#Swag (GearShark #3)

by Cambria Hebert

“Hey…” A familiar hand wrapped around my wrist. I looked up. Trent gazed down at me. The restraint I had on my tears began to stretch thin. “Talk to me,” he implored.

  “I can’t right now,” I said, clinging to my composure.

  “Want me to beat his ass?” he offered, but it was said without humor. Trent would totally kick Lorhaven’s ass.

  But I fought my own battles. I shook my head. “I have to go. I have to drive.”

  He released my arm and stepped back. “Go. We’ll catch a ride with Arrow. See you at home.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. Damn my watery voice.

  The Skyline’s engine fired right up. I tore out of the lot without looking back.

  I had a momentary lapse in judgement that hurt more than I cared to admit. There was no Jace inside Lorhaven. He’d probably used that line one hundred times. Hell, everyone on his turf, all the women, probably called him Jace.

  He was just like all the others in this sport.

  To him, I was nothing but a game.

  Lorhaven

  Third place.

  Know what that is in racing?

  Loser.

  I was pretty fucking livid with myself. I knew I’d have a time behind Drew’s ass, but I planned to give him a wedgie the whole go around the track.

  Instead, I gave him a wedgie about eighty percent of the race. Then the other twenty, I was busy getting my ass beat.

  My first fucking official race with the NRR, and I came in third.

  I was embarrassed.

  Off my game.

  It was all her fault.

  During the day, my cheek still echoed with the force of her slap, and at night, my lips tingled with the memory of her kiss.

  I’d acted like an asshole during the interview. She just dug so deep beneath my skin it made me crazy. Hearing her talk about the way men treated her in this sport made me angry, but then I’d gone and done the exact same thing.

  It did what I intended. To push her away. To get that distance back between us, that line of separation drawn in the sand.

  I hated to admit it.

  In fact, it was just one more thing to be embarrassed about.

  Figured I should just get it all out here and now. ‘Cause I didn’t plan on being embarrassed ever again.

  Kissing her scared me.

  It was like a piece of her reached down deep and grabbed a piece of me. I wasn’t one of those guys who scoffed at love. I didn’t not believe in it.

  I knew it existed.

  I also knew it could twist you up and hurt you.

  I didn’t have time for any of that. My focus was my career. And my brother.

  I didn’t have room for anyone else.

  But I came in third.

  Fuuuck.

  No one else seemed to think my placing sucked as big ass as me. My pit crew cheered and congratulated me. I smiled and accepted it, and I thanked them for the shit they did to keep me on the track.

  Ted Bayer called. I’d expected a scathing review of my performance. He, too, was positive. Third place was still at the top. It was good advertisement and promo for Brickstone.

  I promised him I’d step it up.

  He didn’t seem worried.

  I was.

  Arrow knew, though. With him, I could be real. I let him see the frustration in my eyes for a few seconds before banking it and stepping back into my big brother shoes.

  The pit crew was packed up and just pulled out. My car (a cherry-red modified Chevy) was packed up and driven out. It would meet me at the next race, which was next week in Colorado.

  The stands were empty, and the grounds were a lot quieter than they’d been just an hour before. I was still wearing my coveralls, covered in logos, most of them the Brickstone Tire image. Underneath, I was sweating and tired. I wanted a shower and a beer. Not necessarily in that order.

  I want to see her.

  I wanted to apologize, but apologies weren’t really something I was very good at. I didn’t have much practice. I usually never cared when I pissed someone off.

  Thing was I didn’t think she should be racing with us. It wasn’t because I was sexist either. It’s because this was a dangerous, risky sport. And truthfully, she’d been right. The men didn’t want a woman on the track. What kind of life did that give her?

  I’d seen her reaction when asked about the hazing.

  She gave the politically correct response.

  A lie.

  I bet her daddy didn’t know what those peckerheads probably did to her on a daily basis.

  In my lap, my hand clenched. She wasn’t my problem. Her father was Ron Gamble, for Chrissakes. And she packed a hell of a hit, even with an open palm.

  Joey made it more than clear she could take care of herself.

  And she was a good driver. I’d looked at her stats, even watched a race (or two) she’d been in. I shouldn’t have told her she couldn’t hack it. She could. I just wanted to get under her skin the way she was under mine.

  The sound of a familiar engine revved behind me, and I turned. Forrester’s cobalt-blue Fastback pulled to a stop, and the doors popped open.

  “Wanted to congratulate you on your win,” Drew said, coming toward me.

  I gave him the finger.

  He guffawed. “Seriously, that was some nice driving out there. Mahone seriously wanted around you, but you held him off.”

  “Mahone,” I spat.

  Drew laughed.

  I glanced at him and then at Trent, who was standing close by. He was wearing a bright-yellow shirt with Drew’s car number (forty-five) on the front.

  “Congrats, man,” Trent said.

  They were serious.

  “Must be easy to hand out congratulations when you’re number one,” I said, looking out over the track.

  “Home track advantage,” Drew said. “I won’t be number one in every race.”

  “I wanted at least number two,” I muttered.

  “You almost had it.” Drew slapped me on the back. “We all have off days.”

  Not on the first race of my career.

  “Look, your ego is showing,” Drew said, blunt. “You know damn well third place is fucking awesome. It puts you on the watch map for the next few races.”

  “My ego?” I echoed.

  “It needs a leash, man,” Trent deadpanned.

  “Don’t get pissed at yourself because you’re one spot behind where you wanted. It’s solid, and I’ve seen you drive. You’ll be in the number two spot soon.”

  “Then I’m coming for number one,” I said.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Trent warned.

  Drew snickered. “Sorry, man. I got my eye on the championship.”

  So did I.

  “So what’s fucking with you?” Trent asked.

  I rotated. “Huh?”

  “Something going on that’s messing with your head today?”

  Drew frowned. “It’s not Arrow, is it? He seemed fine last time I talked to him.”

  “My brother’s fine.”

  “He told me about the Corvette,” Drew told me.

  I screwed up my face. “What is this, 90210? Soap Opera Weekly? Do you and my brother sit around and gossip every time you see him?”

  Arrow had been spending a lot of time with Drew and Trent the past few weeks. I approved of it. Even if I did think Trent was sometimes a douche and Drew was my rival.

  They were good friends to my brother, and he needed that. They were a solid example of how two men in a relationship could make it work. Fuck, they were paving the way in the NRR for acceptance of all kinds of people.

  With a brother who was gay and who (yes, I admit) looked just like Justin Bieber, I was grateful to these guys.

  So yeah, maybe I sort of like them, too.

  “Joey really laid into ya at the interview.” Trent pointed out.

  I stiffened. “She’s just pissed I said I didn’t think she should cross over.”

  “What do you care?
” Drew scoffed.

  I shrugged.

  “Right,” Trent drawled. “We’re out. Picking up some fries and going home for a few days. See you in Colorado next week.”

  Fries? Those dudes were weird.

  I waved, and they left.

  Home sounded good, though. The streets. Maybe going back to where I came from would help me remember where I belonged.

  Joey

  I was still fuming.

  I’d been fuming about what happened with him for so long I was nearly out of fuel.

  My race had been a total bitch. The guys were worse than usual. Guess they didn’t like I was drawing attention away from the pros and toward the NRR.

  ‘Cause you know, my one disastrous meeting with the press went so well.

  Well-meaning people told me not to take it to heart. You know, the usual haters gonna hate and they’re only jealous. Screw that.

  The men in the pro circuit were just assholes. And I wasn’t wanted here.

  Screw them.

  I wasn’t running to the NRR because of it. But I was tired. I just wanted to do what I loved without so much damn drama. And people said women were the dramatic ones.

  Yeah right. Men were just as bad. Big bunch of babies.

  But I could handle it. I could and would handle anything they threw at me. Not just because I was strong, but because I was too stubborn to let them get the best of me.

  My next race wasn’t for two weeks. I wasn’t racing in the one a week from now, something I wasn’t disappointed about. So I came home for a few days. My Skyline needed some work, and it was a good opportunity to take a day or two of downtime, because I wasn’t going to get much from here on out.

  Just because my race wasn’t for a couple weeks didn’t mean my schedule was empty. I was going to Drew’s next race and doing some press.

  I was closed off in my wing of the house (my wing = a private living room, a small kitchen, a huge bedroom, and a private en-suite bathroom). Drew and Trent had gone home, and it seemed a little quieter than usual. I’d gotten used to having them around for the past week.

  I missed them already.

  They had no boundaries as far as space was concerned. They’d barge right into my rooms without even knocking (well, except the bathroom). We’d had a movie night and eaten pizza. We drove and talked cars.

  There was never one ounce of any kind of competition or sourness because I was a female driver or because my father was influential.

  After a warm shower, I pulled on an oversized T-shirt and nothing else (I don’t have to wear pants in my own room) and pulled up my email. I’d ignored it for a few days and couldn’t go any further. There were invites and scheduling that needed confirmation. If I didn’t get it done, Hopper would be over here kicking me in my pant-less ass.

  I sat down with a cold bottle of beer (I liked Miller Light) and tucked my bare, lotion saturated legs beneath me.

  One of the first emails was from Emily Metcalf at GearShark. The subject line read: These Drivers Got #Swag. Draft of your feature article.

  I snorted. It wasn’t going to be much of a feature because I’d basically walked out of it. A little prickle of embarrassment creeped up the back of my neck. I kind of acted like a brat that day. I shouldn’t have let him get the best of me, or Emily for that matter.

  Some days were just hard to not feel so… suppressed and judged because I was a woman.

  Not to mention the photoshoot, the kiss… him. It had all been an overload to my circuits.

  I took a pull off my longneck and stared at the subject line.

  Fuck it. I clicked on it and opened up the article. I wouldn’t allow myself to be embarrassed. I was strong. Capable. And I felt the way I did and acted the way I did for a reason. I didn’t have to apologize to anyone.

  Except my father.

  I drank some more beer. If Emily outlined my… uh, behavior in this article, my father was going to shit a brick.

  Forget the NRR! he’d say. You’re sliding backward, Joey. You better get control before you end up where you were.

  My long curls were still damp from the shower and the ends saturated my shirt with moisture. I snatched up the towel off my desk to squeeze out the excess water (never rub curly hair with a towel; the frizz is real) as I began to read the article.

  (Side note: I noticed Lorhaven was the only name used. He hadn’t given his first name. Made me wonder how many people even knew it. Jace.)

  (Side side note: I went by Joey G. with the press. I tried to downplay my relationship with my father. I wanted my own identity. I didn’t want to be known only as “daughter of Ron Gamble.”)

  The pages of GearShark magazine have been filled with many firsts for the past year. First time features, breaking news of the then unnamed new indie racing circuit now known as New Revolution Racing (NRR), and a diversity in drivers that hasn’t been seen in the past.

  We’ve even seen and heard from people behind the scenes on the track, like Trent Mask, who unknowingly started a lot of discussion in sports about athletes and acceptance.

  Perhaps that’s what brought me to this interview today. Well, that and a good dose of buzz surrounding the new NRR and the pro racing circuit.

  To be blunt, the pro division isn’t too happy. They’ve been having to share the spotlight, the pages of racing magazines, and their vast fan base with men most of them consider to not be professional drivers.

  The world of racing is changing at a speed that rivals that of a Formula One car. Most of it has been met with excitement and anticipation. But for the drivers on the pro circuit, it’s been a time of closing ranks. Here at GearShark, we’ve learned many pro drivers find the birth of the NRR a slap in the face to all the hard work they’ve put in to get to where they are.

  Personally, I think it’s all about supply and demand. Race fans want to see more driving. They want the thrill of watching underdogs duke it out with their gas pedals. And as Drew Forrester and other NRR drivers, like my featured guest today, Lorhaven, have proven, having a pro contract doesn’t make you a more skilled driver.

  They’ve also given something a voice it seems pro racing has not: diversity.

  That’s where my other featured guest comes in today. Yes, I have not one, but two drivers here for a unique perspective on the racing world. You might be familiar with Lorhaven and the previous mentions of him in GearShark.

  He’s an NRR driver with a lot of promise, so much so he scored a coveted sponsorship by one of the owners of a new giant corporation. Brickstone Tires has put a lot of backing into the driver with only one name.

  What’s more interesting is this guy has a man-sized chip on his shoulder regarding the pros. I saw it the day he drove into my interview with Drew Forrester and accepted his rival’s challenge. Lorhaven doesn’t like the pro circuit. He doesn’t like pro drivers.

  I wanted to know why.

  This prompted me to call Joey G. Not only is she a pro driver, but she’s a woman. Right now in the world of racing, there are two female drivers. Joey is the only one on this side of the country. She has huge sponsorship deals with Gamble Enterprises, Friars Fueling, and Rimmel London (the first cosmetics company to ever sponsor a driver).

  Oh, and she’s also the daughter of business tycoon Ron Gamble.

  I admit I first set up this interview because I wanted to see sparks fly when I put Lorhaven (the guy from the wrong side of the tracks?) and Joey G. (pros racing royalty?) in the same room.

  The tension certainly runs high between these two. Add in the fact that I’ve been hearing a lot of rumors about a potential crossover for Joey G. from the pros to the NRR… Well, let’s just say this interview was so hot I was nearly burned.

  Due to the tumultuous nature of the interview and some noticeable bitterness on Joey G.’s part, the dual portion of the interview was not as long as I would have liked.

  But not to worry, this journalist doesn’t give up that easily, and I did get some information, some food for
thought, and an answer to the burning crossover question. Also, I got some one-on-one time with Lorhaven that is sure to please.

  Before I cut to the interview portion of this feature I’d like to just point out if my description of the fire between these two drivers wasn’t clear, perhaps you should close the magazine (but save your spot!) and check out this cover again.

  Pictures speak a thousand words, you know.

  The number one word this cover is speaking? Intensity.

  Another fun fact: this is the FIRST issue in GearShark history featuring two models instead of only one. Way to embrace diversity GS!

  And now, readers, start your engines. Buckle up. We’re about to take you for a sizzling ride.

  GS: I’ll just ask you a few questions, and then I can do the rest of the interview with Lorhaven.

  JG: Oh just a few questions? So you can relegate me to the back page with just a couple lines of text.

  GS: Of course not.

  JG: Wouldn’t be the first time. GearShark seems to have a reputation for being a good ol’ boys club, one that has a No Women Allowed sign front and center.

 

  JG: I’m just a little… bitter. The last time I was mentioned in the magazine, I got one line of stats. All the other racers got bios with headshots.

 

  GS: So you think you’re discriminated against because of your gender?

  JG: I know so.

  GS: Most people would laugh or scoff at that. This is the twenty-first century. Women’s rights were in place a long time ago.

  JG: So were rights for gays, people of different races… But my best friends are hated on for loving each other. The news reeks of injustice against all races.

  GS: Touché.

  JG: The truth is men don’t want women in racing. They just don’t. It ruffles their feathers.