts laughing at me. “Way to play it cool.”

  “Shut up,” I say between gritted teeth.

  “I didn’t… OK,” Dave says as his eyes dance back and forth between us. “Let’s get started!”

  This shoot is much better, and the day flows so much easier than yesterday in the studio. We have both visibly relaxed around each other, and everything feels so much more comfortable and natural. I know these are going to be great shots. We keep going until the sun is setting at our backs, and it begins to feel romantic even.

  “That’s a wrap, you two,” Dave says with a big smile. “These are fantastic!”

  “Can we see some of them?” I ask him. Normally I ask to look at them throughout, but I was so into the day I never stopped to think about it.

  He walks to Benton and me and clicks through a few for us to see. They look amazing! We look fierce together and apart. I know Matthew will be happy with these; they’re even better than the ones he liked from earlier this week. I’m really pleased with all of our work today. Mission accomplished.

  Chapter Five

  Benton

  I haven’t seen Tatum since our photo shoot at the track five days ago. We had gotten some dinner together afterward but then went to our separate rooms and haven’t talked since. I’ve been busy training and testing out my bikes all week. Tensions are high with the crew and my dad, but that’s to be expected with this being my first year racing for them. As much as I like Tatum, I need to stay focused on the task at hand and keep my head in the right place.

  Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about her, though. I’ve thought about her quite a lot actually. Her laugh, her deep blue eyes, her long, lean legs. I’ve fisted myself almost daily thinking about kissing her again. The vision of her bent over my bike or in that damn Paddock Girl outfit is enough to make me blow in 2.5 seconds. But besides that, I’m keeping my mind on the race.

  Today, other race teams have rolled in, and one by one they are all lining up along the track in their designated areas. The garages all full of crews and bikes. It’s no longer the quiet track I’ve grown to love. I’ve met a few of the other riders. Most keep to themselves, some are complete assholes, and others are like me, cocky with a small side of humble.

  One guy, Alfie Bilbo, I’ve grown up racing with back home in London. We’re mates back home, but it’s different being on American soil with a trophy to win between us. Still, I think we’ll be fine. I swing into his racing bay to say hello.

  “Alfie!”

  His face breaks into that signature grin of his. He’s an odd guy but has a heart of gold and a smile that can win anyone over. “Oh, shit, the King is here! Do we all need to bow before you, my lord?” he jokes, bending down on one knee.

  “Get up, you arse,” I laugh as I shake my head at him and his theatrics. “You alright?” I ask as we bump fists.

  “Yeah, you?”

  “Good. You need anything, you let me know, yeah?”

  “Sure, sure. You ready for this?”

  I shrug. “Guess so. Any pointers?”

  “Like I’d tell you,” he scoffs. “Travers is a megabitch if he doesn’t get top pole position. He’s the Frenchy. Otherwise, most aren’t so bad. Moretti and Ricci, the Italians, are like us. They’re mates who grew up racing together, but they take the gloves off on the track. They’re on different teams, and they are crazy to watch.”

  “I’ve watched them. I didn’t know they were friends. Good to know. Thanks.”

  “The Spaniards are both nice enough, but have their moments of assholery, like the rest of us,” he adds with a smile.

  “Delgado and Vargas, yeah?” He nods in agreement.

  We talk for a bit longer, and then I’m off to check back in with my crew, who have been working on my brakes. With all the other teams coming in, the feel around here is so different. It makes me itch to let off some steam on the track. I get the go-ahead to test out the brake change and take off at full speed to make a few laps. I’m at turn six, feeling relaxed and confident again, when someone passes me like we’re in the thick of a race. It throws me off for a second before my anger ignites and I take off to catch him. Number eighty-six, Travers. I should have known.

  We race against each other, feeling the other out, weaving in and out, passing and then being passed. It’s a dance done on the pavement between racers. There’s a symmetry to it, a science even. You have to not only know how to drive and race your own bike, but you have to be able to read others and watch their movements, even the smallest ones. Right now, Travers thinks he’s showing me that he’s the winner in this race but really, he’s showing me all his tells and I’m here to memorize each and every one.

  I exit into my designated bay where my crew is. I’m greeted by my father looking pissed. Pushing up my visor, I give him a big smile.

  “That was the best run yet,” I tell him.

  “Why are you pushing the bike so much already? That was supposed to be a test on the brakes, Benton. Or did you forget?”

  “I was aware. They did well,” I say as I take my helmet off and climb off my bike.

  “Benton! You can’t push like that when we aren’t even sure they’ll work right! What were you thinking? We clocked you at your fastest speed, and as much as I want to say good job, I’m fucking pissed at you for being that risky and foolish.”

  “Sorry.” I shrug. But I’m really not. I learned a lot about my opponent out there, and I wouldn’t change that.

  “Be smart. Be wise. Then, be fast.” Those are the same words I’ve heard my whole life from this man. Before every race, whether in person, on the phone, or in a text, he always said those same words.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, how’d she feel?” he asks with a grin splitting his face. This man, he can be a hard-ass, but he also lives for racing. I tell him and the crew about how the adjustments they made to the chassy felt. Things that still feel stiff or lose. Everyone takes their notes and nods as I tell them what I think needs tweaking.

  It’s been a good day as everything falls into place. My blood is pumping, and I’m ready for this race season to start. The fact that it’s kicking off at my home track makes it that much easier for me. I just hope that as it continues, I can keep up with everyone and not let my father or my team and crew down.

  * * *

  Preliminaries start the day after tomorrow, which means tonight is my last chance to drink for a few days. I’m not a big drinker, but when I start to feel stressed or pressure from those around me, I like to unwind with a couple of beers. After the last few days with everyone arriving and the heightened tension with my father, tonight I’m drinking.

  I knock on Tatum’s door, unsure if she’s even here. I wait for an answer, then knock a second time. I think I hear music inside, so I’m pretty sure she’s in there. After a minute, the bolt is unlatched and the door opens. She stands there with a black film on her face and a fluffy robe around her with her hair twisted up in a towel on top of her head.

  “I like the new look, Sugar. That just for me?” I ask as I push my way inside.

  She responds with her signature eyeroll. “It’s my usual regime. I have to be ready for race day. You forget that I make my money from this,” she says, circling her face with her hand to show what she means.

  “I wouldn’t go looking like that.”

  She smacks my shoulder. “Asshole.”

  “I need a drink. You want to join me?” I decide to cut to the chase.

  “I don’t drink,” she says from the bathroom. I follow her voice and see her peeling the black stuff off her face like she’s a snake shedding a layer of skin. I watch in utter fascination as she finishes and then rubs lotion after lotion over her face,
eyes, and neck.

  “Come on. I’d really like you to join me. We can even just raid the minibar if you don’t want to go out.”

  “You can do that and I can sit and laugh at you, but I don’t drink anything unless it’s water.”

  “Buzzkill,” I mutter.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but that’s not my thing anymore. As I said, you’re welcome to stay and hang here if you want. But I get it if you want to go out with your friends or whatever.”

  “What friends? Have you not picked up on the accent? I’m not exactly from around here,” I say, opening the minibar to evaluate what’s available.

  “I have, but your dad lives here. I don’t know, I guess I didn’t really think about it,” she answers honestly.

  “It’s fine. My mate Alfie is here now. He’s racing with Aprilia, but I’d rather hang with you,” I tell her, and when I look up, she has her foot on the counter and is rubbing another lotion on her bare leg. I would definitely rather be here. The room instantly fills with the smell I’ve come to love. It smells like chocolate and vanilla and Tatum. Sugar.

  “Is he staying here, too?” she asks, referring to the hotel where we are both currently living.

  “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “He can come here and hang with us if you want, but I’m not getting ready and going out.”

  “He most certainly is not coming here to hang with us,” I tell her, probably a little too sternly.

  “O... K…” she says, moving to the other leg.

  I need to stop watching her, but I can’t seem to look away. Her silky-looking skin is begging to be touched, and I guarantee she doesn’t have anything on under that robe. My cock is hard and pressing against my zipper. I shift in an attempt to discreetly adjust myself, but I get caught in the act when she looks at me in the mirror.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, turning away from her and back into the room where it’s safer.

  “Oh, Benny, don’t get shy on me now,” she teases me.

  “Sugar, you are begging to be spanked if you keep that up.” I close my eyes and instantly regret not thinking before I spoke.

  The door to the bathroom closes but is still open just a crack. I can see her reflection in the mirror and watch as the robe falls to the floor, exposing her naked, perfect body underneath. My eyes bug, my cock twitches, and I stare for a second too long before I turn around.

  A few minutes later when Tatum exits the bathroom, dressed, I have downed two bottles of liquor from her minibar. As much as I want to stay, I’m not sure if I should. I know if I do, I’m going to want to kiss her and touch her and do a lot of things to her. I just don’t think she wants to do those things with me.

  “You want to order food and watch a movie?” she asks me, reaching for a bottled water and pressing her chest against my back. It is taking every fiber in my being to not throw her on the bed and rip her clothes back off.

  “Sure,” I rasp out.

  We order dinner and decide on Talladega Nights to watch for inspiration for the race. We eat in silence, with the exception of our laughter here and there. But once we finish eating, Tatum snuggles up into my side.

  She is soft and warm and fits against me perfectly. I wrap my arm around her, my fingers playing with the ends of her hair. After a few minutes, she snuggles in closer, and before I know it, her hand is tracing my abs under my shirt. Damn, this girl is going to be the death of me.

  I look down at her and see that she’s watching me, not the movie. Our eyes meet and in an instant, our mouths connect. It’s quick and frenzied, and when we pull apart, we’re both panting, staring once again, not knowing what to do next.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing with you,” she confesses.

  “That makes two of us, Sugar.” I smile at her as I lace our fingers together.

  And just like that, the tension in my body is gone. Not from drinking it away or from fucking a nameless girl. No, it’s gone because I kissed her.

  We don’t kiss again or do anything more than hold each other as we finish our movie. When it’s over, I press my lips to her forehead and quietly slip out from under her sleeping body. Once I make my way up to my room, I take a shower and think of her as I fist my cock. The last of my tension leaves my body and washes down the drain.

  I think I just found my new pre-race routine.

  Chapter Six

  Tatum

  Things feel so tangled and odd with Benton. We’re hot together when we both give in to the pull between us, but other times it just feels weird. Like now, it’s race day. Today is the big day, for both of us. I haven’t seen or talked to him since he came to my room the other night. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, he was gone.

  On my nightstand, my journal was open to a fresh page with a note from him with his number. I haven’t used it though.

  My eyes are scanning for him in the crowd. It’s insane here today. All the people—fans, crew, racers, press, Paddock Girls. I knew this was big, but I didn’t realize it was this big. It’s loud with engines roaring, tires squealing, fans yelling, and music playing. Like I said, insane.

  I’m in Royal King’s area where I was directed not to leave unless escorted. I’m standing at the entrance with another girl I recognize from weeks before. We’re in our matching Paddock Girl attire and matching hair and make-up. Men stare and take pictures. Racers walk by, giving their looks of appraisal. This is nothing new to them, but I’m sure they appreciate some girls more than others.

  “There you are,” a deep, raspy voice that I’ve come to love says from behind me.

  I turn to face him, tamping down the smile threatening to break across my face. “Hey. I’ve been searching for you, too,” I tell him as we begin to walk to the track together.

  “I’ve been stuck in here. Dad doesn’t want me walking around,” he grumbles.

  “You nervous?” I ask

  “A little, but soon you’re gonna be standing next to me, and then I’ll feel better. And after this thing, when I’m full of adrenaline, I’m going to kiss that red lipstick off those fuckable lips,” he all but growls, turning me on right as the camera pans to us. Well, shit.

  Stacy, the girl working with me, and I are told to walk with Benton as he makes his way around the track. I don’t miss the cocky smirk he gives me when our eyes collide, knowing exactly what he did to me earlier. Raising a challenging brow at him, he bites back a laugh.

  We all manage to do our jobs together, posing for pictures and standing there looking pretty. Stacy and I finally get the opportunity to sit after being on our feet for hours and watch on a screen as the race gets ready to start. My feet are throbbing and I’ve got blisters forming, but I still can’t take my eyes off the screen, watching for number thirteen.

  He did well yesterday in preliminaries. His starting position is at sixth, which is amazing since it’s his first race. With the bikes all in position, they start their warm-up lap, and the air around the track and in the room shifts. My eyes follow the RK logo with number thirteen on it as he makes his way around the track.

  IMR race tracks aren’t like NASCAR. Instead of being an oval, these tracks have crazy turns and curves and straightaways, and each one is very different from the next. Each race varies the number of laps, too. This one, The Piston Ring, has the racers making twenty-six laps to finish the race.

  I watch as Benton comes back to the start after completing his warm-up lap. He’s poised and ready to take off. I feel so excited and nervous for him. One by one, all the racers take their starting positions. The lights begin to change colors, and when they hit green, they’re off.

  The bikes roar to life as they all try to pull ahead at the start. Benton has already managed to get from sixth to third, but I know this is only the beginning. The next hour has me biting the inside of my cheek with nerves as I watch him. It’s the first time I’ve really watched a race like this. The whole thing has me in a bundle of stress, the way they pass so closely to each other and weave in and out.
Not to mention them doing it all at over a hundred miles per hour. These guys are certifiable.

  Benton had fallen back to fifth, but with five laps to go, he’s still making his way up. The crew and announcers are going crazy for this new King on the race ring. The last lap has him going head to head, back and forth, with number sixty, Rocco Moretti, but when they pass the finish line, Benton has the advantage and beats him for third place. I’m on my feet screaming along with everyone else. The energy in our Royal King area is explosive.

  Travers takes first, as expected, and Alfie, Benton’s friend, takes second with Benton in third place. Benton placing in his first race is going to make quite the stir. Everyone is going to be looking out for this rookie rider to see what he’s going to do next. I’m so excited for him I’m buzzing.

  When they finally tell Stacy and me that we’re up, I can’t get there fast enough. He doesn’t miss a beat when our eyes meet, and he rushes to pull me into a hug. “This day just got crazy, Sugar. But I want it to end with you,” he whispers in my ear before pulling away. I feel the corner of my mouth twitch a little, wanting to smile, but I can’t let that happen. Not here. Not now.

  “You did good, Benny,” I tell him as I raise my umbrella over his head to shield his highness from the sun. He raises a brow at me in an is that all I get kind of look.

  When he takes the podium, I stand behind him to hold his helmet as they give him his medal and trophy. When we move to leave, he takes my hand and pulls me around a corner behind the podium stage.

  “What are you doing?!”

  He answers with a kiss, pushing his greedy tongue in my mouth. I moan into him and almost drop his helmet. Thank God for stay-all-day lipstick.

  “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he says breathlessly when he pulls away. “Come on, we have to get back. But I mean it. I’m spending tonight with you.”