Racer

by Katy Evans

  “You always sacrifice yourself for the team?” he asks, he sounds patient, but intent as he comes around the car, gets behind the wheel, and ignites the engine.

  “Huh?”

  He pulls into the streets and reaches around and tugs me close to him, over the sideboard, and I realize that he’s holding me to his chest, and that his hand has slid down my back and his fingers are dangerously close to my bum. My heart starts to pound and I can’t seem to think straight because his eyes are so so close, so so blue, and so so hypnotizing even as he stares angrily ahead.

  “I … I don’t succumb to my every whim, if that’s what you’re asking,” I defend myself.

  He just stares at me, then at the road, driving with one hand, the other on me.

  “Right now I could be thinking of doing things I want to do, I feel compelled to do, but because I know I’m going to regret them, I don’t do them.”

  “What things,” he wants to know, pointedly surveying my mouth.

  “Well … I, uh.”

  He’s breathing hard still, his nostrils flaring as he visually dissects my features. And I’m partly straddling and partway lying on his chest, his lap beneath me—his erection so prominent it hurts to look at because my whole body is jealous of my eyes.

  I pry free of his embrace, meeting his expression.

  “I want to make love to you and I want you to make love to me,” I admit, sitting back in my seat, and he just looks at me hotly.

  I cover my mouth. “Oh my god. I’m … I think I’m buzzed.”

  He smiles, laughing, but his eyes are still so hot. “I’m taking you up on that,” he rasps, a low promise as he reaches out, looking at me fiercely and stroking his thumb along my jaw. “I need to go out for a run, chill myself out, because you just set me on fire, girl. But I’m definitely taking you up on that when you’re sober, and you look at me the way you’re looking at me now.”

  I close my eyes and shudder, nodding. We say nothing else until we arrive at the hotel; he walks me to my room, and then, when I open my door, he walks in with me.

  He starts to undress me, kissing the back of my neck as he unzips my dress from behind, and I’m shocked to feel how expertly he does it, pull off my dress, unhook my bra, leave me in just my panties as he scoops me up and sets me down on the bed.

  He seems agitated and a little hyper as he removes my shoes, kissing every part of me that’s near; my thigh, the inside of my ankle, he pulls off my strappy heels and strokes his hand up my leg, the inside of my knee, growling softly, squeezing my thigh in one big, callused hand as he then leans forward and kisses my pussy over my panties.

  “I want you so bad,” he says, licking the wet spot there, before he exchanges his tongue with his thumb and looks up at me. “I’m never going to get enough of you,” he promises me, leaning over and kissing my lips—and they taste of me, of my pussy—before he pulls the sheet to my chest.

  His forehead is against mine, his eyes holding my gaze hostage.

  “When I get my hands on you, you’ll be made love to like you’ve never been made love to before.” He grabs my face, squeezes it and pecks my lips in the fiercest way he’s ever done. “I’m going to fuck all those moans out of you until the whole hotel and city hears you.”

  With that the guy is gone, leaving me the horniest I’ve ever been in my whole damn life, ready to scream from the unfairness of it. I don’t hear him go into his room; and the whole night I wonder where he went.

  I toss and turn. Naked or almost naked in my bed (I never sleep like this!) with nothing but a pair of panties that are wet from my own arousal and his delicious kiss.

  I can’t seem to sleep at all. I’m worried about my dad, my brothers’ relationship with Racer, I’m worried about Racer and his attitude and his recklessness—and his panty-twisting, soul-searing kisses and the way he looks at me. I don’t know why this is happening to me right now. When we uprooted, I never once thought about complaining, about what I would miss. My friends back home, going to a normal college instead of an online one while doing it in some hotel room. I never once thought about me, because my dad and my brothers’ dreams became my own. Because David was gone, Mom didn’t love me, and as far as I was concerned, I didn’t have anything left that I couldn’t afford to lose. Then comes this guy, the one guy who has the talent and guts enough to help us achieve what we’ve been working so hard for. And I’m feeling selfish, because I want him for myself as much as I want to win this championship. I’m tempted to throw all caution to the wind, and let myself fall for him even when I am afraid I am not getting much of a choice.

  Lana

  We’re in Russia, having breakfast at the hotel, when the Clark drivers come in. Clark does a double take when they see us. “What? She your girlfriend?”

  “She will be.” Racer smiles cockily and winks at me, and I frown at him and stiffen my spine as I keep eating my omelet.

  “Lainie … seriously, you can do much better.”

  Racer kicks his chair back and stands, looking at him. “Take a hike, Clark.”

  A self-absorbed smile appears on his face and he shoots me a smile. “You’ll come around. Nobody wants to date a loser. Especially when she can have a champ.”

  One second everything is fine, the next Clark is getting shoved back—HARD. “I said, take a hike.” Clark stumbles for balance as Racer gives him a look that could peel off the skin from his bones.

  Racer sits back down, looking at me as Clark exits the shop with his brother without buying a single thing. “Let’s get dessert,” Racer says as he calls the waiter, calm and confident, as if nothing happened.

  I blink, still stunned by what happened. “I don’t like guys that are violent,” I whisper, flushing because no man has ever fought for me before. “Too much testosterone if you ask me.”

  “I’m not violent.” He grins, but his eyes look a little dark and angry. A little lusty, too, as he watches me finish my omelet. “If I were, I’d have cracked that motherfucker’s skull,” he gruffs out.

  We do well in practice, but during qualifying, Clark gets in the way, and we don’t seem to be able to catch up with his fastest lap.

  “Tate said she didn’t have enough torque,” Drake is filling me in. “Doesn’t seem comfortable in the car. He seems off these past few days.”

  I watch Kelsey get too close to the car in front. Suddenly Kelsey’s nose grazes the car in front, and she flips. He’s in the air.

  In

  The

  Fucking

  AIR.

  I’m on my feet, screaming “NO!!” and covering my mouth as the car flips three times before he lands with a crash against the wall. Debris is landing everywhere; and the car parts are scattered all across the track. The nose. Two wheels. Broken parts from the tail. I can only see the cockpit, and the cloud of dark steam coming off the engine against the wall.

  My whole body collapses and I feel my dad catch me.

  “Lainie baby,” my dad says worriedly.

  I start to hyperventilate, and they bring me a little bag to breathe in. “Is he okay?!” I’m begging my brothers to know as I breathe into the bag and frantically try to see some movement from inside the cockpit.

  One hand comes out to flip his visor back—and I almost faint from the relief washing over my ice-cold bones.

  “He’s signaling from the car, I think he’s okay,” Clayton assures me.

  It takes forever for the car to be brought back, in shambles.

  And Racer has to walk the way home from the track. He storms into pits like a devil on a vengeance spree. He sends me a heated look when his helmet comes off, his hair standing this way and that, his eyes blue like laser beams. He grits his jaw and heads over to our tent and slam his helmet down. “What the fuck,” Clayton tells him.

  “I wasn’t concentrating.” He drags his hand along the back of his neck and makes a fist at his side.

  “You—”

  “I wasn’t concentrating.”

&nb
sp; “This is our best car,” Clayton says.

  “Was,” Drake says.

  Racer storms away, more furious than my three brothers combined.

  There’s dead silence as we ride back to the hotel in my family’s rented van.

  Finally, Drake breaks it. “Look, I don’t know what goes on in your personal life, but you can’t fuck up like this. Get it?”

  “I got it,” Racer growls, frustrated as he stares out the window, frowning.

  We’re almost at the hotel, and the tension after Racer crashed hasn’t gone down.

  I’m wringing my hands. Remembering what it felt like to feel him touch me intimately, how hard I came, how he watched me with a look of total lust in his eyes.

  Oh god.

  Drake shoots him a scowling look. “We can’t afford this shit again.”

  “I’ll cover it,” he growls.

  Drake laughs softly and shakes his head. “You won’t have anything left from what we’re paying you.”

  He clenches his hand around the back of his neck, his teeth gritted. “I made a mistake. Won’t happen again.”

  He looks at me. And my stomach flips inside my body.

  “He made a mistake, Drake, drop it okay?” I hiss.

  There’s silence. My dad just looks at Racer, and reaches out and pats him on the back.

  “You’re human, it’s all right. Won’t happen again,” he tells Racer as we climb out of the car.

  My throat constricts when I see the tiredness in my father’s eyes, and when they all descend and head to their rooms, I feel Racer curl his hand around my arm.

  “Hey.”

  I turn at the roughly spoken word, meeting his gaze.

  He clenches his jaw, then releases my elbow and plunges his hands into his pockets.

  I don’t know if he just didn’t want me to leave or if he wanted to say something, but we stay like this, wordless, for a moment . . .

  He turns away and I turn away too, both of us too frustrated to talk.

  Racer

  The disappointment in her eyes … yeah, that kills me most of all.

  I miss her smile, I want it back.

  You fucked up and it’s gone, Tate.

  I lost my head. I was distracted. Badly slept, and too damned crazed over her to think straight today.

  I head to my room, but I’m too restless and angry at myself for fucking up, and I need to take the edge off. So I do what I never do and I head to the bar because it’s either a glass of something hard, or my lithium pills. And I really don’t want to pass down any of that unless I want to fucking lose the Grand Prix.

  Lithium makes me slow as shit and if HW Racing had wanted slow, they could’ve fixed up #38 with a grandpa.

  Lana

  I try to calm down for a few minutes, alone in my room, trying to gather my thoughts, but my heart still won’t stop feeling heavy and crazy in my chest. My hands are shaking, and even my legs are quivering from the fright. I pull out my phone and I send Racer a text.

  I just want to know he’s okay. That he’s aware of his mistake and will be more careful.

  But what I REALLY want is maybe for him to promise me that I will never in my life have to see him flip like that again.

  Can you talk?

  R.T.: Downstairs at the bar

  You don’t drink … I text, frowning.

  He sends me an image of an empty tequila shot.

  My frown deepens, and I head back downstairs, trying to calm my racing heart, but I think I might need a little sugar for the scare. My brain keeps replaying as Kelsey flipped in the air, and all I could think of was Racer.

  His dimple.

  His playful blue eyes.

  And wanting to die.

  I spot him at the bar, nursing his drink, and my stomach shudders uncontrollably. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared at the track. It’s always frightening to see an accident … but today, the guy in the accident was …

  HIM.

  My knees quake as I take the seat next to his.

  His body heat envelops me. He looks about as sturdy as stone, like nobody can hurt him. And suddenly I can’t bear to think of what I’d do if he got hurt.

  His hand runs across his jaw as he shakes his head in frustration and eyes me. “I am not feeling quite right, right now, Lana. And I don’t want to say shit to hurt you, and I’m mad at myself.” His eyes are a stormy dark blue that take my breath away. “I don’t want you to hate me. You fucking get that?” That restless little muscle tics in the back of his jaw again. “So leave. Now.”

  “I don’t want to,” I croak. “What’s wrong?”

  I don’t reach out to touch him; I can sense the energy simmering, just beneath the surface of his clothes. But I sit here, beside him, feeling my own body sort of feel unsettled because his is. Because he is.

  “What is it that you’re hiding?” I ask him. “Your physical came out great. You’re in top shape. You’re a serious athlete. You eat right, you pay attention to what goes into your body, you’re disciplined. I’ve never had a driver with your dedication to health.”

  “Not everything can be measured in tests … not everything is static. Situations change. In the blink of an eye, they change.”

  “What’s changed?”

  He clenches his jaw, shakes his head. “Nothing. But I don’t want it to. I fucked up. I’m fucking sorry.” He squeezes his jaw really tight. “I don’t know why I … I wanted to slam Clark into the wall. I’ve never been jealous before.”

  “Jealous over what?”

  “You.”

  I’m still trembling from the scare he gave me. “Clark is an asshole.”

  “He wants what’s mine!” he growls.

  “I’m not … Racer. Goddammit! What the fuck. Were you concentrating at all? You flipped and could have fucking died. What were you thinking?!”

  “Your pussy.” His eyes flash darkly. “Your sweet wet pussy craving me and only me, taking me and only me.” He looks a little wild as he grabs my elbow, tugging me close until our foreheads touch and our eyes are locked. “Tell me you want me, all of me.”

  My throat closes as he lifts his eyes from my mouth to mine, and they look dark and tortured.

  “I was scared, you jerk.” I punch his arm, a little harder than I expected, not that it has any effect at all. “Don’t do that again. I was fucking scared!”

  His eyes widen in shock, and I realize my voice sounds uneven and that I’m not really stable myself. He’s right, I should leave, so I whip up to my feet and start walking away toward the elevator.

  He comes up behind me, following me into the elevator like a black storm.

  “What the fuck?! You think I wanted to screw up?” he demands, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to turn.

  I clench my lips together, my eyes watering.

  “I don’t want to care about you! I’m already losing my dad, day by day, I already lost the only boy I ever loved, and I don’t want to lose you. You fucking asshole!” I punch him, and he grabs my wrist to stop me.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he rasps, his eyes vivid with emotion.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and when the doors open, I wiggle my wrist free and hurry towards my room, afraid I’m going to cry.

  He plants an arm around me and cages me against my door, breathing in the back of my ear, “Turn around and look at me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m the best driver in the world, remember.”

  “No you’re not.” I swallow and open the door, walk inside and avoid turning to look at him, but he walks in behind me, kicking the door shut behind him.

  “Yes I am. Best kisser, too.” He grabs me up in his arms, turns me around, and lifts me, and suddenly everything I feel is unleashed in the kiss he gives me and that I give him back. He fucks my tongue almost as if our lives depend on it, and he squeezes my ass as my mouth attacks his in return, my nails in his scalp as we devour each other.

  He thrusts me against the door.

  I c
law my nails down his arms and tug at his shirt, suddenly not wanting this shirt, not wanting anything between us, nothing to keep me from tasting him, feeling him.

  I’ve got his shirt halfway over his dark head when he helps me by yanking it up with one fist. His hair stands up on end as he tosses it aside and dives back for my mouth, stealing his hands under my top. I shudder when his fingers make contact with my skin, and I make a soft sound against his mouth, like a moan.

  “You like that?” he rasps against my mouth, easing back to look down at me. He’s shirtless, his hair chaotic, and his one dimple appears as I nod vigorously. So vigorously my head almost snaps.

  “What else do you like, huh?” he rasps, pulling me closer, sliding his warm hands around my waist and then sliding them up my back to unfasten my bra as his mouth brushes across my jaw, teasing my lips. “What else do you like, Lana?”

  “I like when you call me Lana.”

  “You do, do you?”

  “Yes. It makes me feel like a woman, and I like feeling like a woman when I’m with you.”

  “What other ways do you like to feel, huh?” he husks as he pulls my top over my head and drinks me in, in my bra and jeans.

  “You know what?” His eyes scan me, head to toe, and he slips his hand under my jeans to grab and massage my butt. “I want to lick you up head to toe until I’ve tasted every inch of you, and then I want to do it again.”

  He ducks his head, pressing his mouth to my ear, licking my earlobe and then behind my ear. The tickles are everywhere, in my wet spot especially, and the tips of my breasts and my chest.

  “Racer …” I slip my arms around him and trail my fingers up the muscles of his back, my body arching against his, moving in this aching, cutting need to get closer to him. To feel his warmth, feel that he wants me.

  He presses his hard—bulging—jeans against me and there’s not even a doubt about that. I feel his hardness biting into my abdomen as he grabs me by the underarms and lifts me up to turn me around and sit me on top of the couch rest.