Drift Heat

by Adrian R. Hale

  “Quit with that mouth, Ryan. You know my rules. No bad language in this house. If you want my tiramisu for dessert, you better watch it.” Marny waves a pot holder in Ryan’s direction, a stern look pulling down her heart-shaped mouth.

  “Yes, Mama, I know. I’m sorry.” Ryan places his hand over his heart and gives her a pouty face full of apology. It’s almost comical seeing his pierced bottom lip stick out like that. I guess her tiramisu is worth filtering his language. I can’t wait to try it. I’m guessing that Marny manages this rowdy group of guys just fine. The quote “Though she be but little, she is fierce” comes to mind.

  “The shop social media pages have doubled in followers already. This is insane. Thanks for this boost, Shelby, we needed it. I’ve already had a few requests for info come through the website. Not only are we getting recognized in our industry, it’s bringing much needed business. This is awesome.” Paul looks up from his phone, giddiness lighting his countenance.

  I smile in return, my nerves easing with his acceptance. Really, his reaction is the only thing that should matter. He holds my future with the team in his hands. I glance back at the team, still clustered in the small kitchen. They talk excitedly among themselves about the upcoming season and how this boost so close to the first race will help them.

  Griffin listens, but doesn’t engage. His dark brown hair sticks up in unintentionally sexy tufts, like he just rolled out of bed. His smooth face begs to be caressed, his full lips pouty and kissably red. My thoughts dance to what else they could do besides being incredibly kissable. I feel my face flush and pray I don’t have a glazed expression that would be a dead giveaway to the direction my thoughts have traveled.

  He must feel my eyes on him, because he looks up and stares back. Our eyes lock, neither of us wanting to look away first. His lips draw down into a hard line and his eyes shoot challenges. My lips part, my lungs drawing in shallow breaths as I work to keep control of my features. His eyes dart away first, landing on my mouth, and then back to my eyes. I blink and look away as the oven timer rings, the moment lost, and my staring contest with Griffin over.

  “Boys, set the table, it’s time to eat,” Marny calls as she pulls the giant pan of stuffed shells out of the oven and places it on the stovetop to cool.

  They snap to action, bustling by me to access the kitchen. Ezra opens a drawer for silverware while Wyatt and Cole open upper cabinets for plates and glasses. Ryan retrieves placemats and napkins from the pantry while Griffin helps him set them on the table. Everyone knows their role and what to do. I stand by, unsure what I can do. Marny must sense my unease and rescues me.

  “Shelby, take this dish over to the table. There should be a trivet already there for you to put it on.” I quickly hurry to where she indicates the bubbling pan and take the pot holders she holds out for me.

  I follow behind her as she holds a bowl of salad and a basket of garlic bread. We set the food on the table and take our seats. Ryan saved me a place between him and Wyatt, so I scoot in and place my napkin in my lap as my stomach rumbles in anticipation. I shouldn’t eat so many carbs so close to an event that I will be parading around in revealing clothes, but damn it smells good.

  “It was cool to see someone else have fun in my car. Good job with your handling.” Wyatt’s voice is silky and playful, not nearly as deep and smoky as Griffin’s, but just as tantalizing.

  I turn toward him and quickly take in his light blue eyes behind rectangular black glasses and the appealing scruff along his jaw that blends into his softly curling blondish hair. His nose is long without being too thin, his cheekbones high, and his jaw pointed. His face, along with his long, lean build with wide shoulders tapering to narrow hips, gives him the look of a swimmer. He smiles as he waits for my response, the dimples appearing in his cheeks giving him a mischievous air. He’s totally cute and so my type. But then again, most of the guys here are my type. Into cars, taller than me, fun, and good-looking.

  I guess I’m not too picky.

  “I’m just glad you’re not mad. Paul said it was okay, but it’s your car.” I pass him the basket of bread after taking a piece for myself.

  He takes two pieces and passes it on to Paul. “You’re part of the team now, no need to be worried. We take care of each other and do what we can to promote S&M. As long as you take good care of our things, you can play with anything you want.” His dimples reappear as he grins.

  I’m trying not to read into his comment, but I’m stuck on the sexual innuendo I think is hidden in there. Is this the way it’s always going to be around this team? Me loving their attention and reading into their comments at every turn?

  I decide to let it go and move on. He serves me stuffed shells, stopping at two when I hold up a hand. He puts four on his plate and passes the spatula across me to Ryan. This is so normal, everyone eating family-style around the table. I guess this team really is a family.

  “You doing okay?” I look back at Ryan sitting on my right and smile. He’s got a plate full of food, his fork held in midair while he waits for me to respond.

  “Yeah. You were right; it can be overwhelming to have everyone around all at once. I think it’s good, though. I’m glad I’m getting to know the team like this, before the madness of the competition.”

  Ryan nods and chews his food. “Tomorrow the shop will be insane. Everyone will be around, doing last minute adjustments and packing up the trailers so we can make it to the track for tech inspections and the driver’s meeting. You can film a lot of the action, or just hang back and see how it happens.”

  “I’ll stay out of the way, but I’m willing to help with anything you guys need. I know my way around a shop and I can definitely pull my weight.”

  I hear a snort of derision and look up to see Griffin coldly staring at me from his place across from Ryan. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth. One video of a chick doing a few easy maneuvers that any drifter can do does not make you special. It would have made more sense to have Wyatt or me do it because we’re the drivers that the fans will be watching this weekend. You’re nothing but a pretty face meant to draw more attention to us.” His callous words sting and pop the bubble of happiness I’ve been riding.

  Ryan’s fork clatters to his plate and the hum of conversation around the table dies out. “Leave her alone, Griffin.” The warning in Ryan’s voice surprises me. I guess he really has taken me under his wing if he already feels this protective of me.

  “Yeah, man, no need to get so defensive. You sound like a jealous little kid. Afraid she’s gonna take your spot with her smooth moves? I bet you a hundred bucks she could out drift you tomorrow,” Wyatt adds cheekily, his arm resting protectively along the back of my chair.

  I roll my eyes at all of them. I appreciate them standing up for me, but I don’t need anyone to fight on my behalf.

  I blow out a frustrated breath and collect myself. “No, guys, it’s cool. I get it. I actually think it would be a great idea to have more videos of you drifting and messing around with the cars. It would spike interest in the team as a whole, and the drivers, along with the builds you have done to get to this point. I was actually hoping to put together a series of team intros that would do just that. I started Ryan’s today and will just need some time with each of you in the next few days to make it happen.”

  The tension holding the table rigid eases slightly. Cole puts his fork back in his mouth and Ezra leans back in his chair, watching it unfold. The rest stay poised for a fight.

  “That’s a great idea. We can definitely make that happen,” Paul says, making eye contact with me. “I expect all of you to cooperate with whatever Shelby needs from you.” He looks around the table, but I think we all know his comment is directed solely at Griffin, who crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at the table with a sour expression. He’s such an infuriating baby. I’m looking forward to spending time on his intro about as much as he is.

  That would be not at all.

  “Why is
the delicious food I slaved over going uneaten?” Marny asks, further breaking the tension that has settled over the table. “Eat up or I will think you hate it and I’ll never cook again.”

  Six plates are scraped in unison, all of the guys immediately digging into their food. I smile at Marny when I catch her looking my way and mouth thank you. She nods and smiles back before she takes a bite.

  We make it through the rest of dinner and dessert without further comments from Griffin. He actually stays quiet and avoids the friendly banter that is thrown around by the rest of the team. They rib him a few times for being sulky, but he doesn’t respond. After dinner the guys gather back in the living room for more sports. Wyatt bets Ryan twenty bucks that San Jose will lose to the LA Kings as they resume the hockey game. I frown that he’s betting against my team, but whatever.

  I offer to help Marny clean up, but she’s already made the guys rinse their dishes and put them in the dishwasher, so there’s not much to help with. I finally wander into the living room and lean against the wall because I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel like an interloper, barging in on this tight group and not being comfortable enough to just relax.

  “Come sit,” Ryan offers, patting the space next to him, where I’ll once again be wedged between him and Wyatt. I’m not sure if that’s a coincidence or something they made happen. At least I’m far from Griffin, who is coiled tightly into a recliner across the room. I shrug and slip into the space between the guys, snuggling down into the soft microfiber cushion, where I am immediately warmed by the bodies on either side of me. A girl could get used to this.

  Chapter Four

  “Hey, sleepy head, wake up, it’s time to get you home.”

  My eyes flutter open at the gentle words spoken into my ear and focus on the light gray sweater that softens the hard muscle of an arm. I jerk back, realization dawning on me that I fell asleep against Wyatt’s shoulder. I look up and meet his gaze, a smile bringing the dimples out in his cheeks.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, or turn you into my pillow. Dammit, did I snore? This is so embarrassing.” I drop my head into my hands and hope he answers no.

  Wyatt laughs, the vibration running through my arm that is pressed tightly against his. I spread my fingers and cautiously look back at him. I drop my hands completely and look around the room. It’s empty and the TV is off. We’re the last two left on the couch. And yet I stayed glued to his side like it was the only spot left.

  “Where did everyone go? Have I kept you here long? I’m so sorry.” I rush to stand up, looking around for my purse and Ryan to take me home.

  Wyatt stands too, stretching his arms up above his head. He steadies me with his hands on my shoulders when I nearly trip over my feet after seeing a strip of his toned stomach peek from beneath his sweater. “Relax, people just left about ten minutes ago. You were totally passed out, so I let you sleep a little more.”

  “Where’s Ryan? How am I getting home?” I look around wildly, sleep clouding my brain and leaving me incredibly confused.

  “He headed out, too. I told him I’d get you home, since you made me a part of your nap.” He reaches out and traces a path along my cheek. “Sorry my sweater left a mark. Hope it was comfy at least.”

  I cover my cheek with my palm, feeling the indentation he just pointed out. “You should have woken me up. I didn’t mean to keep you here longer than you wanted to be. I’ll grab my stuff and we can go. Thank you for the ride.” I find my purse and sling it over my shoulder and turn back to him.

  “Hey, I’ll volunteer for pillow duty any day. You are too cute. You mumble in your sleep, you know?” Wyatt takes my hand and pulls me toward the door before I can hide my face again.

  “I didn’t know. Shouldn’t I say goodbye to Marny and Paul first?” I let him guide me through the house, now darkened except for a few lights left on.

  “They went to bed. Early day tomorrow. Marny said she’ll bring lunch by the shop and see you then.” He closes the front door behind us and I shiver in the cool air after leaving the warmth of the couch. Wyatt notices and pulls me under his arm, tucking me against his side.

  For not having been formally introduced and only having met me a few hours ago, he’s awfully comfortable. It must be because I drooled on him. I place my hand tentatively against his chest as I huddle in his warmth. He tightens his grip around me, but has to let me go to unlock the older model BMW M3 parked across the street from the house. He holds the door open for me and hands me the seat belt once I settle into the cold leather seat. He shuts the door and runs around to his side, sliding in and cranking the car quickly as he fiddles with the heater. The vents blast me with cold air, so I flip the ones near me away and shiver as I wait for the car to heat up.

  Wyatt turns around and hunts in the backseat, dropping a Carhartt jacket on my lap. I smile at him and shrug my arms into the sleeves, pulling the collar up to my chin. “Thanks.”

  Those damn adorable dimples pop as he returns my smile. He pulls away from the curb. “Where to?”

  I give him the address of my apartment and tell him it’s near Smoke and Mirrors. He laughs, but doesn’t say anything. The heat finally comes on, making me even more snuggly in Wyatt’s warm jacket. I fight a yawn as he pulls up to the snazzy little twelve unit, two-story apartment complex Paul put me up in. I’m so ready to crawl into my bed and pass out. I didn’t realize how tired I was. I guess a few days of shoots and playing around at the shop wore me out more than I imagined.

  “This is me,” I say with a flourish of my hand toward the complex. “Number six, the grand suite.”

  “I’m number five, neighbor. We all live here.” Wyatt laughs as he unbuckles and hops out of the car. I follow suit in confusion, leaving his cozy jacket on the seat.

  “What do you mean you live here? I haven’t seen you around at all.”

  I stop outside my door on the first floor and shiver again. Wyatt takes the key from my hand and opens the door for me, pushing me inside and turning on a light as he follows. He looks around for a minute and I cringe for not putting my clothes away this morning. I have a few bras—who doesn’t take those uncomfortable things off as soon as they get home?—and panties—clean from washing, I swear—hanging off the desk chair. My hooker heels are scattered across the floor where I dropped them. I shift in front of the desk, swiping my hand over the lingerie to send it into a box that I close with my toe. I blow out a breath and hope he didn’t get an eyeful of my lace and satin.

  Wyatt pretends to not have noticed. “Paul owns this whole apartment complex, so we all live here. It’s like Melrose Place for drift junkies. He gives us cheap rent because he knows we put all of our money into cars and have shitty jobs that don’t pay nearly as well as we need. At least they offer schedules that are flexible enough to take time off to compete.”

  “That’s what Marny meant when she said the shop wasn’t their sole source of income,” I say, more to myself than Wyatt.

  “Yeah, and it’s good they have that. Now, get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow at the shop.” Wyatt pulls me in for a hug, constricting me in his arms before he steps away.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I say as he turns to leave. “Oh, what did I say?”

  Wyatt stops with his hand on the door handle and turns back to me with a confused look. “What did you say, when?”

  “When I mumbled in my sleep, what did I say? No one has ever told me I talk in my sleep. I want to know what I said now.”

  Wyatt laughs. “Um, you said ‘he’s an asshole. Stupid buttface. Damn tattoos’ or something like that. It was kind of hard to hear. You were mumbling more incoherently than saying anything I could make sense of. Hopefully you weren’t talking about me.”

  I smile at Wyatt and am rewarded by his dimples flashing with his grin. “I don’t know, do you have tattoos?”

  “A few, but nothing you would have seen today. Maybe you can see them another time.” With that Wyatt st
eps outside and leaves me in my apartment, alone.

  Chapter Five

  “I’m going to do another roll through third. I still haven’t quite dialed the tuning in.” Paul is sitting behind the wheel with a laptop open to tuning software that he has connected to the Supra. The car is on the dyno with Griffin standing watch nearby. They have been running through the gears, tuning the engine and getting the turbos to peak performance so they will be good for the competition tomorrow. Wyatt already had his turn on the dyno in the Nissan earlier, and is now helping Ryan put on a new set of tires in the second bay. Ezra is here also, packing the trailers with Cole.

  I have been hopping between the guys, asking them random questions about how they became a part of S&M, and what it is they do. All of them have been super helpful and willing to talk with me. The only person I haven’t had a minute with is Griffin—surprise, surprise—and I don’t look forward to asking him questions. But I’m stalking him now, looking for an opportunity to sneak in a quick interview and be done with this.

  “That sounded better. I think you hit the money spot for power in the turbos. It came on quick that time. Think we’re good?” Griffin asks Paul, pulling off his ear protection after the engine returns to idle.

  “Yeah, let’s get her off the dyno and out by the trailer. I got everything where I want it for now.” He and Griffin work the car loose and Griffin drives out of the shop.

  I walk out into the early April sunshine, following the Supra as Griffin eases it around and lines up with the trailer that Cole is directing him to. They get the car loaded and strapped down, and Griffin hops out. He’s been avoiding me all day, keeping himself busy, I assume so as not to allow me the chance to film him.

  Not this time, asshole.

  “Hey, Griffin, I need you for a second before you head back inside,” I call to him, striding over and cutting off his access back to the garage.