Drift Heat

by Adrian R. Hale

  I raise my face out of Griffin’s neck and try not to look at him. I can’t believe I let this happen, again. He dips his head to catch my eyes.

  “You done dancing?”

  I nod, releasing him from the tight grip I have around his shoulders. He takes one of my hands and pulls me away from Wyatt. I feel molten, boneless, like the hot rubber of their tires after a drift. You could throw me off the building and I would bounce.

  “Seriously? You’re just going to steal her now? Shelby, sweetness, you want to dance some more, right?” I pull Griffin to a stop, turning back to Wyatt.

  “Maybe later. I need a drink. Thanks for making Charlie leave.” I brush my fingers along his cheek and smile. He’s so cute and fun. I glance back at Griffin for a second. I can tell from the stiff posture and intent to leave vibes that Wyatt’s presence is grating on Griffin, who has already said he doesn’t like to share. I’ve never thought of being shared, like that, but if I encourage them both like this, things are bound to get out of hand in one way or another. I can hardly imagine it would ever be in my favor. And sadly, Wyatt is just too...nice. I love his attention and friendship, but I just can’t see myself falling for him.

  Wyatt looks a little disappointed as I nod at Griffin and let him lead me to the bar where I order a shot of vodka. I let the vodka slide down my throat, burning deliciously, instantly warming my chest and stomach. Not that I wasn’t already burning up, but it’s a different kind of heat I’m after now. Griffin matches my shot with his own, stacking our glasses together and pushing away from the bar after laying some bills on the counter.

  “What do you want, Shelby?” His low, rumbling voice undoes me, making me think of all I want and can’t have. It’s hard to concentrate as he softly skims his fingertips across my face to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. He’s so close, his body pressing mine against the bar. I can feel every ridge and contour on his body and my hands are dying to explore him.

  I gulp air that is all Griffin into my lungs and search for something to say. “I want you to win an ADL title. To finish on top of the podium at a race. I want your Supra to be complete and for S&M to have amazing sponsors who do more to allow you guys the freedom of racing without financial restrictions. I want to help the team become even better,” I ramble, covering for the wicked thoughts that would rather be spoken to his question.

  “Not for the team. What do you want from me? You told me to ask and now I want to know.” He traces his thumb along my bottom lip and slides his palm along my neck to twine his fingers in my hair. “Do you want me to touch you?” I nod, my eyes feeling big and wide in disbelief. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

  Oh God. Yes. I want his lips on mine so badly. I want to know if they are as pillowy soft as they look, or firm and intent on bruising my mouth like his gaze promises. I want to know if he will devour my mouth, or tease my lips open gently. I want to know if he tastes like vodka, or has an even better taste that I could get drunk off. My head nods for me before I can stop myself. I quickly scan the area around us as he leans toward me, his eyes locked on my lips and sparkling with an inner heat. We are packed in the space near the bar, people all around us, but no familiar faces to witness this forbidden act.

  I allow myself to give in to the moment as his lips meet mine slowly, tentatively, like he’s afraid I’ll run. He slips his arm around my back, bringing us together as his fingers twist and pull at my hair and shirt. His lips press firmly, then open as his tongue slowly licks the seam of mine. Oh, sweet Jesus, his mouth is heaven; firm and soft, hot and perfect. I open for him, allowing his tongue to slowly explore my mouth, meeting him gently with my own.

  Once he knows I am on board, he gives in to the intensity fueling him, tilting my head to the side by my hair and biting my lip until I mewl in pain and pleasure. My hands fist in his hair, keeping him close even though we are already crushed together. I rise onto my tiptoes, my body sliding along his, forcing a groan from his mouth that I swallow. If I could climb him, I would. I want his lips everywhere and I want to explore the hard body against me with fingers, skin, tongue.

  My entire body heats. I am on fire. No, I am fire. I’m burning and hot and crackling with energy and sensation. My pussy clenches and throbs, wanting so much more than a thigh to grind on.

  Loud whistles and catcalls jar me back to reality, a few people around us encouraging our intense make-out session. I open my eyes and pull my head away quickly, my hand finding my puffy lips still wet from Griffin’s mouth. I glance around again and see we are no longer a source of entertainment, and the crowd has gone back to drinking their beers.

  “Come home with me,” he commands in my ear, not letting me go from his strong arms that still pet and pull at me. His lips move toward mine again, but I shy away. If he kisses me again, I’ll abandon all resolve to keep things between us professional. Hell, I’ve already crossed the line and I need to pull back.

  “You...we can’t.” I turn my head away from his hand, his fingers slipping through my hair.

  “Why not? I want you and you want me.” He makes to move my face back to look at him, but I pull away out of his reach. His hand freezes then drops to his side.

  “It’s not professional. I don’t want to be the slut who ends up screwing a teammate and gets told to leave when things get weird. I like my job. I want everyone to respect me.”

  I desperately want another drink. I don’t think it will help my resolve any, but as liquid courage or inhibitor, I need it. I tap the bar for the nearest bartender’s attention, motioning for another shot. He quickly slides two over, and I slam one back as Griffin watches with intensity cooling the fire in his blue eyes. They’re fringed in thick black lashes that make the color stand out even more. Stop it, Shelby, you need to get your head back in the game.

  “So what, you’re just a cock tease who likes getting off between two dudes?” Those incredible blue eyes are hard and shuttered, a steely light of vicious intent the only thing that animates them. I pull away as if slapped, my throat still on fire from my shot. Cold hurt wars with hot shame, but I push them both away with blazing anger.

  “No, you fucking asshole, I’m not. You and Wyatt made the choice to dance with me, both tonight and last week. You kissed me. I didn’t ask for your attention and I’m not going to encourage it if this is how you’re going to treat me.” I take the shot in front of Griffin and suck it down, coughing slightly.

  I need to leave, now. This got way out of hand, and it’s all my fault. Fuck! I spin on my heels and push through the crowded bar on my way to the door. I don’t want to be anywhere near Griffin after his hurtful comments. How dare he call me a cock tease? I know I’m right about not asking for their attention, but I did enjoy it and probably encouraged it more than I should have.

  And why the fuck did I let him kiss me? Why did I say I wanted him to? Argh! I am so disappointed with myself, even if that was hands down the best first kiss I’ve ever experienced and my body is begging for more. Which is why I had to put up hard limits for him just now. Going any further with him than just a dance in public, as erotic and amazing as it is, and a passionate kiss that hinted at the explosive chemistry we would have together in the bedroom, would be totally and completely unprofessional. I might as well just say goodbye to my dreams of getting ahead in the racing world if I let that go further.

  A hand catches my arm as I fight my way through the throng of people. I try to pull away, but they won’t let go. I look back with a snarl on my face, ready to tell Griffin he can go fuck himself, but find myself face-to-face with Wyatt. Fun, sweet Wyatt who is looking awfully concerned.

  “Where you going so fast, sweet thing? Are you running away from Griff again? What did he do this time?”

  I feel hot tears of shame pricking my eyes and I’d rather not cry to Wyatt about how Griffin hurt my feelings, again. Or admit how badly I want to go back, push him against the bar, and have my way with him until we both explode.

  “Griffin didn’t.
..it’s not him. I just need to leave. Why don’t you keep celebrating with the team? I’ll see you tomorrow.” My voice breaks as I hiccup, tears beginning to blur my vision.

  Wyatt sighs in exasperation and rubs the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses, settling them and looking deep into my eyes. “What do you see in him, Shelby? All he does is make you angry or cry, yet you are drawn to him like a moth to a flame. A cool grand says he’s just going to burn you, and then what?”

  I stop fighting to pull away and really look at Wyatt. Though he seems concerned for my feelings, there’s more to his expression. It’s hurt, jealousy, confusion and something I can’t even peg that make up the concern.

  “What are you talking about? I don’t see anything in him. He’s my teammate, like you.” I stumble over the lie to mask his all too close for comfort deductions, my lips burning with the aftermath of our kiss that lingers and calls me a big fat liar.

  “God, Shelby, do you even hear yourself? Anyone can see how much you fight it, but it’s there. The lingering looks. Offering your car for him to drive instead of letting him suffer without one. The way you take his hurtful words and still manage to treat him better than you should. He gets under your skin, but you let him. Sure, he’s been nicer to you the last week, but how does that make up for him being a complete ass to you the rest of the time? And just now? Yeah, I saw that kiss.”

  I look around wildly, wanting to run from the words, the emotions, and the realism that Wyatt is shoving in my face. I don’t want to acknowledge, even to myself, that I feel way more for Griffin than I should. And I don’t know why. Of course I’m attracted to him, but it’s more than that. There’s a magnetism to him, something that calls me like a siren.

  I want him, all of him. The good, the hurt he makes me feel—anything he will give me, even if it’s less than I deserve. How fucked up am I?

  “What do I do?” I ask Wyatt, my palm chasing hair off my sweaty forehead in exasperation. “I don’t fucking know why I let him get to me. I don’t know whether it’s his asshole side, or the nice guy I know he is deep down that I’m attracted to. I don’t want to...feel anything for him. But I can’t stop. It’s there and it keeps coming out, no matter how locked down I think I have it. I don’t want to be that girl.”

  As the words tumble from my mouth, I know I have released them to the wrong person. Wyatt’s face falls, any hope he may have had that I would completely deny wanting Griffin dashed to pieces in the wake of my admission. His lips quirk up into a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes, but still shows off his dimples.

  “Shelby, sweet thing, you’re just another podium for him to chase. You’ve made things a challenge, and he wants to win you. What happens when he does? He’ll discard you like a fucking plastic trophy that doesn’t mean shit to him.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I catnapped most of the ride back to Newport in the black truck with my dark sunglasses covering my red eyes. Ryan drove, while Ezra snored softly next to me, and Cole kept up a running commentary of the bland scenery along Interstate 5. The guys didn’t comment on my morose attitude, so they either know what went down, or think I’m being a sulky girl for some reason. I don’t know which is worse.

  Last night I stayed up until the sun was creeping into the sky, unable to keep my eyes shut or fall asleep for the life of me. I may have cried my eyes out and threatened myself with bodily harm if I didn’t get my shit straightened out, fast. Now that I’ve admitted I have feelings for Griffin, even if they are all about wanting him, and not quite sure about why, he’s all I can think about.

  And that fucking kiss.

  I had to partake in a little ménage a moi to even begin to put out the raging flames intent on consuming me. I came until I cried and still found no fulfillment or satisfaction. When I finally fell fitfully to sleep, I dreamed of his kiss, but this time I was surrounded by the disapproving faces of our teammates who called me a whore, a slutty drift groupie, a cock tease. I woke up with puffy eyes and a raging headache that made me curse my alarm clock.

  Griffin didn’t even look at me when we loaded into the trucks. I immediately slid into Ryan’s and waited for the guys to get their act together. Without speaking, they sorted themselves out, and I wasn’t surprised when even Wyatt chose the other truck over being in here with me.

  Last night, he put me into a cab and sent me back to the hotel, alone, after I admitted my feelings for Griffin to him. I don’t blame him for being less than friendly now. I know he has—had?—a thing for me, and still, I trampled on his kindness like it didn’t matter when I spilled my secrets. I managed to not sleep with Griffin, but I still ruined everything for myself. Nothing with the team will be the same now that this tension is out there and acknowledged.

  I want to kick and wail and say life is stupid and unfair, but I know I’m the reason for my own troubles. Dad would tell me to grow some balls and figure out a way to make things work. So thoughtful, Daddy, because a woman totally needs balls to have a simpler life.

  Now that I sit in my apartment and think about the weekend, all I want is to have a big fat do-over. I swear I will never dance again when those guys are around. But funny enough, loud music is leeching through the thin walls from Wyatt’s apartment. It’s Sunday night, doesn’t he have work in the morning? Oh wait, probably not. I found out that Wyatt is a freelance graphic designer and web developer. He takes clients and jobs as they come and balances them out around his drifting schedule.

  Cole, and now Ezra, since he isn’t at S&M full time, work at a CrossFit gym a few blocks over. They sometimes lead WODs—workouts of the day—in the little courtyard in the open U space of the complex that faces the bluffs along the Back Bay. It’s become typical for me to wake to several guys grunting and sweating in the courtyard as they do countless burpees, flip a huge tire that permanently lives next to the BBQ pit, or perform these weird, wiggly pull-ups from the bars they have mounted between a few posts. Their involvement in CrossFit is why the whole team is hard-bodied and hot. All five of the guys who live here do it daily. I stick to my runs and bodyweight exercises for the most part, but they have asked me to try it out sometime. I’m not really into the cult mentality that surrounds CrossFit, so I have passed.

  Griffin owns a gas station in Newport. I’m not sure how he came to own something like that being only twenty-five, but that’s what I was told by Ryan when I asked. His car—an aggressive and beautiful Corvette Z06—is gone most every day when we are in town, so I assume he stays busy running things.

  Loud voices now mix with the music, and curiosity has me muting my TV and walking to the door to listen. It sounds like someone is at Wyatt’s door, probably asking him to turn his music down.

  “What’s your fucking problem, bro? Can’t handle a little dance music without a particular blonde between us?” Wyatt asks, his words sharp and not at all friendly.

  “Just cut the crap. I don’t want to listen to this fucking song again. You played it at least ten times on the ride home and I’m over it,” Griffin says, his voice gravelly and tired. I don’t know the song, so I run for my phone and pull up a music recognition app and hold it to the wall. It takes a second, but it tells me it’s called Anyone but Him, by Mr. Hudson featuring Kanye West.

  “Maybe I’m waiting for the song to sink through your thick skull.”

  “Why, you got a thing for me, now? I didn’t think you swung that way, bro. Just want you to know, my behymen is off limits.” Behymen? Oh. Behind-hymen. Ha ha. I roll my eyes.

  “No, you fuckwad, maybe you are the ‘anyone but’ it refers to—for someone else.” I duck, as if Wyatt could see me standing at my door. It sounds like he turned his head in my direction as he said that, wanting me to hear.

  “Why, are you jealous? Did you catch me sticking my tongue down Shelby’s throat and know I was going to have one more thing you wanted? I can’t help it if she wants me, bro. She’s just as sweet as you would imagine; all sugar, with a little spice.”

 
; My stomach feels like a pit of snakes, writhing, biting, and coiling inside me. He’s so cavalier and unconcerned for my feelings, or Wyatt’s. I want to take back that kiss, lock it up, and never give it to him. But, fuck my life, it’s out there, and this is what he thinks of it. Regret, hot and sweaty and uncomfortable, sits on my chest and suffocates me.

  “You don’t deserve her. All you do is hurt her. What do you think is going to happen when you get tired of her, just like everything else? You think she’ll actually stick around? No. She’s going to pack up her broken heart and leave the team, taking all of the attention she’s brought to us with her. Then where will we be? Looking at a broke future without drifting, that’s where. And it will all be your fault, just like everything else.” Wyatt’s voice is icy cold and deeper than usual. I imagine him facing off with Griffin and my palms slick over. I lean my head gently against the door and pray this doesn’t get out of hand. Just one more thing to add to the list of problems I’ve caused by not staying strictly professional.

  “You don’t know anything about me.” Griffin’s voice is guttural and dark, and I can just imagine the intensity of his face that must match it. Suddenly, he sighs. “This is all bullshit. Turn your fucking music down.”

  His heavy steps take him up the stairs to his apartment somewhere on the second floor. I’m pretty sure he lives in one of the two apartments that face the U courtyard, while Wyatt’s and mine make up one of the legs that point to the Back Bay.

  “Bastard,” I hear Wyatt say, quieter now that Griffin is gone. His door closes, and his music is turned off. Apparently, he made his point and no longer sees a need to keep it blasting.

  Poor guy. I guess we both got screwed over by Griffin. But for very different reasons.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A knock at my door wakes me in the middle of the night. I search for my phone in the dark, squinting at the bright light that blinds me before I see it’s after one in the morning. Who the hell is at my door? Whoever it is knocks again, so I crawl out of bed and turn on a light so I don’t break my ankle stepping through my scattered shoes and suitcases.