“Griffin, don’t.” My plea is soft and sad as I turn my face away from his. I want the cocky asshole back. I know what to do with him. I know how to guard myself against his brash self-assured nature and thrill to his dirty talk. I know how to protect myself from the insults that come out of reaction. I never should have mentioned feeling cheap.
“Don’t what, Shelby? Put emotion into sex? Treat you with respect? Would you rather this stay a dirty little secret?”
He continues to slide in and out of me languidly, as if our conversation isn’t happening. It’s a strange sensation for my body to be so satisfied and enjoying the motions, while my brain fights to rationalize the words and shield me from the gentleness.
It’s a sad day when you realize you are pushing away gentle and sweet in favor of rough and heartless.
Griffin grips my face in his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes. He’s pure feeling and emotion, his face serious in a way I’ve never seen from him. “Feel this, baby. Feel the difference and know it’s better this way. I’ll fuck you seven ways to Sunday anytime you want, but I need this with you, too. I want you to want more. We can do this.”
Hot tears sting my eyes and thicken in my throat. I blink to keep them from falling and breathe out a shaky breath. It’s too much. He’s asking for more than I can give him, even if I want everything he’s offering. My resolve is slipping each time we’re together. The lines I thought were so clear to start with have been washed away in our tides of fighting and fucking away the hurt. I never had a handle on the situation to begin with. It was always doomed to blow up in my face. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon. I thought I could make it till the end of the season, that our illicit trysts would be enough, and when the season was over, we would be also. We’re halfway through, and I’ve already lost myself to him.
“Come back to me. Come back to right now. You’re all lost in your head and I need you with me. Don’t overthink this. Just feel it, too. I know you do.”
I gasp for air as panic seizes me. I can’t do it. “Get out. You need to leave. Get your fucking dick out of me and go.”
Griffin freezes, his face transforming in an instant, his eyes growing hard and cold. His words that follow are low and frozen. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No. You need to get out.” I struggle beneath him, forcing my knees between us and push myself out from under him and further up the bed. I roll away and grab a T-shirt off my floor. I pull it over my head and grab his clothes, thrusting them into his hands as he stands and looks at me in angry confusion.
“You’re a heartless bitch.” His tone is cold and flat, the words hanging thickly in the air between us, echoing through my brain. He’s right.
“You can leave right now.” My voice is edged in pain but doesn’t shake as badly as my anxiety-ridden nerves made me think it would.
“This is bullshit,” Griffin says as he pulls on his pants roughly. “You know, I think you were right. This was all just a way to use each other.” He pulls his shirt on without bothering to button it. “I’m over your delusional ideas about no-strings relationships. I thought maybe we could make it more, but it’s clear now that all you wanted was to be fucked like the dirty slut you are. You aren’t capable of accepting an emotional connection. Maybe you’re not even able to love anyone other than yourself. Go find someone else to make you feel cheap and easy because I’m done with you.” Griffin flips me off as he turns and leaves the room. I stand frozen in place until I hear the front door slam.
I collapse to the floor, drawing my arms around myself, finally letting my barely held together composure shatter. I am splintered glass wrapped in barbed wire, all jagged edges and sharp points that inflict more pain. Griffin just made himself vulnerable to me, showed me his true nature rather than the cocky persona he wears to protect himself. He was practically giving me his heart and I kicked him in the stomach. I stomped on his offering of more and emotions and ground them beneath my soulless feet. I’m a heartless bitch. I deserve every painful feeling that is tearing through me right now.
I scrub my wet face and wildly look around my borrowed apartment bedroom. Everything here is a reminder that I don’t belong, even if I thought I was accepted. I am a caricature of myself, a mere shadow of the full person I once was, who had morals and standards and treated people decently. I’ve changed in more ways than I ever imagined I could since I became a promo model for Smoke and Mirrors.
I need out. I messed up by letting my attraction to the hotheaded, cocky, foul-mouthed driver of my team get out of hand. Now that he’s wanting to be serious and make this into more than a no-strings relationship, I can’t handle it. I have to find a way to get out of this before it blows up and ruins the rest of the season for the entire team. If salvaging what the team has means removing myself from it, I have a way out.
I hunt through my purse and find Terrance’s card.
“Hello, this is Terrance,” he answers on the second ring.
My voice is shaky and not at all assured as I reply. “Hey, it’s Shelby with the Black Sheep Mustang. I want to hear more about driving for your team.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Meeting with Terrance at the TW Motorsports shop in Santa Monica was...interesting. Mason and Dave, the mechanic who took photos of Terrance and I in front of the shop car, were both there. I was surprised that interacting with Mason was only a little awkward. He didn’t seem pissed that I didn’t go back to the bar with him, but wasn’t all over me, which was nice. Terrance showed me around the shop, which is about the same size as S&M, but packed with cars that three other techs were working on. I guess they stayed busier than S&M this season by the looks of things.
Terrance kept his arm around my shoulders or his hand on my back guiding me through the space nearly the whole time. It seemed a little touchy-feely, but maybe I’m just not used to his brand of communication yet. The techs took a break to come meet me, pulling out their phones for photos even though I was there in a non-promo model capacity. It’s flattering, but didn’t bode well for establishing myself in a new light as a driver when they all know me as a model.
When we finally sat down in Terrance’s office to discuss his offer, my stomach was in knots and I could barely sit still. It was clear cut enough; like Smoke and Mirrors, he would give me a job running the social media, and he would help me find a place to stay. He wouldn’t be paying me to drive, and I wouldn’t get promo model pay unless we set up a shoot specifically for that purpose, but he already has plans for several. He wants me to be a household name in the drift world before I ever make it to the ADL, both to promote the shop and myself.
I would definitely have to find another job to pay for my apartment. Terrance wants me to focus on driving in Pro-Am events to build my skills and work on getting my pro license to compete in the American Drift League. He would cover all of my race costs and pay for any upgrades and fixes needed on the Black Sheep. His offer is standard for a driver, rather than the cushy promo model agreement I made with S&M.
“You’ve got something special, Shelby,” he said, his hand resting on my thigh. “You just need to hone it and work with a team that will make sure you get everything you need to do well. TW Motorsports can do that for you. We already have the sponsorships you have been working so hard to find for S&M, we have the staff, and we have the resources to give you track time and get you where you need to be. It’s an easy choice. Just say yes.” He had grasped my hand and rubbed his thumb along it as his words worked their way into my brain.
Terrance made it seem so simple, like all I had to do was agree to drive for them and break barriers in the ADL. So why did I feel so shitty about it? And what was up with his seemingly random touches throughout the time I was at the shop? It didn’t matter. I need a way out when the California Championships are over, and Terrance has the only viable option.
“I’ll sign, but not until after the California series.”
***
As I d
rive back to Newport Beach, I receive a call from Tim, the marketing director I’ve been working with at Mas Boost.
“Shelby, we have final approval; we would love to sponsor Smoke and Mirrors. As discussed, we will provide race entries for two drivers at each event, cover the cost of new branded fire suits and helmets, give the team a budget for promotional swag and marketing materials, and of course we will offer bonuses for podium wins and top sixteen finishes for the drivers. I’ve had legal outline everything in a contract that should be in your inbox tonight. Just read them over, sign, and send them back.”
I blink rapidly and grip my steering wheel tightly as I work to keep my excitement in check. I want to scream and happy dance. “Tim, you are amazing. I know the team will be thrilled to hear about this. When should we expect to receive the branded materials?”
“I’ll have someone from the promo department contact the team to set up design and delivery dates. We’re pushing for a quick turnaround so we can capitalize on the last few races of the California circuit and have the team set for the summer Pro Championships after. We are really impressed with everything we have seen so far this season and can’t wait to see how the rest goes.”
“I know with this sponsorship they will be able to do so much. Thank you.”
“It’s our pleasure to work with the team, and of course, with you. Let us know if you need anything. We’re here to support you.”
We hang up as I park at the S&M shop. When I tell Paul the good news, he picks me up off my feet and swings me around before running into the shop to tell Ryan and Ezra, who is back working part-time to help with the influx of business. It’s a bittersweet moment for me, helping S&M get the sponsorships and recognition they so rightly deserve. It’s a nice parting gift that I hope cushions my leaving at the end of the season.
I stay in the office, looking around with a tinge of sadness infiltrating the happy excitement. In a few weeks’ time, I will no longer be working with a team that has become my family. For probably the tenth time today, I question my choices. I know I can’t stay around here, in a toxic environment of my own making. It will be hell to be taunted and teased by Griffin, knowing what I had and lost. I can’t live in the same apartment complex where I will be constantly reminded of just how well we can work together behind closed doors, when we can’t even be civil for the team’s sake outside of them.
No, I made the choices that brought me to this junction, and I have to own that as well as the new choices that will take me away from my self-imposed awkwardness and disappointment.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It’s been a week since I met with TW Motorsports, but I’m not feeling any less shitty for deciding to leave S&M. The team dinner before we left for San Jose added another band around my heart, squeezing and constricting with what I would be leaving. How I could have so easily up and left my own family’s shop, yet I struggle so much after only working with S&M for a little over a month, is crazy to me. I don’t expect TW Motorsports to give me even close to the level of familial bond and acceptance I found with S&M, but I hope I can make a good impression on them as a driver.
The San Jose competition went well enough. Griffin and Wyatt both made it to the top four this competition, with Griffin taking second to Mason, and Wyatt coming in fourth behind that damn Charlie Sweeten. Griffin seemed a little pissed that he didn’t take the competition overall, but managed to not make a mockery of the sport after his race. Even without me next to him tempering his disappointment.
I skipped going out after the competition, saying I had “lady issues.” The team was more than happy to leave me at the hotel after that, even though Ryan looked at me curiously for a little too long. Griffin didn’t spare me a single glance.
He has returned to open hostility where I am concerned, without even a hint of the lush undertones of sexual tension we both felt earlier in the season. He absolutely hates me, and I deserve it. I’ve distanced myself from all of the guys on the team, and it’s a lonely spot to be in. So lonely, I called Henry and forced him to come hang out with me. I’m so lame.
“Shell? What movie do you want to watch? There aren’t too many good options. This hotel has shit channels. You could have just come home and watched something with me there, you know.”
“But home doesn’t have room service. You know you loved that overpriced steak and giant brownie sundae you wouldn’t share.”
I flop onto the bed next to Henry and pretend I’m not sad to be missing out on another fun night with the team and still afraid of Dad. He would see my desperation and know things aren’t going as well for me as a promo model as I thought they would. I doubt telling him about my offer to be a driver would go over any better.
Shouting in the hall quickly snaps my focus out of the pity party I was heading into. I look at Henry, who is instantly alert as I walk to the door.
“Don’t get involved. It’s probably nothing,” Henry advises, following me. I hear a familiar voice pleading, and my adrenaline kicks in, my heart hammering away in my chest. I pull the door open just in time to see Wyatt scuffling with a big bald dude with tattoos on his neck, forearms, and across his knuckles.
“I just need some more time, another week to make it right. I know I can win it back,” Wyatt says, his hands out in front of him, holding off Baldy.
“You don’t get any more time. You pay up when you lose, that’s how this has always worked,” Baldy says. Wyatt starts to squirm away. He struggles to hold Wyatt against the wall and decks him in the face in frustration or menace, and I’m instantly in fight mode.
“Hey, leave him alone!” I shout.
Running across the hall, I yank on the big guy’s arm as I kick the back of his knee and throw off his balance. I use his own momentum to push his head toward the floor where I lodge my knee into his neck and pull his arm behind his back just as Henry catches his other arm. We work together to keep the guy from getting up, even though he’s fighting us pretty hard. Thank goodness Henry was here; there is no way I would be able to hold him down on my own.
“Shelby, what the fuck are you doing? Get out of here, sweet thing. I don’t want you anywhere near this,” Wyatt says, picking himself up from the floor where Baldy had pushed him before I could get to them. He wipes blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and straightens his glasses on his nose.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask in exasperation. The least he could do is kick this dude and make him stop fighting us.
“You better get the fuck off me right now, girlie, before I decide to hurt you, too.”
“Shelby, let him up,” Henry says, already pulling the man up by his arm.
These guys are ungrateful. I exhale in a huff and let the man up, but not before digging my knee deeper into his spine. Once he’s standing, Henry reaches back and punches the man in the mouth, much like he just did to Wyatt.
“That’s for threatening my sister, asshole.” Henry flexes his hand and rubs his knuckles, but uses his height advantage and the fact that there are three of us against him to keep the man from retaliating.
The man massages his jaw and rotates his head side to side, cracking his neck. “That’s your one cheap shot, asshole. I see you again, we got problems.” He turns away from Henry and focuses his attention back on Wyatt. “You won’t be so lucky next time, Parker. You better have the money. I’ll make sure you won’t have your wonder twins around to help you.”
Wyatt stares silently at the man as blood pools on his cut lip. He gives a tight head nod of acknowledgement, and the man turns and heads down the hall away from us.
I grab Wyatt’s arm and drag him into my room, pushing him down onto the bed, and run into the bathroom to wet a washcloth. I come back to find Henry leaning against the wall as Wyatt stares down at his hands. I kneel in front of him and get him to meet my eyes quickly as I gently press the cloth to his mouth. His eyes close tightly as he grimaces, but doesn’t pull away.
“What’s going on?” I ask, using my o
ther hand to cradle his jaw and force him to meet my eyes again. “Who was that?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about, sweetness. But thank you for stepping in. Just don’t ever do it again, okay? I would hate myself forever if you got hurt because of me.”
Wyatt’s voice is deep from strain and his face creased in worry. My mouth opens to retort, about ready to tell him I am the only one who gets to decide just when and how I intervene on behalf of my friends, when Henry cuts me off.
“That was Mike Alves, bro. I know what’s going on. You’re in some deep shit if he’s here for you.”
I look up at Henry quickly and frown. He shakes his head at me and tilts his chin at Wyatt.
“Who is Mike Alves?” I ask, turning back to Wyatt. He takes the cloth from my hand and straightens up a bit. I lean back on my heels in front of him, waiting on his answer.
“He’s nothing for you to worry about. I got this.”
“He’s a bad dude, and you should never get mixed up with him. He was big in the street racing community here in the Bay Area before you got into it, and now whenever he shows up, it’s not to race, but to collect money. He provides muscle for hire. If he’s messing with Wyatt now, it means your friend owes a lot of money to the wrong people, and they want it pretty bad.” My head swivels from Henry to Wyatt, who can’t meet my eyes.
“Is that true?”
Wyatt nods slightly. “It’s not that bad, I just have a little debt I have to answer for. I kind of bet on a few ADL competitions, and they haven’t turned out the way I thought they would.”
“What kind of bets were you making to have some crazy dude coming to beat you up?” I lean toward Wyatt, forcing him to answer me with the closeness of my presence alone.
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