by Alice Ward
“All right.” I blew out a long breath and scrubbed my face with my hands. Staring at the ceiling, I cursed. Some fucking shitty day. My muscles felt stiff and tight, and I kept replaying Laura’s words of warning to me. This is a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Which was why it wasn’t going to happen. I repeated the words several times to make sure they stuck.
Still, I didn’t know why I’d come over here. I told myself that I’d wanted to check on the mental health of my business investment, but that wasn’t true. Emma was fine. She was the girl with the ice water in her veins. She was probably sitting in front of that big screen television of hers with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. No, I’d come here because…
I had to admit it. What I really wanted to do, despite Laura’s and my own warnings against it… was be with her.
And that was fucking wrong.
When was I going to get that through my head?
I swiveled to leave, knowing exactly what I needed to do next. Whenever I needed to work something through my head, I usually ran. My gym clothes were here, and the beach was steps away. I’d run her out of my system. Run her out, and then I could go back home with calmed nerves and a body too exhausted to spring a hard-on.
Heading to the men’s locker room, I changed into shorts, tech-shirt, and running shoes, then set my CageFree to my favorite playlist and affixed my wireless earpiece into position. Waving goodbye to Bruce, I headed out the door, pumping some good old Led Zeppelin.
The wind was whipping even before I got down to the shore. I headed toward the ocean until I hit the packed sand that had been made denser by the waves coming ashore, then started to run parallel to the ocean, right above the crashing surf. I decided to run north since the wind would be blowing right in my face, making me work harder.
It wasn’t easy. When I looked skyward, I saw the reason for the wild winds. A storm was blowing in from the north, the dark clouds rolling forward on top of one another. Flashes of lightning illuminated them, and thunder rumbled in the distance.
I still had what I estimated to be a good half-hour until it moved in, so I kept going, savoring the cool, damp air and the way the wind was challenging my muscles. As I ran, I thought of Emma in that deadly red dress. Emma sweeping her dark hair from her shoulders and applying that pink lipstick. Emma spread out on the weight bench, waiting for me to taste her.
I slowed my pace as realization dawned on me. As much as I wanted to run her out of my head, something kept bringing her right back.
As if it was an exclamation on my thought, a jagged edge of lightning split the sky in two.
I slowed to walking, breathing hard as the wind pelted me. It was time to go back.
Before I could turn, though, my eyes trailed down from the sky and caught on a form in a black bra top and gym shorts farther up the beach, closer to the dunes. Emma.
She was facing away from me, but I could tell it was her, even with the chute out behind her like a cape, obscuring much of her body. I could pick out that alluring hourglass shape in a crowd of a million people, probably a result of how much I’d thought about her. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she was running directly into the storm front.
Into this wind? On deep, loose sand? What was she doing? Trying to kill herself? I knew she was tough, but I didn’t know she was crazy. Hadn’t I told her to get comfortable with the sand before attempting the chute?
Hell, even I wouldn’t attempt the chute in this kind of weather.
As concerned as I was, I still smiled as I watched her charge into the fierce winds, only to be pushed back two steps for every one she took. It was poetic, beautiful, watching her, set to the soundtrack of Zeppelin’s “Kashmir.”
With each setback, she dug in deeper, pumping her arms, pushing hard, spraying sand behind her. To think I used to be one of those assholes who thought drivers weren’t at the same level as other athletes. Emma was as strong and fierce as any of the hundreds of female athletes we’d searched for to be included in the Like a Girl campaign.
She was maybe the fiercest athlete I’d ever come across, period.
I watched her dig in once more, her calf muscles straining as she got pushed back again. But she didn’t give up.
This means she wants it. This means she’s mad as hell, and she isn’t going to take shit from anyone in that race.
I winced when I saw the way her feet were hitting the ground. She was overpronating her dominant leg, which was not a good thing. That was a recipe for an injury if ever I saw it. I looked around to see if Rinaldo had followed her out to spot her, but I doubted he’d approved of this workout. Rinaldo was tough, but he didn’t often order suicide missions.
I should film this so I can give her pointers later. I reached into my armband and pulled out my phone. Then I started to film, silently critiquing her as the wind whistled in my ears.
Yeah, her knees weren’t coming up high enough, likely from the wind resistance. Much more of that, and she’d pull a muscle.
I couldn’t take any more. Laura had said to stay away, and I would. But I had to ensure our investment was safe first. I’d supervise the session, give her a little advice, and be on my way.
I took a step forward, clenching my fists and willing my cock to behave. Hell, I’d advised supermodels on how to workout, put my hands all over them without crossing the line. I could do this. I would do this. I was a fucking professional, after all.
As I neared her, though, a giant gust of wind blew, making me stagger back. Emma flew backward, falling straight on her ass.
I laughed, waiting for her to get up and have at it again.
But she didn’t. Instead, she just sat there, hunched over, her arms propped over her bent knees. The resistance chute behind her continued to flap in the wind, but she just sat in the sand, shadowed by the dunes. I was about to ask her if she needed help when I heard something.
It sounded like a sob.
Then she wiped her face with the back of her hand.
Emma James, the tough-as-nails country tomboy with ice water in her veins… was crying?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Emma
As I sprinted away from UnCaged’s headquarters, I knew I was probably violating some of the rules implanted in that billion-page contract that I’d signed a little over a month ago. Surely, there had to be some clause in there about how I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere without letting my owners know.
But I didn’t care.
I looked down at the CageFree on my wrist, and it beeped, showing my heart rate was way too high for what it should be. I shook it to get it to shut up, and when it didn’t, ripped it off and hurled it as far as I could throw it.
I groaned, ran to where it laid, picked it up and stuffed it in my pocket, happy I hadn’t broken the damn thing.
Had I really attempted to school a bunch of reporters? I winced as I thought of the words that had escaped my mouth. I’m honestly ashamed of the lot of you. You call yourself reporters?
God, Brody was right. I did sound like a spoiled bitch. What had he said? Something tells me you need to get your ass back to Wintersburg and get yourself a healthy dose of perspective.
I wouldn’t see my parents until the race, but at that moment, I needed them. I whipped out my phone and punched in a call to my parents, desperate to hear them on the other end. But the phone just kept ringing and ringing. My mother was probably working in Phoenix where she was a paralegal, and Daddy was probably down in the shop. Ending the call, I looked tiredly out the window at the palms swaying.
I’d never felt so alone.
Emma’s got ice water in her veins. She can be ruthless when she wants to be.
I didn’t feel very ruthless right then. I thought more about what I’d said. For your information, it doesn’t matter what the hell I’m wearing, or what my anatomy is. What matters is that I’m going to wipe the track with the asses of every one of my opponents. And you can quote me on that.
Would I? I had no exp
erience to race against the big names. How could I make an assertion so outright ridiculous? Right then, my confidence was at a complete low, and all I wanted to do was go back home to Wintersburg and crawl under the covers. Now, the world would expect me to clean the oval with the asses of the best drivers who’d ever raced in this sport. What had I been thinking?
And Locke. God, he was probably ruing the day he’d met me and selected me to be the face of his multimillion-dollar ad campaign. I couldn’t sell nothing to nobody. He’d sat there, making me feel confident with his hand on my knee, almost too confident. And then he’d silently watched me self-destruct without a word.
He must have hated me.
When I stood in front of the training center, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Laura. Where are you?
Ugh. She was probably wondering where I was so she and Locke could yell at me for reaming out the reporters and making UnCaged Fitness the laughingstock of the racing world. I could just imagine Locke cornering me in a room and saying, I’m sorry, but this violates rule number 4,132,276 of the contract, rendering it void. You have two hours to move out of your apartment. Goodbye.
Gnashing my teeth, I was blown inside by a stiff wind. Bruce was waiting for me, and it was then I remembered that on my schedule was a three-hour four-hundred that I needed to complete.
Everything inside me sank. I almost burst into tears right there. Yes, sometimes racing made me feel better, but right now, it was everything that was wrong with my life. I wanted to escape.
I wanted to run.
“Hey, Bruce,” I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “I’m not feeling the simulator right now. I—”
I thought of what those asshole reporters had said, and only one excuse came to me. I have my period.
So I didn’t finish my excuse. I just walked into the gym, tore off that stupid red dress, and stared at the tag. It wasn’t Target, after all, because I was sure Victoria wouldn’t set foot inside a Target. No, it was some French name I’d never heard of. I balled it up and threw it in the garbage, hoping I could finally breathe when I was back in my old gym clothes.
But it still felt like a weight was on my chest as I laced on my running shoes.
It was all my fault. I’d failed Brody by making him seem like some poor soul who’d never race again. Maybe I’d done it for the pity. I’d failed Locke by telling off those reporters. I’d failed my parents by not being able to hold this sponsorship together.
I’d failed everyone.
And I deserved to suffer.
I grabbed the resistance chute off the shelf and headed outside. The wind was so powerful it took an effort to push open the door to the gym. When I got out to the beach, it was deserted. I stalked past the dunes, watching the giant waves crashing in the distance. I’d never seen them so big or angry before.
Seagulls squawked overhead in warning as I set out, and as I looked up, I saw their white bodies silhouetted against a black-clouded sky, approaching from the north.
With the chute attached to me I took a few steps, but it was like a firm hand was holding me in place.
Another few steps, running hard, but something pushed me back.
It was okay. You deserve to suffer after what you did.
So I pushed farther, savoring the suffering. All the crazy routines Rinaldo had put me through, pushing weighted dummies across the floor, lifting more than my body weight? This was harder.
Good.
I wanted harder. I wanted impossible. I wanted to run until I had the life slapped out of me, because maybe then I could sleep.
I hadn’t been able to sleep well after the night with Locke in the gym. I’d given in, laid myself bare for him, and I knew from the look on his face that it had gone too far. I could tell from the way he’d handled me with kid gloves as I got ready… he regretted it. And he should have. I was just a tomboy grease monkey. Making me look girly was just putting lipstick on a pig.
Maybe it’d have been better if I never tasted him at all. Then I wouldn’t know what I could never have again.
They say you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. But I’d known all right. I’d known from the minute he made my heart race at that Daytona Beach restaurant, the first second I saw him, that I was a goner. I knew when he took me aside and railed me with questions that we’d had a magnetic connection. I’d never felt that way before, never had any man look at me like that before.
Now I feared no man ever would again.
The wind and the surf roared in my ears as I pressed on, fighting against the resistance of the chute. My thighs and calves burned, but it was a good burn. One I deserved.
The black clouds were almost overhead, and I wished that they would suck me in, pull me away from this place, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.
Because I was done with this place. Better to call it quits now and admit defeat quietly than have it happen on national television in front of a few million people.
I slowed to a stop, but just as I did, out of the blue came a gust of wind that knocked me flat on my ass, causing all the air to whoosh out of my lungs. I sat there, momentarily stunned, wondering what else could possibly happen to me. As if I wasn’t low enough.
And then, to my horror, I burst into tears.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Locke
She sobbed quietly, her knees drawn up to her chest as the storm drew closer. The chute pulled at her, but she didn’t fall backward.
I approached her carefully as if approaching a wounded animal. I knew I was witnessing something she didn’t want anyone to see. But I was hit with the overarching need to comfort her, to be there for her, whether she wanted me there or not.
When I was steps away, she jerked toward me suddenly and buried her face in her knees. “Oh, God!” she cried out, wiping at her cheeks. “Go away, Locke.”
I knelt beside her but kept my hands to myself. “I’m not leaving you like this. I’m not the asshole you seem to think I am.”
“I’m not crying,” she insisted, her voice muffled as she spoke into her knees. “I got sand in my eye.”
I chuckled softly at her stubbornness. “Well, then, let me take a look. I can help you get it out.”
“I’m fine. You can go.” She brushed some sand off her bare shoulder, realized it was everywhere, covering her legs and clothes now, and dropped her chin on her chest. “I fucking hate sand.”
“Really?”
“Why? You like it? It’s just fancy dirt, and we got a lot of dirt in Arizona.”
I nodded. “Love everything about it. Even when it gets into my swim trunks. I grew up here, you know.”
She didn’t say anything. She was obviously not interested in an in-depth conversation. But suddenly, I wished she was. I wanted to know more about her.
Instead, I studied the resistance chute on her. It was blowing behind her, and on a girl that was barely a hundred and ten pounds, would probably send her airborne soon with the way the wind was blowing. I reached over and started to unfasten it, but she yanked away.
“What part of I’m fine don’t you understand, pretty boy?” she snapped, whipping around to face me, her eyes puffy and red. A huge gust of wind hit, and it pulled her back a few inches. I grabbed at her arm to make sure she didn’t fly away but didn’t try to unfasten it again.
“I told you, you don’t have enough experience to run with the chute just yet. Especially in this wind. And I just don’t want you to get caught in a wind and blow yourself home.”
“Well, maybe I do,” she mumbled and finally unfastened the chute herself. It tried to tear away and shoot into the sky, but I grabbed it before it could escape and pulled it in, straining to collapse it into a tight wad.
“Okay, so that’s it? You want to leave? Go back to Arizona?”
She nodded.
“It isn’t because of me, is it?”
“Not everything’s because of you.” She wiped at her eyes. “And there’s nothing you can do to make me
stay. You’re wasting your time so you might as well go.”
“Fair enough.” I shifted back, stretching my calves. I wasn’t ready to leave, but maybe she thought I was because she tensed.
I took that as an invitation to stay.
“I’m just a big ol’ waste of time,” she muttered.
Very carefully, I reached over and grabbed her hand. It was cold as ice in mine. I traced a pattern on the top of it as we just sat there, shoulder to shoulder as the clouds rolled closer.
This was the calm before the storm.
I shrugged. “And I’m betting you’re not.”
“I am a waste,” she insisted, but even her insisting was weak, all spirit gone. “You know, not a single person in that room thought I was a serious contender. They all thought I was some big joke.”
“And that’s why you’re going to prove to them that you’re not one,” I said as the wind picked up, fiercely whistling around us. “That’s what the Emma James I know does. She tells them all to go fuck themselves.”
She shook her head. “Maybe she has left the building. I’m tired.”
“Well, no wonder. You’ve been trying to run against this fucking storm,” I said as darkness fully spread over us, the last of the sun swallowed by cloud cover.
She jumped as another bolt of lightning flashed through the sky. The clap of thunder that came afterward was almost instantaneous.
She blinked as the raindrops started to fall into her eyelashes but otherwise remained motionless, like she wanted to lay there and be consumed by the storm. The rain caught in her hair and ran down her cheeks, turning the sand on her skin dark. She seemed stunned by it. Maybe, desert girl that she was, she wasn’t used to rainstorms.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” I told her, pushing to my feet.
I took her by both hands and lifted her to her feet. The sky opened up then, and rain started to fall in sheets.
I loved the smell of rain at the ocean, loved the way it magnified the heady scent of the sea. I loved how the rain painted the sand and how the clouds on the horizon melted into the ocean, so it was just one, long wall of color. Storms on the beach were always a thousand times more intense than anywhere else. I could’ve stayed out there with her and watched it all night, if it weren’t for the danger of lightning.