Racing Hearts

by Davida Lynn

  Heather managed to polish all the wheels surrounding her. The stacks of tires lorded over her, heavy and daunting. Everyone on the team, most of whom Heather didn’t know, were busy with something or other. Only the large man was leaning against the fence near the grandstands watching everything around him.

  She walked over to him, taking the headphones off. The cacophony surrounding her came back. Many of the crew members that Heather had seen didn’t wear any ear protection at all.

  Trying not to sound sheepish, Heather asked, “Could you help me move some of these tires? I can’t lift them.”

  “Of course, of course.” He pushed away from the fence, a big grin on his face. “I’m Frank.”

  As he weaved through the tires, Frank pointed to the top of one stack. “See the big numbers in grease pen? Gotta keep the sets of tires together. Very important. Got it?”

  Heather nodded. She had been given the simplest task, but things were getting more complicated by the second. Add in all the radio chatter that was barely comprehensible, and Heather felt like the water was rising around her.

  “Delta times looking good.”

  “Let’s work on drafting.”

  “Tire management is key, Chance.”

  She heard it all, but to Heather, the words might as well have been gibberish. Still, the team was friendly to her, and she felt like her small job was still important. She was doing her part to help Chance do his best.

  The one message that did make sense to her was: “Alright, let’s bring it in. Time for lunch.”

  The morning had flown. The smaller mechanic, Kiwi, was pulling the tin foil from a party tray. Steam poured out into the air from the hot sandwiches. Heather’s stomach grumbled, pulling her from the intense focus she had waded into. She had gone through nearly half of the tires, losing count around thirty. Her hands ached, and they were covered in tiny splotches of the polish that had flown from the rotating head of the drill.

  The pieced together car came to an abrupt stop in the pit lane, white smoke rising from each of the tires. The blaring engine died, and Heather dared to take her headphones off.

  Heather smiled as Chance pulled himself up from the car. There was just something about it that was just plain hot. Actually, everything about Chance was hot. He was confident, sexy, and Heather was quickly coming to find racing to be very attractive. Dangerous, fast, and filled with adrenaline, racing was everything that Heather was drawn to. In her professional life, she worked hard to reject those desires. Industrial and occupational psychology was about as dull as anything, and Heather liked it that way.

  After Chance had talked with people under the little awning, he gave her a smile. Heather liked that even though he was at work, and a high-stakes job at that, he still made it a point to make her feel special.

  She waited by her stacks and stacks of tires until he came over. Heather didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. With how little room there was in their pit box, that might literally happen.

  “Hungry?” He asked totally nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just gotten out of a race car going two hundred miles an hour. Heather just smiled and nodded to him.

  Chance stretched his hands, then twisted his back in a jerking motion that birthed several cracking sounds. Next, he tilted his neck to one side, then the next with similar results.

  Heather made a disgusted face. “Dear god. You sound like a bag of potato chips being run over by a dump truck.”

  “It’s a good thing I feel better than I sound, then.” He laughed and scooped her into his arms.

  The racetrack was silent, darkness had set in. It was Chance’s favorite time. With the spectators gone, they had the whole place to themselves. A cool stillness had settled over the usually crowded, screaming loud space.

  Annabelle had done beautifully. They had gotten in nearly one hundred and fifty practice laps. The team had done fuel runs to estimate how many laps they could go before each pit stop. Drafting practice was arranged with a few of the other smaller teams. It was essential to make allies before the race. If you could closely follow another car, both cars would go faster as a result. Drafting would be crucial come race day.

  But that was still over a week away. Chance and Heather were off work for the day, but he thought they could stick around the track a little longer.

  He pulled Heather down Gasoline Alley, drinking in the isolation. The track could hold more than half a million people, but in that moment, it was just those two.

  “Want to see the car?” He swayed back and forth, feeling downright silly and stupid.

  Heather turned to him, one of her eyebrows up. “I’ve been staring at these things for about twelve hours.”

  “Want to sit in it?” He asked like a five year-old might ask a cute girl in class to a birthday party.

  He watched as Heather thought about it. When her face lit up, Chance thought it might be love.

  “Hell yeah!” She squealed the words, all but jumping up and down with excitement. Who wouldn’t want the chance to sit in one of the fastest machines on earth?

  Chance’s heart soared as he came to an abrupt halt and turned one hundred and eighty degrees. Heather laughed as he swung her around in a wide circle at arm’s length. Chance couldn’t remember a more carefree time, but here he was.

  Only a few street lamps lit the garage area. It was well past midnight, and not even the die hard mechanics were left. The day had been uneventful, so no one worked late making repairs. For Chance, the day had been integral to wipe away the qualifying crash. The guilt lingered, but his confidence had been restored. Despite still being at work, he was thinking of something much more fun.

  After keying into the personnel door that led to the interior garage area, Chance held the door for Heather, who wore a simple t-shirt that he had dug from his bag. It looked good on her, and Chance wondered if there was anything that didn’t. “After you, my dear.”

  Heather laughed off Chance’s fake British accent. Aside from the red glow of the exit sign, the interior garages were black. Chance fumbled for the light switches, flipping both on at the same time. The All-American pro garage lit up in all its disheveled splendor. After the complete rebuild, excess parts and miscellaneous tools were scattered all over the floor. Half of a front wing was leaning against a toolbox, the other half buried in a pile of scrap and carbon fiber in a corner.

  Annabelle looked perfect in all her imperfections. Tiny splotches of random color indicated the generosity of the other teams’ donated parts. Some of the body pieces were finished in white coating, others were bare black carbon fiber weave. Where once a large Fishers’ logo had existed, now was a large blank white space, advertising that the team had no advertisers.

  Still, Chance loved the car. Annabelle had been put back together better than before, and he was confident that with a little bit of luck, he could bring home some decent prize money. Enough to pay the team, enough to pay DJ, and enough to pay Heather. If the racing gods were smiling, there might be a few bucks left for him at the end of two hundred laps.

  “It sounded like it was a good day." Heather walked around the car, her eyes never leaving it. Chance knew she was catching the fever that had haunted him most of his life. Once people got close to a race car, they were infected.

  He nodded and leaned back against the toolbox. "It was a good day. The car feels great, our fuel mileage is decent, I don't know what else to say. Things are actually looking up."

  “Any luck on a sponsor?" Heather waved her hand over the large empty spaces on the side pods. “Or is this all just going to be white?"

  Chance laughed at the schadenfreude. “Actually, I don't think we have the money to get her one solid color. I think she's going to run as is.”

  A sad look came to Heather’s face. “That’s too bad.”

  “Nah. I like her looking this way. She’s got battle scars. Come here.” Chance stood on one side of the car, hands extended.

  Heather took a hand and stood beside him.


  Chance leaned over. “So you can step on the seat or the floor in front of the seat, but nothing else. I think they do it just to make us look completely graceless getting in and out of the cars.”

  “Okay, but I swear, if you let me fall…”

  “Yes?” Chance grabbed Heather by the hips, shaking her a little.

  She aimed a finger in his direction. “Just try me.”

  “You’ll be fine.” Chance let Heather put her weight on him. He could tell that she liked to be dainty and feminine. It was a look that suited her well. She set one foot into the cockpit, and unsteadily dropped in the second one.

  She was standing the wrong way. “Careful when you turn. It’s a tight fit. Once you slip down into place, I’ll slide the steering wheel on.”

  Chance held the harnesses out of the way as Heather lowered herself into his form-fitting seat. There was no wiggle room for him, but Heather was a good forty pounds smaller, and she’d notice the extra space. Watching her, Chance was more than a little turned on. It was the kind of sight that was enough to wipe any lasting memories of Isla from his mind.

  Once her shoulders were inside, Chance clipped the complicated steering wheel into place.

  She put her fingers into the grooves. “Do you seriously know what all these buttons and knobs are for?”

  Chance nodded. “Point one out, I’ll prove it.” She did. “Fuel mapping. That one adjusts how much fuel the engine gets. Less fuel means more laps, but less power.”

  Heather pointed out another. Chance said, “That one tightens and loosens the suspension. When you’re cornering—“

  “Okay, okay. You lost me. I believe you.” Heather cut him off with a laugh. “I’m not gonna lie, this is pretty hot.”

  Chance straddled the narrow front of the car. “Is that so?”

  “Mhm.”

  “Picturing me going wheel to wheel with some of the fastest drivers in the world, fractions of an inch from them, from the wall, from certain doom.”

  “And certain glory.” She said, a sultry deepness to her voice.

  Chance said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Want me to take a picture of you in here?”

  “Some other time, maybe. I’ve got other things on my mind at the moment.” Heather pulled herself up to her feet, again.

  Chance was still sitting on the car when Heather pulled the t-shirt over her head. The beautiful red bra beneath made Chance’s eyes widen. It was lacy, and did little to hide her perfect, pink nipples. His heart might as well have hit a wall.

  He stood, lifting Heather from his race car in one fluid motion. He slid her down his body until her feet touched the concrete floor of the garage, their lips drawn to each other. Her tongue slid into Chance’s mouth, and he let out a deep groan of satisfaction.

  Pulling away, Chance bit Heather’s bottom lip. He got the reaction he wanted. Her brow furrowed, and she let out the most sensual cry of pleasure. They wrestled to get their clothes off. Chance only got as far as sliding Heather’s jeans and underwear down her legs before passion overtook him.

  Chance spun Heather around, his hand pushing her over the rear wing of his car. He loved the sight of her grabbing onto the edges of it, her legs spread as wide as the jeans at her ankles would allow.

  He was hard and more than ready to feel her around him. Something about Heather drove him absolutely crazy with desire and need. Taking his manhood in hand, Chance stepped right behind Heather, teasing her with the head.

  Her back arched, and she gasped in pleasure at his touch. He groaned, his heart beating harder than ever. Pushing forward, the curve of Chance’s thick rod spread Heather’s folds until she shivered in front of him. He knew he had found her clit.

  “Oh god.” Heather’s voice was painted with surprise and delight. She turned and gave Chance a look of ecstasy. “Don’t stop. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

  Chance had no intention to stop. He began to push—slowly— back and forth. He wanted badly to be inside her, but there was plenty of time for that. Heather’s hands widened on the rear wing as Chance’s cock slid over her wetness. She shuddered each time he reached her clit.

  “You’re so warm.” He leaned over and whispered into her ear.

  Heather responded by wiggling her hips back and forth, sending waves of pleasure through Chance’s body. He grabbed a hold of the soft flesh of her hips. Chance reveled in the sensuality between Heather and him. They were still on foreplay, just mimicking sex, but he knew they could both climax from it.

  “Don’t stop,” Heather moaned, her voice getting higher, mirroring the impending orgasm growing in her center. Chance had no intention of stopping.

  He pressed forward again, feeling every inch of her sex as he did. Chance flexed in his core, the movement traveling down his manhood and against Heather’s clit.

  Her head flew up at the feeling, her hair bouncing along with it. “Oh god!”

  He pulled back, knowing that she was ever so close. There was a part of him that wanted to back off, let her come down before building her back up, but he couldn’t hold off that long. Heather’s orgasms were magical, and he couldn’t deny them the experience. Besides, he had her bent over the back of his IndyCar, and time and privacy weren’t exactly on their side.

  One last time, Chance pushed forward, his cock pressed against her pussy. Pulling Heather back against him by her hips, Chance moved forward as far as possible.

  Chance felt Heather’s legs go slack, and she fell forward, her almost bare chest flat on the car’s wing. He dug his fingers into her hips, holding onto her as the orgasm threatened to carry her away. She cried out until her breath caught in her throat. For a moment she was perfectly still, then thunderous shakes overtook her.

  Her thighs tightened around him, holding Chance in place, not that he was going anywhere.

  Drinking in every moment of it, Chance bent forward, kissing the back of Heather’s neck. Her spasms were tapering off, but the beautiful moans came and went with every breath. Chance even surprised himself with how powerful her orgasm had been.

  Her breathing slowed, and Heather slid one of her hands between her legs. Chance jumped when he felt her fingers slide around his wet member. She had soaked him, and he hadn’t even slipped inside.

  Chance pulled back slightly, feeling Heather guiding him to the entrance to her sex. He growled into her ear, teasing her for just a moment before pushing forward. The feeling was incredible. Chance looked around him, taking it all in. He and Heather were fucking on his race car at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. She was amazing, and somehow she thought he was, too. As their bodies moved in a primal rhythm, Chance wondered if it got any better.

  He’d stood in victory lane many times and drank champagne, but it was nothing like what he was experiencing. Had he finally found something more addictive than racing?

  Chance’s body gave in, and as Heather encouraged him, he thrust as deep as he could manage inside of her. He was weak, his body collapsing forward onto hers in the afterglow. Heather reached a hand back and into Chance’s hair, sending powerful shivers down his spine.

  For a long while, the two caught their breath leaning against the car. When Chance found the strength to stand up, Heather turned and kissed him hard. He pulled her body against his as the two lovers embraced. Somehow, he was finding himself getting hard, again.

  Heather adjusted her bra, which had slid up during their rough sex. The smile Chance saw on her face was better than the first light of dawn.

  Pointing a thumb back at Chance’s race car, Heather said, “So, I guess these things are stronger than I thought.”

  “Oh, they can take a real pounding.”

  Her wish was simple, but specific: She wanted to go fast. Chance had delivered. After their hot session in the garage, Heather had a taste for adrenaline, and if Chance got it from speed, why couldn’t she?

  The go-karts were certainly slower than his vehicle of choice, but at nearly fifty miles an hour, Hea
ther was more than satisfied with the swiftness. The track at Quick Times was narrow and bumpy, which only added to the perceived speed. Heather laughed out loud as she whipped the kart around a turn, the sounds muffled by the helmet and the seven other tiny engines running around her.

  Chance was just in front, clearly running slowly so Heather could keep up. He pointed to a few things as they traveled the circuit, up the incline to the second floor that ran over part of the track. A one hundred and eighty degree turn brought them back to the concrete floor and a checkered marking indicating the beginning of a new lap. The things he pointed out didn’t mean anything to Heather as she did her best to keep up with him.

  The designated eight minutes of racing passed too quickly. The acne-marked kid half-heartedly waved the checkered flag as she passed behind Chance. A slow lap led them into the pits, and Heather jumped out of the kart and threw her arms around Chance.

  She squealed, “I get it. I get it, now. Oh, god, can we do it again?”

  Chance gave her a jokingly sad look. “Why didn’t you say that back in the garage?”

  Heather poked him in the ribs and headed up the stairs to the waiting room and refreshments. “Because this goes for twice as long as you.”

  “Ouch.” Chance laughed and chased after her up the stairs.

  Heather’s heart was speeding faster than the go-karts would allow. She had tasted a sense of speed, but that taste wasn’t enough to quench her thirst.

  Through the double doors at the top of the stairs, another teenager handed her a slip of paper. She looked at it, trying to decipher the columns of numbers. It didn’t make much sense to her.

  “What is this?”

  “Lap times.” Chance answered, running a finger down one of the columns. “You got in twelve laps, and number eleven was your fastest. Just under thirty seconds. Not bad at all.”