Fueled Obsession 3

by Amanda Heartley

  “That’s fine with me. I trust you.”

  We left the restaurant and neither one of us wanted to say goodbye. I enjoyed Dylan’s company. He was handsome, generous and funny, yet there was still something missing—and it wasn’t his fault. I wanted to forget Jackson Fitzgerald and this was the only way I knew how. I needed to move on, in all areas of my life. Dylan could be my future—at least I thought he might be—but I still had a few niggling doubts.

  “The ground is still kind of wet, but we’re not far from the street your apartment’s on. Do you have time to take a walk?” he said.

  “I’d love that.” We parked his truck on the street and I saw the blue Camry parked in front of my building. I was so excited about owning a car—actually my first car without a co-signer. I wanted to look all over it right there and then, but Dylan took my hand and we strolled down the cool streets. I’d changed clothes at work and my scrubs were in my bag. I wore comfortable tights, a wool skirt and a sweater. I’d pulled my hair back in a ponytail that morning and it was still holding up, only a little saggy. I caught a glimpse of us in a store window and we looked good together. In fact, we looked great together. Tall and solid, Dylan was all man. I was a petite woman, anyway, but I looked even smaller standing next to him. He saw me looking at him and smiled down at me.

  “You’re so beautiful, Mollie. Inside and out.”

  “Thanks Dylan, so are you.” He pulled me close and kissed me casually. We kept walking, stopping at a bookstore and a hobby store. I bought a book, he looked at model cars, but soon the skies threatened rain again so we walked back to the apartment. I invited him up and handed him the down payment and he dropped the car keys into my open hand. He promised to send me a contract, we talked about payments and once we’d got the details worked out, we went downstairs to check it out. The car ran perfectly and I just about jumped up and down in the driver’s seat. “This is wonderful! Thanks for checking this out. Hey, take my picture!” I handed him my phone and he dutifully took my photo. I wanted to remember this moment, to remind myself of what I could do on my own—just me.

  “That’s a good one.” He handed me my phone back and said, “But you still owe me my finder’s fee.” I knew what he had in mind. I got out of the car, closed the door and leaned against the Camry. I wiggled my finger at him. He pressed against me and moved in tight for another kiss. If I had any doubts about him wanting me, they all disappeared right there. Dylan’s kiss was intense and full of longing. I wanted him, too, but I wasn’t ready to go there yet. I melted against him, yielding to the demands of his mouth. When he stopped, I pushed him back a little, but truthfully, I kind of wished he’d continued.

  “I guess I better go in, Dylan. Thank you for everything, for picking me up, and checking out the car.” I kissed him again.

  “You know, one day, we might have to do more than kiss, Mollie.” I blushed at his attempt at flirting. He kissed me on the top of my head and walked to his truck. I watched him leave and felt awash with emotions. Desire? Definitely. Attraction? Plenty. Love? I couldn’t be sure. I went upstairs, proud to be a car owner.

  I couldn’t wait to tell Natalie I actually owned a car.

  “Hey girl, what’s up?”

  Natalie stirred whatever she had in the pan. I didn’t know what it was, but it smelled delicious.

  “Dylan.” I sighed. “That’s what’s up.”

  Chapter Ten — Jack

  It was Saturday and I was at Stockton Racing. I couldn’t believe I was here, finally. I had to promise Sylvia the world, pass a drug test and do all kinds of interviews to even be considered again. Thankfully, the fourth and final slot for Redemption Road was open. Apparently, some dude lost his spot. Bad luck for him—good luck for me. I hoped.

  The first time I’d emailed Sylvia Donahue, she’d chewed my ass until it was ragged. She told me how I’d let her down and made her look like an idiot in front of the board. That she’d scouted me personally, so my failure to straighten up reflected badly on her judgment of character with the suits. Man, she was pissed!

  I wrote her back and admitted I’d made a huge mistake, but now the charges had been dropped, I could move forward. I must have apologized a dozen times, in three separate emails before I even got a glimmer of hope, but my persistence finally paid off. In her last email, I saw the three little words that made all difference. “Call me, now!” I did and that phone call was an hour long with more intense conversation and promises. Now here I was—finally.

  Jesse and I pulled into the Stockton garage and ignored the other drivers who were there to try out. My boss insisted on tagging along on the premise that I’d need a pit crew and I couldn’t blame a gearhead like him for wanting to get in on the action. Truth be told, I was glad to have him along. I introduced him to Sylvia, who met us with a professional smile and a handshake. She was a tall, attractive woman, about thirty with short, dark hair. She wore a purple suit and plenty of lipstick. I‘d do her, but thought twice about it when I spotted the wedding ring She was my only ally here at Stockton so I knew I’d better treat her with utmost respect. She’d put her neck out for me over and over again, and I didn’t want to let her down. Not again.

  To my surprise, I was immediately asked to take another piss test and I did just as I was told. We waited almost an hour for the results, long enough for the test to give accurate results, then the nurse came out and gave Sylvia a thumb’s up. I knew I would pass but it was still a relief to get that final approval.

  In just a few minutes, I’d be racing in front of the entire board. These were the guys that made the final decision about who stays and who goes. I’d race solo and then, if I passed the initial test, with the group. I needed to be faster. Faster than I’d ever been before, but I had to play it safe and clean. My recent run-ins with the law discouraged me from pushing my car to her limits on the local roadways, so I wasn’t sure how she’d perform in a full-out stretch. I prayed that the improvements and repairs that we’d made would give her the power she needed to beat these other cars. She wasn’t as pretty as the competition, but my car and I had a history. I knew she could do it if I’d put everything back the way it should be.

  Jesse punched the right rear tire with his fist. “I’m not too sure about that tire, Jack. We might need to check the pressure again.”

  I laughed at him. “You’re more nervous than I am, dude, and that’s saying something. It’s fine, Jesse, and by the way, thanks, you know… for everything.”

  He said, “Don’t thank me. This is all you, kid. It’s what you’re meant to do. Now, go do it!” I nodded and pulled on my helmet. This was another first for me. I’d never driven in a helmet before but Sylvia told me that Stockton took their drivers’ safety very seriously and those were the rules, so I might as well get used to it.

  I drove out to the line and took a few laps around the track to warm up the engine and the tires. I didn’t push her—I just wanted to the get the feel of the track. I didn’t normally race in such a confined area, but this was cool. I heard the buzzer calling me to the start line and when the light flashed and the buzzer sounded again, I took off. I slipped easily from first to second and then after the first curve, into third. The Camaro drove smoothly wherever I pointed it, but I felt it hesitate between second and third. Shit! I didn’t need to lose those seconds!

  Once I slipped into fourth, she surged like a champion racehorse down the track. I made the next two laps easily enough, but I knew that little blip would kick my ass. I crossed over the line on the last lap and eased to a crawl while I waited for the time to show up. My heart sank when I saw the numbers. Thank God for second chances! I got ready and lined up to do it again. I had to remember to ease off the clutch a little faster on this run. I couldn’t afford to lose that time again!

  Once more, I flew from first to second—no problem—three seconds later, I shifted from second to third and—fuck! The delay when I shifted was there again and I knew for a fact, it wasn’t me. I finished the tr
ial run, cussing the whole time. I didn’t even bother to look at the numbers after I’d finished and I got out of the car and tossed off the helmet. Sylvia met me at the archway.

  “Sorry, kid. I don’t know what happened with you out there, but that was nowhere near good enough. I thought you’d have nailed it, but that was way below the standard we’re looking for at Stockton. No need for you to stick around for the remaining races.” She drew a line through my name on her clipboard and it felt like she’d drawn a line through my life. I’d fucked up again but I wasn’t about to give up without a fight. This could be my only chance of doing what I loved as a professional career and it was the only thing I knew I was good at.

  “Come on, Sylvia, I mean Ms. Donahue. Please give me another chance. I had to rebuild this thing and obviously, something’s not quite right with the shift from second to third. Let me look at it and try one more time, please.”

  “We’ve been waiting long enough to see what you could do, Jack. I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything else for you.” She turned to walk away, but Jesse called after her.

  “Hey! Ma’am!” He already had my hood up and was wiping his hands on a greasy cloth.

  Sylvia was clearly annoyed as she spun on her heels, not quite turning around all the way. “Yes,” she said, in her no-nonsense kind of way. “What is it?”

  “It’s the transmission. It’s in the transmission. I’m pretty sure I can fix that quickly. Surely you aren’t going to release this kid because of a bad car repair?” Jesse challenged her, but in a polite way.

  “Part of the responsibilities of a Stockton driver is to manage their own repairs, to get the most out of a car. Candidates are not just here to race, but to oversee everything about their vehicle. I told Mr. Fitzgerald to be here with a race-ready car. He didn’t do that. He’s out.”

  I stood and watched the two of them and I felt hopeless. I hardly ever cried, but I had to hold back the tears welling up in my eyes. I knew Sylvia wasn’t going to be swayed by emotion.

  Just then, another dude approached us, a Stockton mechanic. “Hey, did you replace the clutch fork on that transmission?” I nodded. “Yeah, the old one was bent.”

  “Let me guess, did you guys put an after-market replacement in there or a genuine Chevvy part?”

  “It was a brand new Youngs after market part. It’s what I had in the shop.”

  “That’s your problem. Sometimes they stick. There was a maintenance bulletin came through here about it last week so those damn things aren’t on the recall list yet. That’s almost certainly why the car hesitates between the gears. You’ll need to fix that if you want a good time.” With that, he walked away and left us staring at Sylvia.

  She sighed, as if she were aggravated by the whole situation. Now was my chance. “I know you hear a lot of bleeding heart stories, ma’am, but I need this. I AM Redemption Road material. As your guy just said, it’s such a new problem that we hadn’t been notified about it at the garage yet. It’s not something I could predict. Please, just give us a few hours to fix this and I’ll show you what I can do as a driver. I know you’ve been to the mat for me already, but please—just one more time. I promise. I will not let you down.”

  She tapped her lip with her pen and frowned at me. She looked us both intently and I thought she’d say no, but instead she looked at her wristwatch and wrote down the time. “We both know the engine will have to come out to change that part. You can use our hoist and I’ll give you three hours. No more. I’m taking the board to a long lunch now while we discuss business, but when we get back, its balls to the wall or nothing. I mean it, Fitzgerald. Give me something I can work with or you are out forever.” She didn’t wait for a response. Jesse high-fived me and we dove in so we could get it out and make the repair.

  The Stockton dude, the one who’d walked over earlier, came back and offered us a replacement part. “Oh, thanks. I really appreciate your help.” I grinned at him.

  “Not a problem. We need good racers around here.” Jesse’s big body was hanging out from under the car. “You and your dad need some help? Maybe an extra pair of hands? The name’s Bart.”

  I stared at him, amused. “Jack, good to meet you and he’s not my dad. Thanks for offering, but we’re okay.”

  “You guys better get on it. Donahue doesn’t play around. If you miss the deadline, she won’t care. She’s all about the deadlines, that one. You know, they’re looking at another guy, as well. Some kid a little younger with a newer car. I’m just letting you know.”

  I reached for a cigarette but remembered this was a no-smoking garage. “Thanks for the part and the information.” Okay, Bart was sending me some weird vibes here. Did he have a dog in this hunt? Maybe he was for the young guy’s team. He went about his business and so did we. For the next two-and-a-half hours, we didn’t talk much, except to ask for a tool or a hand. With fifteen minutes left, we put the last engine-mounting bolt in and crossed our fingers.

  If this didn’t work, I would never have another chance do anything with my life.

  Who else was going to give me a chance to race?

  Those last few minutes were nerve-wracking. I paced the garage floor and chewed on my non-existent fingernails. Jesse rubbed the hood of my car with a cloth—I knew he was nervous, too. He didn’t offer a pep talk and I was glad for that. I wouldn’t know what to do if someone encouraged me. My phone rang and I answered it, glad to have something to do.

  “Fitzgerald.”

  “Is this Jack? Jack Fitzgerald?”

  “Yeah, that’s me and I’m kind of in a hurry. What can I help you with?”

  “This is Dylan. You got a minute?”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it. How the hell did he get my number? “Look, dude. I don’t have time for your shit.” I hit the end call button and got into my car. Sylvia waved at me and I signaled back.

  “This is it, Jack. You’ve got this. Don’t go easy on the motor—it can take it. That transmission is perfect now. I’m sure the problem is gone. Do exactly what you did before. Pedal to the metal. It’s going to work.”

  I pulled the helmet onto my head one more time and adjusted the strap. “All right, got it.” My phone rang again, but I didn’t answer it and soon, I wouldn’t be able to hear it. I rolled out to the starting line and said another silent prayer as I went.

  Okay, I know I rarely talk to you unless I’m dying or in jail, but here goes. Please help me get across the line. I need to be the fastest, the best. You see me busting my ass down here. I’m trying to do right. Please, God, cut me some slack.

  I heard the announcer call across the loudspeaker for me to get ready. The light flashed on and the track attendant checked my placement on the line. Everything looked good. The light changed to yellow.

  Three seconds to green…3…2…1! My heart was racing faster than I was, as I slammed into second, then third. Great! No hesitation. I got this bitch! I threw the car into fourth and came screaming around the track. “Fuck, yeah! Wooo-hooo!” I yelled as loud as I could. No one could hear me over the roaring engine. I was doing it. I knew I’d make excellent time. Bart was right. It was the fucking clutch fork. And Jackson Fucking Fitzgerald was back!

  I said another prayer as I crossed the finish line. I knew I’d done it. Yes! Adrenaline had me higher than any drug ever could, and I fucking did it!

  As I slowed down and pulled back around to Sylvia, Jesse raced over to the car. “You did it, boss!” I had to laugh. He was MY boss and here he was, urging me on. I got out of the car and danced over to Sylvia. I didn’t mean to be so cocky, but at least she had a smile on her face. I knew she couldn’t say no this time. We stared at the timer on the board. I had to beat 3.34. My heart was on fire. I balled my hands up into fists and then relaxed them. This was it. This was my future. My fucking future.

  “Jack Fitzgerald.” Came over the loudspeaker. I sucked in a big breath and so did Jesse. “Time. Three minutes and thirt—” My phone rang again. It was
the same number from before. I hastily answered it. “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Jack, it’s your mom, she’s bad. Real bad.” I recognized the voice in a split second.

  “Mollie?”

  — Continued in —

  Fueled Obsession 4

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  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my lovely readers again for your support. Y’all rock! Without you, there would be no reason for me to keep writing these books. You’re all wonderful and I so appreciate you from the bottom of my heart.

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  About The Author

  Amanda Heartley is a writer of sinfully sexy romance books. She was born and raised in Oklahoma and subsequently transplanted into the hustle and bustle of life in Southern California. She's a country girl at heart with an insatiable weakness for sexy men and feisty women. Her first erotic series was published in July 2013.