Shifting Gears: The Complete Series (Sports Bad Boy Romance)

by Alycia Taylor

  He takes a long drink of it and hands it back. “Thanks,” he says. “Seriously,” he says, “why are you here? If you were actually helping out, that’d be one thing, but-”

  “Hey, I got you a screwdriver, a wrench, and a soda,” I interrupt. “Tell me those are things you wanted to do yourself and I’ll take off right now.”

  One thing I can always count on is Mick’s insatiable laziness.

  “You know, you wouldn’t be talking so much crap if it was you up against Jax in the first race,” Mick says.

  I cock my head to the side. “I didn’t know he was in the tournament,” I say. “Why would he offer a big prize and then try to win it himself? If he didn’t hold the tournament, he could have just kept all the money and saved himself a lot of time.”

  “How else is he going to pay for it?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. “He’s just losing money.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” he says. “You’ve got to think with those two new cars of his, he’s already pretty close to funding the big prize as it is.”

  “What two new cars? What would that have to do with anything?”

  “Third and fourth places lose their pink slips to Jax,” he says. “Did that not happen with you?”

  “No,” I tell him. “Nobody said anything about pink slips.”

  “Ah,” Mick says. “He’s probably just doing that in his races. I don’t know. The guy’s kind of a freak.”

  “Oh, hey, Jax,” I say and I laugh my ass off as Mick’s head creates a surprisingly loud metal clang as it jerks upward against the open hood of the car.

  Mick’s looking around behind him, frantically. He throws his wrench at me, saying, “That hurt so bad, dude.”

  “So, Jax is out there collecting pink slips,” I say. “I was wondering how he was going to profit off of this whole thing.”

  “You had to know he had some kind of angle, though,” Mick says.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “You’ve still got your ZL1, though, right?”

  “Yeah,” Mick says. “It was only the slower half of the pack that had to give it up, but I got a little worried there for a little bit. I was being outgunned by this unmodified Koenigsegg, but luckily he went over a fire hydrant about a block from the finish line.”

  I wince a little.

  “So,” Mick asks yet again, “what are you doing here?”

  “I’m taking Kate out to learn how to double-clutch,” I tell him.

  He’s laughing.

  “You’re not taking her in the Chevelle, are you?”

  “It’s the only manual I’ve got,” I tell him.

  “All right,” he says. “Just pull it on into the shop after you’re done and we’ll see if we can repair whatever murder she puts your transmission through.”

  I shake my head, saying, “She’s actually a really good learner.”

  “That’s right; I am,” Kate’s voice comes from one of the open bay doors. “Hey, Mick, how are you doing today?”

  “Isn’t there something you can do about this boyfriend of yours?” he asks. “Here I am trying to work and all he wants to do is distract me.”

  “Sorry, bud,” she says. “He’s his own man. That’s kind of what I like about him.”

  I hope she likes more than that, but I’m happy enough with the answer.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  “I think so,” she says. “I’m a little nervous getting in the driver’s seat of that thing, though.”

  “I know,” I tell her. “If you want, I can make some calls and see if someone would be willing to let us borrow-”

  “I’m nervous,” she says. “That doesn’t mean I’m chickening out.”

  Now I’m nervous.

  Kate and I make our way out of the shop, Mick gracing us with his prediction of how much repairing my car is going to cost as we go, though I think $10,000 is a bit high.

  “Where’s the flatbed?” Kate asks.

  “Oh, Maye’s got it right now. She’s off picking up some jackass that decided to park his car in his neighbor’s empty swimming pool,” I tell her. “I don’t know how the flatbed’s going to do any good, but oh well.”

  “You mean we’re just taking it out?” she asks.

  I slow my pace a little and grab her hand, saying, “If you don’t want to do this right now, or if you’d like to see if I can get our hands on another car, that’s cool.”

  She scoffs and pulls her hand away, saying, “I guess I just thought I’d have a little bit more time to practice shifting before we got out in the open.”

  “It’s all right,” I tell her. “Double-clutching really isn’t all that difficult once you get the hang of it. It can be a little awkward at first when you’re used to single-clutching, but you shouldn’t have any problems with it.”

  She doesn’t respond.

  We make it through the junkyard and to the Chevelle.

  “There’s just one thing,” she says.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “I’ve never driven a stick,” she says. “When people talk about clutches, my mind goes to purses.”

  And that changes things a little bit.

  “The clutch on the Chevelle is pretty sensitive,” I tell her. “It’s one of the mods I got on it. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “I guess that’s really a question for you,” she says. “It’s your car. The question is whether you trust me not to break it or not.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I start.

  “Great,” she says and starts untucking the cover from under the frame of the car.

  “Nice try, but that’s a sentence I’m going to need to finish before I give you the keys to the Angel of Death there,” I tell her.

  She raises an eyebrow and looks over at me. “You named your car ‘the Angel of Death?’” she asks.

  That’s right. I was never going to tell her or anyone else that ever.

  Oops.

  “That was more an emphasis thing, really,” I say, though I have no idea what any of that means.

  “It’s your call,” she says. “If you think I’m going to break your car, I won’t be mad. I’ve never driven a stick and I know this isn’t just a car for you. That said, if you do let me take the Chevelle, I have a feeling you’re going to enjoy what I give you in return.”

  Trading my bread and butter, my pride and joy, my sweet, ferocious baby for a “favor” or two doesn’t really seem like a good option, intellectually.

  I’m not sure if she’s trying some kind of psychology on me or if she actually means what she says. Either way, there seems to only be one choice that will do the least amount of damage.

  “All right,” I tell her, “but if you get going over twenty before you’ve got single-clutching down, the lesson’s over, all right?”

  “I know, I know,” she says. “I’m not planning on doing any racing today. I just want to get out there and get the feel for driving stick.”

  What I should be doing right now is looking through the phone book for a car rental place. I should be talking to Mick about letting us take one of his cars for the day or getting in touch with someone else so we’re playing with a bit less power, but I don’t.

  I just get behind the wheel as Kate gets into the newly reinstalled passenger’s seat.

  Today’s going to be a bit rough.

  There’s something in the way Kate talks to me that just automatically shuts down the rational part of my brain and makes me think whatever idea she has is a good one. Well, I still don’t think teaching her how to drive a manual transmission in the Chevelle is a good idea, but I’m still willing to go along with it.

  “We’re going to find an empty parking lot somewhere outside of town,” I tell her. “That way, if anyone stops us while we’re out there, we just say we’re waiting for the flatbed because we can’t legally take this out on the road, okay?”

  Of course, if a cop goes by and recognizes the car, there’s
a good chance we get busted anyway. No reason to tell her that, though. If anyone’s going to get in trouble, it’s going to be me, and that’s exactly the way I want it.

  “Okay,” she says.

  So, we go.

  We’re driving for about half an hour before we come across an old church with an empty parking lot. It was in a lot much like this one that I first learned to drive a manual. Of course, that was some POS four-cylinder car that was so boring I don’t even remember what it was.

  I have a feeling both Kate and I are going to remember this.

  Pulling into the lot, I go to the far end of the pavement before turning the car around to provide the greatest amount of distance.

  I run through normal gear shifting, and then I demonstrate, having her watch my feet as we go. After a few minutes of this basic instruction, though, it’s time to hand the keys over to her.

  I shut the car off and hold up the keys, but before I release them into her hand, there are a few things I’ve got to tell her.

  “Please don’t kill my car,” I tell her, though I could swear I had more prepared.

  She giggles as she snatches the keys from my hands.

  We get out and change places. I’ve never sat on the passenger’s side of this car. It’s weird: it feels like a different vehicle.

  I start, “Push the clutch all the way down before-”

  She turns the key, interrupting me. Only, her foot on the brake and the gas, not on the brake and the clutch and my gorgeous and extremely expensive car has what I can best describe as a seizure and it dies.

  I reach over, turn the key and pull it out of the ignition, saying, “I’m not trying to be a dick here, but if you’re not going to listen to me, we’re done for today.”

  Her bottom lip pushes upward for an instant and she turns to me, saying, “I’m sorry. I got excited and my brain kind of shut off.”

  “Okay,” I tell her. “Remember, the clutch is on the far left, the brake is in the center and the gas, of course is on the right.”

  She shoots me a glance like she’s about to chastise me for being so basic, but I’m shaking my head at her. If she doesn’t listen, she could very easily do serious damage to the car, and I don’t think that would make either one of us very happy.

  “So, clutch and brake?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, handing her back the key.

  Kate slips the key into the ignition and pushes the brake and clutch pedals all the way to the floor. It helps that I repositioned the seat so she wouldn’t have any trouble with the pedals.

  She looks over at me and I nod.

  Kate turns the key in the ignition and the car fires up.

  “Woo!” she cries. “That is so cool!”

  My irritation starts to fade. She may have gotten over-excited at first, but it’s good to see her having this much fun.

  “All right,” I tell her. “First, ease off the brake and move that foot over to the accelerator.”

  “Okay,” she says, looking down as she moves her foot from the brake to the gas.

  “Now, give it just a little gas and slowly start releasing the clutch,” I tell her.

  She presses down on the gas a little hard, revving the engine. She eases off again, saying, “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Now go again, just this time give it a little less gas and don’t forget to ease off of the clutch.”

  She gets the gas about right, but releases the clutch way too quickly. The car jolts forward, shudders and dies.

  “You’re doing fine,” I tell her. “Now, try coming even slower off the clutch.”

  We’re doing this for a while. Although she never quite gets the hang of it, she does manage to get up to second gear a couple of times, third once.

  When I start smelling transmission fluid, though, I decide it’s about time to call it a day.

  She seems a bit disappointed, but I do my best to encourage her.

  “The first time I ever got behind the wheel of a manual,” I tell her, “I wore the clutch out all the way. It was pretty ugly. Mick was so pissed.”

  She smiles a little, but it’s clear she’s not too happy with herself.

  “It takes time,” I tell her, “and this is far from the easiest vehicle to learn on, so don’t take it too hard, all right? We’ll keep coming out here until you’ve got the hang of it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “We might want to see if we can get a different car, though.”

  She elbows me in the ribs, and we both laugh together.

  “So,” I start again, “you mentioned there would be some kind of reward if we did the lesson in the Chevelle…”

  “Yeah, we’ll want to wait until we’ve got the thing parked before we do that, though,” she says.

  I’m actually just teasing her. I don’t expect anything. At the same time, though, I’m not going to turn down that kind of offer, so I may be driving back to the junkyard slightly faster than necessary.

  We have to take a little detour before we get back, though, as I spot a cop car down the street a ways. Thankfully, they don’t see us and we’re able to circle around and park the car safely in the junkyard.

  Before we get out, Kate is asking, “Are you ready?”

  “You really don’t have to give me anything or do anything in exchange for going out there today,” I tell her.

  “I know,” she says. “I want to.”

  It seems fair enough to me right until she puts her hand out to shake mine. I cock my head a little, but I take her hand.

  In return for burning out my clutch, Kate very literally gives me a smile, a “thank you,” and a handshake.

  I can seriously see myself falling in love with this woman.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gloried Morning

  Kate

  I’m asleep when it starts, but I wake up quickly enough.

  Eli’s between my legs, kissing the insides of my thighs and teasing my center with his lips and tongue.

  I lift the blanket to look at him, asking, “What ya doin’?”

  He glances up, saying, “I thought you might appreciate a little help waking up.”

  I think I can live with that.

  His arms are under my thighs, his hands alternately moving up my side and curling around my legs.

  This is Eli’s first time at my house.

  We were together late last night and I decided to sneak him in. It’s a bit of a risk, but my parents should already be gone for work by now.

  Eli runs his tongue over my lower lips, and I’m checking to make sure the door is locked. Just because they should be at work doesn’t mean I’m willing to take any chances.

  His mouth settles over my clit, and he takes it between his lips, his tongue massaging.

  I’ve got one hand over my mouth, the other playing with the hair on the back of Eli’s head as he goes down on me.

  It’s not such a bad way to wake up in the morning.

  He brings his hand down toward my center and eases a finger inside me, and I throw the covers off as best I can to take in the view.

  He looks up at me, his lips kissing my lower abdomen and my inner thighs as he draws little circles over my g-spot with his middle finger.

  I reach over to the nightstand, grabbing my box of condoms and setting it on the bed next to me.

  “Come here,” I whisper.

  He moves up my body with his mouth, adoring every inch of the ascent, and as soon as he’s close enough, I reach between his naked legs and grab him.

  I find a better position on the bed and I pat the top of his shaft against my tongue a few times before taking him into my mouth.

  He lets out a long sigh, and I can feel his pulse between my lips.

  I take him farther in my mouth and then ease back. Stroking him, I look up to see his eyes are closed.

  Wrapping my lips around him again, I suck him softly, my fingers still wrapped around the base of his shaft.

  It
’s not long before he’s pulling back and reaching for the condoms next to me on the bed.

  He removes one and puts it on and his eyes are serious but kind as he positions himself between my legs. Yeah, this is quite probably the best wakeup ever.

  Eli dips himself between my folds, just enough to wet his tip and he pulls back. With the next motion he goes deeper.

  I’m pulling his head down and I kiss him hard on the lips. His tempo increases, and I’m lying with my arms out to the sides now as he bends to kiss my breasts.

  My nipples harden, and he flicks them, each in their turn, with his tongue.

  With one arm beneath my lower back, Eli lifts my hips a little, allowing him to go just a little bit deeper and my hips are rising and falling to meet him in the middle.

  Eli kisses the sensitive skin of my neck. His heavy breathing intoxicates me so close to my ear.

  Whenever they’re close enough, I kiss his neck, his shoulders, his cheek, and his mouth, relishing the salty taste of his skin.

  I’m flexing my kegels, trying to get the most out of every inch of feeling, and his mouth comes open as he breathes so hard.

  I pull him close to me as I feel the switch flip in my body, and I start to rise through the ether.

  “Come with me,” I whisper to him, but it looks like he’s already well on his way.

  He’s entering me so hard, so fast, it’s hard to tell at any given moment whether he’s pushing in or pulling back, and my legs are quaking as a guttural moan escapes my lips.

  I reach under my head and remove a pillow, putting it over my face because I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing that has any chance of working as he takes me all the way to the top and my senses are flooded with a warm electricity that seems to arc with every motion of either of our bodies.

  The pillow is hard over my mouth, but I don’t know how much good it’s doing as I have little, if any, control.

  I can feel the sharp contractions in Eli’s muscles just about the time I hear the lock to my door turning. Eli’s off of me and under the covers, managing to cover me as well, but it’s too late.

  Removing the pillow from my face, I see my mother standing in the doorway, phone in hand.

  “Get out,” she barks at Eli.