Racing Dirty (Racing Dirty Series Book 1)

by J. Lynn Lombard

  Racing Dirty

  By J. Lynn Lombard

  Copyrights 2017@J. Lynn Lombard

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronical or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical review and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright laws.

  This novel is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are solely from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to people, living or dead are purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  This book contains mature content and approved for anyone over the age of 18.

  Cover design and teasers created by SG Anderson

  Dedication

  To those who have loved and lost their way, believe anything is possible. Keep your eyes open and your heart free. You are loved.

  Prologue

  Izabella

  Heartbreak.

  I know this word.

  I suffer this word day in and day out.

  Someone once told me, ‘if you never experience heartbreak, you’ve never really loved.’

  Well, they can shove that advice up their ass. My heart’s been torn apart for the last five years. I’ve tried everything to get over him, nothing works. My hands still ache to touch the silky strands of his smooth, jet black hair. His scent lingers around me everywhere I go, like he’s burned into my senses. Sometimes, in the last five years, I could have sworn I sensed the burn of his blue eyes watching me. The smell of the ocean air to the birds chirping, to the rev of an engine, something always reminds me of him daily. Even moving thousands of miles away still hurt.

  All it did was hurt.

  Hurt myself.

  Hurt my dad.

  Hurt my friends.

  Even hurt him.

  I’m jarred out of my self-loathing when bodies move around me, bringing me back to the real world, reminding me where I am. The little white guy on the corner is flashing at me, telling me to move my ass across the street. I have my earbuds in, drowning out the noises of the busy L.A. traffic, as I’m swallowed up by a sea of people going about their day. I hitch my colorful messenger bag back up onto my shoulder when someone bumps into me going in the opposite direction. Pinning him with my best glare, I call him an asshole. Of course, he doesn’t hear me. The city noises drown out most conversations.

  My long blonde hair is in a messy bun on top of my head, I’m wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses hiding my soulful green eyes. Ripped blue jeans and a white cotton t-shirt that read, ‘If it isn’t dirty, it isn’t racing’ finishes up my wardrobe, along with my black, badass racing boots. With a cup of Starbucks caramel macchiato in my hand, I cross the street and walk up to a big white building that has been my future for the last four years. The building used to be the IBM Aerospace Headquarters but is now the Otis College of Art Design in Los Angeles, California.

  I moved to Los Angeles five years ago to become a graphic designer. I should have finished last year, but I took a year off when I first moved across the country. Healing a broken heart takes a while. That’s what I was musing about earlier.

  I inhale a deep breath and center myself before entering the Otis building. I have my final exam today in the creative arts class I’ve been taking, and I need to remain focused and clear my head, so I can receive my degree.

  Two hours later, I finish my exam and walk back to the dorms on campus. My feet are dragging up the carpeted stairwell and down the corridor. I gently open the white door leading into the shared room. My roommate, Ashley is still in class, so I have a little time to myself. I release my messenger bag onto the floor and walk into the attached bathroom. I clean the grime of the city off my face and plop down on my bed, exhaustion setting in my bones.

  In the last five years, sleep is practically nonexistent. Every time I close my eyes, I see piercing blue ones staring back at me, caressing me, loving me. Sometimes I have no choice but to be lost in the dreams, other times, I stay awake and don’t succumb to them.

  Before my heavy eyes close, I glance around the dorm room. I will only have a couple of weeks before I must move out since I’ll be officially done with college. I need to decide: If I’ll pack up and head home or if I’ll stay here and get a job. The quaint, cozy room has been my home for the last four years and it will be hard to leave. There’s a counter with built-in dressers beneath to the right of the door as you walk in, a full bathroom on the left. Two beds on opposite sides take up the back part of the room. The floor is covered with a bright carpet and is soft under the feet. The walls are a pristine white and both Ashley and I hung up posters all over them. My roommate, Ashley, has movie posters and hot guys on her side, typical L.A. native wall candy. Mine are street racing cars and graphics of my dad’s racing theme, that are my own designs, on my wall. There’s a black and white bedspread on my bed, to the right of the room.

  There is an enormous bay window above the double beds that take up the whole back wall and at night, I gaze out the window and reflect on my past and the reasons I’m here. The night sky and radiant stars remind me of loving someone who didn’t love me back enough to keep fighting for us, he let me walk away.

  I pull out my cell phone from my jeans pocket and check my messages. Mia, -my best friend from home in Michigan sent me several texts while I was in class.

  Mia: Izzy, call me.

  Mia: I know you’re in class, but I really need you to call me.

  Mia: Call me it’s important

  Mia: You won’t believe who came into my work and asked me out.

  Mia: Ok, you’re busy but I’m still going to annoy you.

  Mia sent me twenty text messages and all her ungodly number of texts were the same. Mia is very eccentric and doesn’t care who she bugs or how often. She will keep going until you answer her. I toss my phone onto the nightstand, putting it on silent, knowing if I don’t Mia will keep calling or texting, and I really need to sleep right now.

  I’m not in the talking mood either and don't want to be bugged by anyone. I’ve been off all day and need to get my head back on straight after my dream last night. I dreamt of my ex-boyfriend, his betrayal, and the heartache of that dreadful night, even though it’s been five years.

  True love hurts, and I haven’t been able to move on. I’ve dated a few times, but none of the guys here match up to one particular guy, who smells like performance racing fuel and leather. Sometimes, when I let my guard down, his scent invades my senses and grief surrounds me.

  I shift so my slender body is facing the white wall next to my bed. My phone lights up, but I don’t hear or see it as my eyelids become heavy. I dream about racing cars, a man who stole my heart and the betrayal following quickly after.

  Chapter 1

  Izabella-5 years ago

  The sun’s setting across the racetrack as I climb from the driver’s side of my four-cylinder race car. I had the strongest race so far of the season and it’s only halfway through. I have on a green racing jumper with the logo ‘Jones Racing’ scrawled across my back and left front breast. I remove my helmet, letting my blonde hair cascade down my back. I'm still on an adrenaline high after that race and my hands are shaking. I clench and unclench them, exhaling a deep breath, struggling to sooth my racing heart.

  The adrenaline rush that penetrates my veins is an addiction I love. The thrill of being behind the wheel and pushing your car as fast as it will go as you drift around the corners
isn’t for everyone, but growing up around this race track my entire life, inhaling the racing fuel and exhaust is something I live for. I'm the strongest in my racing class, I have been undefeated all season and some guys are pissed about it.

  Just as my heartbeat settles back to normal, my childhood crush, Xavier, approaches me. His unique essence of performance fuel and leather ingrained into my senses. My heart beats fast again. He walks behind me and rests his huge hands on my shoulders massaging them.

  “That was some great racing,” Xavier whispers in my ear. Goosebumps break out on my skin and I tremble as his lips are inches from me.

  “Thanks,” I respond breathlessly, letting out a soft sigh of approval.

  I close my eyes and savor his rough hands on me. I’ve had a crush on him since I was a little girl in pigtails and overalls and his family moved in a few houses down from us.

  My dad, Austin, became fast friends with Xavier’s dad, James, on and off the track, so we all spent a lot of time together. Xavier’s mom, Ana, took me under her wing after my mom died of cancer a few years after they moved in.

  Then high school arrived and Xavier’s looks changed from boyish to manly and the girls wouldn’t stay away, our friendship became tense. His jet black, just fucked, messy hair and piercing blue eyes make every girl wet with desire. His muscles are more defined, giving any woman (or man) a glimpse of what a toned, well-endowed man should look like. When he would grin, his dimple in his right cheek would pop out and his eyes would flicker with mischief. Many girls have thrown themselves at him on and off the track and Xavier has no hesitation about exploiting his charm to take what he wants.

  I steel my nerves and my heart as I shift to look at him. He too has on a racing jumper, but his is dark blue with the logo ‘Sweeney Racing’ on his left breast and across the back. I remember designing them for our dad’s late one night, and it thrills me to see my art on his athletic body. Well, not actually on his body, but close enough. His piercing blue eyes are flickering with mischief as his eyes trail down my body.

  “Hey X eyes up here. I’m not some track bunny who’s an easy lay.” His face turns red and his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard.

  “Trust me I know,” he responds, breathlessly.

  I let loose an exaggerated eye roll and set my helmet on the hood of my race car. “Is there something you want?” I ask.

  I know I’m being a bitch to him, but week after week, I watch him take some random track bunny to either the woods or the back of his pickup or somewhere to fuck them. This is the only way I know how to deal with him because I will be damned if I keep handing him my heart and he crushes it. The sparkle leaves his eyes as his smile fades.

  “Nah just wanted to tell you, you did good tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I acknowledge and walk away.

  It’s rough walking away from him because we have been friends for so long, but life happens. I miss the carefree days we would have as kids walking down the pits, looking at the different race cars, talking about our dreams of racing when we became older. Holding hands as innocent children, not knowing what their future held, but knowing we both wanted to be the best racers like our dads.

  I discovered my dad inside our racing trailer looking for parts for his car. He pulls an air filter from the shelf and walks out. His blonde hair is messy from his helmet and he also has on a matching racing jumper like mine. The thin beard on his face has a few wrinkles from worrying about me, but he still has a powerful body that women drool over. His hazel eyes light up when he sees me. I walk up to him and kiss him on the cheek.

  “Hey, dad.”

  “Hey kiddo, great race out there. Keep it up and you have it in the bag.” He states, kissing my cheek back. After my mom passed, I’ve always called him dad to his face, but Austin behind his back. He knows I do, and it’s never bothered him.

  “Thanks. What’s going on?” I asked gesturing to the air filter in his hand.

  “My damn air filter needs changing before my feature. I’d leave it alone, but the officials caught it when they searched my car and they’ve been dicks. So, I figured I might as well replace it and not have to worry.”

  “Do you want any help?”

  “Sure, kiddo. Let’s get it done. I’m up after this feature.”

  We walk over to his Late Model UMP and change the air filter quickly. Everything I know about cars came from him and Xavier’s dad, James. We would spend hours in our dad’s garages together, learning the ins and outs of tearing down a motor or changing head gaskets, to simple things like changing a tire and all the extras that come with racing. I can drop a motor and put a new one in quicker than anyone around, except Xavier. I've watched sweat cover his lean body, his muscles ripple as he exerts them to change it.

  My heart thumps hard again, making me hot with more images of Xavier’s ripped body and a blush spreads across my cheeks. I unzip my jumper and tie the top around my waist, an attempt to cool myself down. My white t-shirt underneath has our racing logo scribbled across my chest, another one of my designs.

  I shake my head struggling to get my mind off the hot guy who is now approaching us. Xavier tucks his helmet under his right arm, his jumper defining his strength underneath. He’s the only guy I know that can pull off wearing a racing jumper. It’s tight on his powerful arms and legs. It defines his broad chest and the blue sets off his eyes.

  His eyes are shinning with mischief again as he approaches me, not taking them from my full chest. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and smirk at the same time. Austin clears his throat and Xavier looks away from me, the sparkle disappearing again. His face is impassive as he shifts toward Austin.

  When Xavier is near me I forget there are other people around us. Confusion clouds my mind with the mixed signals I keep getting from him. One minute he can’t keep his hands or his eyes off me and the next he’s cold as ice. My nerves are getting the best of me and I release a deep breath.

  “Earth to Izzy.” Xavier’s deep voice breaks my wandering thoughts.

  I snap my head up, looking at them. Austin and Xavier are regarding me with amused smiles on their face.

  “I’m sorry what?” I ask, my face burning red again.

  “Told you she was zoning out,” Xavier says to Austin.

  Xavier and my dad have always had a close relationship and if he knew where my mind drifts to all the time Xavier wouldn’t be standing here. Austin let’s out a deep rumbling laugh.

  “I asked if you were ready for the race. I’m heading out.”

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yes, I’m ready. Let’s go kick some ass."

  “Mouth young lady.” Austin scolds me with a smirk on his lips. I stick my tongue out at him as he puts his helmet on and climbs in his car.

  Austin has a Late Model UMP with a 454-cubic inch Chevy big block motor. The body of his car is green like our racing jumpers. Our logo, ‘Jones Racing’ scribbled in white across the sides, hood, and trunk of his car. The number 31 is written on each side of his door, his lucky number since he was a teenager and won his first feature. His sponsors have their logos all over his car and with as much winning he does he is always getting calls from different businesses wanting to sponsor him.

  Austin fires up his race car and the smell of performance fuel invades my nose making me relax a little. Xavier’s body heat penetrates my skin as he stands next to me his distinct scent overpowering all others making my heart race. I give Austin a wave, kiss two fingers, and place them over my heart as a sign of good luck. He does the gesture back and drives off to line up. We always have had that tradition since I was a little girl.

  “Are you going to ignore me all night?” Xavier’s rich voice rumbles next to my ear causing my body to shiver again.

  I observe the track as Austin drives away, the sun has set, and the lights are on. It’s the final feature for the night and the stands are full of people here to watch the race.

  “I’m not ignoring you X, I’m giving you
space so the track bunnies can swoop in and grab your attention. It’s getting kind of late and I don’t see anyone hanging on your every word giggling like it’s the best thing around.” Regretting every word that flows past my lips. If I don’t keep my heart guarded, he will crush it.

  I turn my head to study his profile and if I moved any slower I would have missed the hurt that crosses his face. Crap now I feel like shit for my snarky comments. Xavier clears his throat.

  “Ouch, I guess I deserve that.”

  “When I see the same thing week after week it gets harder and harder to watch.” I shrug my shoulders, playing it off like it’s no big deal I’ve hurt his feeling. “I get glares and nasty snarls from those women when you give me attention. It’s bad enough I need to prove myself out there.” I gesture to the dirt track. “I don’t need the added stress of your recent conquests trying to get the courage to kick my ass because you’re talking to me and hanging around me. Racing is hard and for a girl, it’s even harder.”

  The heat of his body is soothing my temper as Xavier wraps his arms around my shoulders, holding me against him. His musky smell of racing fuel and leather makes my knees weak. Goosebumps break out on my skin as he brings his lips next to my ear.

  “I’m sorry B, I want to make it up to you."

  I shiver at the sincerity in his voice and his hot breath on my neck as he uses the nickname he has for me. I turn my head; our lips are inches apart.

  “You want to make it up to me?” I whisper, my breath fanning across his lips.

  “Yeah, I do.” His blue eyes focused on my lips as I lick them.

  I don’t know where all of this is suddenly coming from but if Xavier is serious about us then I need to set ground rules. With a shaky hand, I cup the side of his face, the smoothness of his strong jawline sets my body on fire.

  Xavier closes his eyes at my gentle touch and takes a deep breath. When he opens his blue eyes, I search them for proof he’s serious. When I find what I’m looking for I give him my proposal. I still need to guard my heart until I know this will work.