by Lacey Black
“Come on, greasy girl. It’s getting late. Let’s go inside.”
I have to force those images of us taking the steps up his back deck together out of my mind. No way should I picture our dirty bodies naked and in the shower together. And I definitely shouldn’t imagine climbing into his massive bed, ready to explore his body with my tongue.
Yet, that’s what I do.
Every dirty fantasy I can conjure up parades through my mind in bright Technicolor. They accompany me to my own room, as I shower alone and slide into the guest bed, clothed and with a very real ache between my legs. It’s those images that help push me over the edge of bliss as my own hands take care of my orgasm, all while pretending they’re his hands.
His mouth.
His body taking me all the way to release.
Chapter Ten
Mack
“Ten to go, Cruz. You’re in second, four-tenths of a second behind the leader,” Coop says in my ear.
“You’re about to hit lap traffic. Daniels is getting caught up. You’ll be on his bumper anytime,” Fish says from his perch up high.
I have Daniels in my sights and am all over his tail in a matter of seconds, looking for that window of opportunity. “Come on,” I mutter. “Give me a hole.”
We head into turn three, and I dig in, sticking to my line and finding grip. My front wheels are even with his rear ones, and the moment we clear the turn, I press the accelerator. Daniels anticipates my move, blocking my advancement like the reigning champion he is. It forces me to contemplate my next move. I could come up with another plan to grab that top spot, or I can stick to my guns and chip away at his lead, praying somewhere in the next few laps, he slips up and the window of opportunity opens just a sliver.
That’s when I’ll kick the window the rest of the way open and take what I want.
“More lap traffic ahead. Three cars in a battle. Be ready for—and there they go, wreck in turn four,” Fish instructs. “One car high along the wall, but two dropping. Maintain middle of the track position.”
I pass the wreckage a few moments later, grateful to not pick up any debris. We’ve slowed down and the pace car now leads the pack. When we get back to green, there should still be a few laps remaining for me to battle Daniels for his spot.
“All right, Cruz, should go green with three laps to go. You’re good on fuel and tires. I don’t see anyone in the top ten pitting. Stay out and give Daniels hell. Hall will line up behind you,” Coop says.
The track is cleared and debris cleaned. With four laps left, we’re lining back up to race. I take my position to the right of Daniels and start warming up my tires. I’ve got a damn good car today, my team working their asses off to make it better with each stop. Now, it’s up to me to get it across the finish line first.
I think back to past conversations with Jim and can practically hear him chirping in my ear, telling me to relax. To breathe. To listen to the car and let her do the talking. A smile crosses my face as I think back to Wednesday night, when Lena and I worked side by side in the garage. She sounded so much like her dad, that in the moment, it was like having a talk with him. So, I channel everything he’s taught me, and everything she reiterated, and focus on these last few laps.
On the win.
I grip the wheel, the flag stand in my sights. “Green flag, green flag,” Coop drills.
And I do what I was born to do.
I drive it in deep and hard, the grip holding like I need it to. I’m able to maintain my position and start to edge in front of Daniels. I can feel the force of the air, feel the energy beneath my fingertips. It’s a feeling like no other, one I’m not even sure I could put into words.
My car shoots past Daniels as I drop down in front of him, claiming his position.
“You’re in first, buddy. Now that they’ve seen you do it, watch the outside,” Coop guides, his voice calm and steady.
“Daniels remains behind with Hall trying to push on the outside,” Fish adds.
“White flag,” Coop adds. “One to go.”
I do everything I can to hold off any last effort pushes from the competition, and as I round the fourth turn and head for that waving checkered flag, an indescribable feeling sweeps through me. A familiar wave of relief and excitement as I cross that line ahead of the field.
“Yeah! First place, baby!” Fish bellows into my ear.
My arm pumps, my fist hitting the wheel in celebration as I start to slow, my own cheers flying through the headset.
“’Atta way, Cruz!” Coop chimes in, the smile evident in his words. “You’ve brought home a win for CDE. Take your lap, and then bring ‘er down to victory lane.”
“Copy that,” I tell him, letting the rush of victory guide me around the track. I wave at the fans, the ones who spend their hard-earned money to watch me race. I even throw one to the haters, because in a way, their dislike for me fuels my desire to win as much as the fans.
After I make my way around the track, I follow the officials directing me to victory lane. Drivers tap my car as I go by, our way of saying congratulations. It feels good to be on the receiving end of those again. I’m all smiles as I pull the car slowly into victory lane. The moment the official directs me to stop, my team is there, helping me release from the security devices that hold me in place.
The buzz is electric, the crowd already celebrating as I take off my helmet and hold it high in the air. Confetti sprinkles down on me like rain, sticking to my exposed sweaty skin. Coop tosses me a hat with my main sponsor logo on it just as a television camera is thrust in my face. Already smiling, the broadcaster leans in, mic poised at her mouth. “Mack Cruz, it’s been almost a year to the day since your last trip to victory lane. How does it feel?”
“Well, it feels great, Anne. Our Chevy performed beautifully today, handled well, especially in turns three and four.”
“Daniels said in his post-race interview he couldn’t believe how lucky you were that the car stuck on the outside going into turn one. Was luck on your side today?” she asks, her bright white teeth on display.
I chuckle. “Well, my team had the car running the best it had been all day, so I don’t know about luck. We worked hard to get our car to the end, contending for the win. Dang proud of my CDE family for putting me in the position to take home the win today,” I tell her, already glancing around.
“We’ll let you celebrate with your team,” she says, turning back to the camera to send it off to another broadcaster. I don’t hear what she says. I’m already searching for…
There.
Through the crowd, I see Lena and Oliver and instantly head their way. Fish already anticipates my moves and starts to part the Red Sea to help me get to them.
“That was amazing!” she hollers, her green eyes as bright and wide as I’ve ever seen them, her full lips a light shade of pink, as if she was gnawing on the bottom one. All I want to do right now is kiss her. Kiss her hard. Weave my fingers into her hair and hold her close, my tongue delving deep inside her mouth.
But I know it’s not appropriate.
Dammit.
Instead, I bend down and place a kiss on Oliver’s head. As I did last week, my hand settles on her hip and I give it a light squeeze. It’s my way of communicating without saying a word, of touching her without getting myself slapped.
When my eyes meet hers again, I respond, “Thank you.”
“Cruz, let’s go! We’ve got pictures,” Chief hollers over my shoulder.
Lena leans in, helping me transfer my son to the crook of my arm. Can’t say I’d ever thought I’d see the day where I’d have a baby in a victory lane photo, but here we are. I turn and head to the center where I find Colton waiting. He gives me a big shoulder slap and a congratulations before taking his position on the opposite side of the trophy. Coop steps up behind me and the rest of the guys gather around. Even Rylee and Ace get in on the picture.
When I turn to make sure Lena is beside me, I’m shocked to find my side
empty. Glancing around, I see her hiding off to the side, a proud grin on her face. She offers me a wave, but I don’t return it. Instead, I say, “Get over here, Lean.”
Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she waves me off.
“I need my two favorite people in the picture with me. Get up here,” I tell her. As soon as I do, the guys start to offer their own forms of encouragement until she has nothing left to do but join me on stage.
The guys make sure to leave her room as she slips in, almost behind me.
“Nope, right by my side.” The moment our eyes meet I tell her, “You’re part of this team too.”
I extend my arm out and without any hesitation, she moves until my arm is draped over her shoulder. She helps make sure Oliver is seen as the photographer asks if we’re ready. He takes about a dozen photos, between each one we change our hats for a new sponsor. I make sure my hat is always in position, and then replace my arm around her shoulder. She never complains, just stands here, her arm snaked around my waist as I hold her close.
For the last photo, we all hold up our hands, a single pointer finger extended upward. On the count, we holler, “Number one,” as the photo is taken. The moment I put my hand down, I turn, pulling her into my side. She gazes up at me with so much emotion written on her face. Exhilaration. Pride. Even desire. I can see it as plain as day, so maybe that’s the reason I bend down, without giving it a single thought to right or wrong, and move toward her, my lips prepared to claim hers.
I fully expect her to pull back, to gasp in shock or outrage, but she doesn’t. She closes her eyes. We’re a mere breath apart and everything around us starts to fade. The only thing here is us. Me and Lena. Well, and my son. All I have to do move just the slightest and our lips will touch, but the second I go to make my move, a shadow falls over me and a throat clears.
“Uhhh, guys, I know you’re having a moment and all, but your moment is about to be photographed by dozens of cameras from all across the region who are more than willing to share your tonsil hockey practice with the world.” The voice is Fish. The sole voice of reason.
I pull back and blink. Lena has this unfocused look in her eyes, and it almost calls me right back to her. To kiss her. But realization sets in. I can’t kiss her on stage in front of the media. The fallout will be our photo splashed everywhere.
Clearing my throat, I look down at my son. He’s wide awake and watching Fish, who’s suddenly making goofy faces at him. “Thanks, man,” I say to my best friend, who was essentially blocking the press from any potential shot a few moments ago. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Fish snorts and glances at Lena. She’s doing everything she can to melt into the temporary flooring we’re standing on. “Right, that’s the problem. You weren’t thinking. At least not with the big brain,” he chides, followed by a big boisterous laugh at his own joke.
My eyes roll. Before I can smart off to my friend, Coop and Colton come over to offer more congratulations and to talk shop for a moment.
“Mack, Hicks has decided to stay in town for the evening and host a quick celebration for you,” Colton says, referring to my major sponsor. “Their team is already working on securing a location. Food, drinks, lots of photos, and some glad-handing of their corporate bigshots.”
I want to groan, but I keep it from slipping. As much as I’d much rather head home and watch a movie with Lena, I know that’s not going to happen. This is part of my contract, the fine print that says I’ll do whatever in the hell is needed to make my sponsors happy. And apparently, that means attending a dinner this evening in my honor. “That sounds great,” I find myself saying.
Colton grins. Apparently, he doesn’t quite buy my fake excitement either. “I’ll join you. Rylee wants to stay at the hotel with Ace.”
I glance down at my son and then to Lena. As if reading my mind, she offers me a smile. “We’ll be just fine in the motorhome. Go have dinner.”
“Instead of heading back home tonight, we’ll just leave in the morning. It’s a short drive, so if we take off at seven, we’ll be home shortly after eight, traffic pending,” Coop adds. I already know he’s not that thrilled to be staying. He’d much rather be home with his wife and kids than shaking hands with corporate sponsors.
“Sounds like a plan,” I reply, running my hand through my hair before repositioning the ball cap.
“Oh, and they’ve added a gala next Saturday night,” Colton adds as he turns away. “I know we all love those, so be on the lookout for an email from PR with the details.” He’s gone a moment later.
“Shit,” I mumble.
“What’s the matter?” she asks, stepping forward and slipping her finger into Oliver’s little hand.
“Everyone hates those fucking penguin suit galas. Our sponsors do them once or twice a year. Each one, they’ll pick a charity and raise money.”
She smiles. “I remember my dad going to those types of things a few times. I always begged him to take me with him,” she says, her eyes sparkling like emeralds under the bright sunlight.
“Well, you can be my date,” I say before I even put any thought into the words. But the moment they’re out there, I realize how much I’d really love for her to attend with me.
“Oh, I can’t,” she insists. “Someone has to watch Oliver.”
I nod, but not because I agree.
She’s right.
Someone has to watch my son.
That someone doesn’t have to be her.
***
I’m ready to leave.
Hell, I was ready to head out five minutes after we arrived, but I knew that wasn’t happening. No way would I disrespect my sponsors, my team owner, or my team like that. Doesn’t mean I didn’t think it though. When I left with my guys, Lena had Oliver in his baby bathtub on the floor of the shower. The scent of baby shampoo and pure Lena was beckoning me back to that little bathroom, to where I’d rather be. Yet, here I am, ready to make excuses so I don’t have to retell today’s race for the fifth time since my arrival.
And that’s just before dessert is even served.
It’s getting close to eleven when Fish comes up and whispers, “Think we can sneak out yet?”
“I’m right behind you,” I tell him, glancing around and noticing everyone appears to be distracted. We set our glasses down on the nearest table and head toward the door.
“Going somewhere?” Coop asks, appearing out of nowhere just before we reach freedom.
Fish fakes a yawn. “I’m beat, bossman. Ready to hit the hay.”
Coop rolls his eyes. “Really? Aren’t you the one who says KISS ain’t got nothing on your partying every night?”
My best friend, my wingman, tries to feign innocence and quickly points at me. “His idea!”
I turn and punch him in the arm, hard enough he’ll probably feel it for a bit. “Thanks, man,” I grumble, turning to my crew chief with big, innocent eyes.
Coop just shakes his head. “We’re about to all head out. No reason to sneak off,” he replies with a smirk. “Say your farewells and meet us at the SUVs. We’ll all ride back together.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Fish replies, heading over to shake hands with those remaining. I do the same, happy when we’re finally heading for the door.
The guys are all hyped up as we make our way back to the track. We’re one of the few hauler and motorhomes left in the lot, so it’s easy to find which site is ours. “You coming over to our place for a beer?” Chief asks me as we all start to file out.
“Are ya kidding? Why would he come hang with us when he has a beautiful lady waitin’ in his own motorhome?” Fish asks with a solid slap to the back of Chief’s head.
“Knock it off, knuckleheads. I’m going in to get some sleep. Today’s been a long day,” I state as I stretch my arms over my head.
“Sure, he’s going to sleep,” Cookie sings, thrusting his hips forward and pumping his arms back in that total juvenile way.
Holding u
p my middle finger, I turn away from their snickering and dirty jokes and go to my own motorhome. I pull out the key, and as quietly as I can, slip inside. It’s dark, with the exception of the soft glow of the television screen where a Netflix show has ended. Something catches out of the corner of my eye and I turn to the seating area. There, curled up on the small couch is Lena and Oliver.
She’s sleeping on her side with my son nestled in her arms, and I swear, something happens in my chest. My heart starts to pound and it’s a little hard to breathe. The sight of them together, so peaceful, sends my mind into dangerous territory once more. I start to entertain all sorts of ideas of a life together—the three of us.
A life I suddenly want more than anything in the world.
I notice her camera sitting on the little dining room table and pick it up. I’ve used her old Nikon before, but never without her tutelage. It takes me a few seconds to remember how it works as I turn the small dial on top. It makes a noise, but fortunately, doesn’t wake up my subjects. I find the flash and attach it like I’ve seen Lena do many times. I may not know anything about cameras or lighting, but I know enough that no photo will turn out in the darkness without the flash.
Lifting the camera to my face, it takes me a few seconds to find my subjects in the small rectangular viewfinder, but when I do, I press the button. The flash is bright and the shutter louder than I’ve probably ever heard it as it takes the photo. When it doesn’t wake Lena, I prepare for a second picture.
This time, I crouch down and use the zoom. I can see the softness in her face, the way she slowly breathes in and out. The same goes for Oliver, who’s passed out cold in the crook of her arm, his mouth gaping open in total slumber. With a smile on my lips, I position them in the middle of the viewfinder and press the shutter a second time.
Unfortunately, this time my luck runs out. Lena’s eyes open, a sleepy, unfocused gaze, and after a few seconds, they lock on mine. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper, carefully turning off the camera and replacing it on the table.