Drift Heat Read online

  Once the video is everywhere it needs to go, I pull up my email. First order of business is contacting Jim from Forden racing tires. He was the rep I was talking to at the competition this weekend, and I’m not going to let him forget me so soon. I send a link of the Project Black Sheep video along with my email and hope he gets back to me with the same enthusiasm he showed when we spoke in person. If I can get a sponsorship for race tires, our costs for each competition will go down dramatically. I still have no clue how to bring in monetary sponsorships, but the parts that are already coming in are making a huge difference.

  The next email I send is to a friend of mine from high school, Trista Behrens. We weren’t particularly close, but we’ve kept in semi-contact through Facebook since graduating. I know she is part of an indie film production company that splits time between the Bay Area and LA, shooting music videos and short films. I’m hoping they would like to break into the action sports and racing scene and want to give us a huge break on pricing to film a little concept I have been rolling around in my head. It far surpasses the scope of my own filming and editing capabilities, so bringing in professionals is the obvious next step. She replied immediately and was totally on board. Now the project is in her hands and I just have to wait to see how things come together.

  I join the guys for lunch at the taqueria around the corner, knowing there won’t be anything I can do to make people email me back or watch our video. I’m dying to eat the basket of chips on the table, but settle for my fajitas instead. Damn that tiny, stomach-baring promo outfit.

  “What was it like growing up with Hank Jensen as a father?” Paul asks before crunching into a chip loaded with salsa.

  I only give his question a second of thought before my mouth is spilling open. “Intense. Lonely. Demanding. I don’t know...what do you expect it to be like? He was always away racing until my mom died, then he was around and hating how much I reminded him of her. He’s a good guy, but has this intense drive that makes him a little hard to handle sometimes.”

  And that was probably way more than I needed to say. I have always longed for my father’s approval in my life. It’s only been recently that I realized as long as what I want differs from his wants, I will never have it. It’s difficult to get warm fuzzies talking about a man who withholds his blessing if you set so much as a foot outside of his boundaries. I’m twenty-three, I should be able to create my own dreams and push my boundaries in any manner I desire. Seeing how he still hasn’t spoken to me, he disagrees.

  “At least he shared some of his talent with you. I think having a professional NASCAR driver teaching you to drive and build cars would help make up for any of his failings,” Ryan offers. He’s so sweet to think the best of a man he’s never met. I don’t blame him, I tend to do the same thing.

  “He didn’t. Not really. He had Henry and I driving early and taught me how to maintain my car myself, but when it came to real performance stuff, he was too busy with the shop. I had to learn on my own like anyone else, or go to a racing school. He’s more into high speed racing, anyway. The drifting scene is a little foreign to him, so he wasn’t super helpful with that.”

  I remember begging him to teach me how to slide a car after watching Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift a few years after it came out. I was obsessed with that movie and quickly devoured everything I could find on the sport and art of drifting. Dad encouraged drag racing, saying I needed to learn how to get my car to a ten second quarter mile, not sideways. So I did, and still, he wouldn’t teach me to drift. That’s when I went to Skip Barber’s racing school. It’s also when I decided to turn my set-up-to-drag Mustang into the Black Sheep.

  I guess you just have to get to a point where you stop giving a fuck what your parents think and just honor your own desires. It’s a tricky balance when they hold most of the power in your life, but I’m trying to manage.

  “That sucks. I’d hoped it had been more fun,” Ezra says, pausing with a chip midway to his mouth.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad. He can be fun, and he did give me more opportunities than most kids get. I just wish he had seen me as an equal and made sure to know what my goals and dreams were. He hasn’t spoken to me since I took this job.” I feel sadness creep into my heart even though I’ve been resigned to the fact that my decisions have driven a wedge between us. Maybe I’m still just a people pleaser at heart and continue to crave his approval.

  “Dude, why? Because you had to leave your job with his shop?” Ryan asks.

  “Not exactly. He hates when I do something that doesn’t mesh with what he thinks I should. He considers modeling beneath me. Leaving the family shop for a job wearing a miniskirt was a slap in his face. I think he saw it as me saying the shop wasn’t good enough for me, and I’d rather expose myself and follow a race team around.” The shame of Dad’s feelings about the path I have chosen work to sink my joy and the positives I’ve found with S&M.

  “Is that how you feel about it?” Paul asks quietly, his face reddening. He seems uncomfortable, maybe thinking about the situation from my dad’s perspective.

  “Not at all. I jumped at the chance to work with you guys, in whatever capacity I could get. The opportunity to be your promo model and help with your social media has never been a questionable choice to me. I see a purpose and focus in this that far exceeds the basic description of drawing attention and signing swag. I want to be a part of your team, and ultimately, help you succeed. It’s part of my dream to work my way up in the race world, in any capacity.”

  It feels good to let Paul know just how committed and passionate I am about the Smoke and Mirrors team. They are sort of an underdog story; a little privateer team that is racing for podium wins and recognition within the American Drift League on no corporate sponsorships. I see so much of my own journey reflected in theirs. The yearning, the goals, wanting more than what is offered, and going after it tenaciously in the face of adversity.

  “You are a part of this team. A fucking huge part that is finally bringing good things to us. Having companies send us parts to fix the Supra has been a huge help and lifted the financial burden of rebuilding a bit. Without you, none of that would have been possible.” Paul reaches over and squeezes my hand. “And you gave us a car to use in the meantime. We couldn’t have asked for a better addition to our team than you, Shelby. You’re a godsend and we’re so thankful for you.”

  Tears well in my eyes, the sentiment and emotions from this conversation coming to a head. I guess dealing with my daddy issues and finding acceptance from the team, is making me a little mushier than I normally would be. I quickly swipe at my eyes and wave my hand at Paul, wanting him to stop.

  “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s talk about driving strategy and car setup for Sonoma.” And just like that, the guys fill the wet void of my tears with talk about Black Sheep and where they want to get it by the time we leave on Wednesday.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Three days just wasn’t enough time to get Griffin and Black Sheep exactly where we need them to be for an overall win. Though it was enough for Griffin to make it through the first three rounds on top, only to miss out on the final battle by a few measly points. He still made it to the podium with a third place win, which had the whole team freaking out and celebrating. He even grabbed me around my waist to haul me in for photos in front of the car, making sure people knew Black Sheep is my creation.

  It was pretty awesome to have his arms around me while he was high on his finish and in the best mood I’ve seen him in. He had been almost friendly to me in the days leading up to the race, taking me by surprise when he would smile and crack jokes that were only slightly sexual or insulting. It was a nice departure, but I’m still hesitant to trust this nice side of him.

  Wyatt qualified for the top sixteen tandems this time around, but was knocked out of the bracket after his second race. He was over the moon to have made it into the competition, and to beat his first opponent, so we weren’t too worried about hi
m. It was way better than the first race in Long Beach where he didn’t qualify at all. He’s becoming more comfortable driving in competition and did a great job as the chase car in both of his tandem rounds.

  I was surprised to see Bliss and her boyfriend, Talan, when they stopped by the S&M booth during the second day of the competition. It turns out that Talan is Griffin’s brother, and the reason why Bliss was hunting for a model for them. I insisted they join us tonight at some hole-in-the-wall dive bar that the team is set on taking over after the competition.

  And now here we are, begging the live band to play decent music and knocking back lemon drop shots—Bliss’ drink of choice—and sipping on vodka-Mas Boost cocktails—mine. It’s so good to have a girlfriend and friendly face to hang out with.

  I tried to make friends with some of the other promo models as I was making my rounds to the booths, and I could not believe the catty bitchiness that I received. It was like I was shit on the bottom of their impossibly high stiletto for no reason other than I was a woman supporting a race team. I was thinking we would all bond over sore feet and the fact that we are working with cool brands and teams, but no. I got cold shoulders and major stink eye all day.

  “I love this song!” Bliss says as she drags me onto the dance floor as the band begins a raucous rendition of some pop song I don’t know well but have heard on the radio. She and I spastically dance to the music while the rest of the guys take over a large booth in the back of the bar. The table they are at is littered with beer bottles and shot glasses. Everyone is feeling the high of Griffin’s podium finish and Wyatt’s top sixteen placement, celebrating accordingly.

  The live music finishes around ten, the band packing up as a DJ begins to spin music that is much easier to dance to. I sway my hips and bump Bliss a few times as she jumps and spins in circles, enjoying the new rhythm. She’s so much fun and a true breath of fresh feminine air after so much testosterone the last two weeks. It makes me think I should have more girlfriends. I make a mental note that my drunkenness will probably wash away to get to know her better on a personal level, rather than as my favorite makeup artist.

  The dance floor fills up with regulars and college students from Sonoma State and soon I lose Bliss to Talan as he leads her to a corner and devours her mouth with passionate kisses and roaming hands. I try not to watch, but it’s pretty hot to see her give herself over to him completely, not caring who sees.

  A man with longish blond hair enters my field of vision, turning to see what I am so intently staring at. He turns back to meet my eyes and smiles. “That looks like fun,” he says, leaning into my ear so I can hear him over the pop beats. I laugh, my face heating from being caught watching, and resume swaying my hips. “Want to dance?”

  “I already am,” I say, spinning in a circle that ends with him catching my hips before I’ve made it all the way around and pulling me back against his chest. I manage to not stumble from the change in my trajectory. Thank goodness I downgraded my five inch hooker heels for a moderate three inch wedge after the competition was over. My feet were killing me, and it’s safer once I start drinking to not be teetering on a spike.

  “Well, allow me to help you with it. I’m Charlie,” he says in my ear.

  “I’m Shelby.” I smile over my shoulder at handsome Charlie who wants to dance and raise my arms over my head as I close my eyes in surrender to the beat. I’m not an amazing dancer by any means, but it’s nice to move and not care and just feel something that has no effect on the rest of your life. Charlie grips my hips, grinding his crotch into my denim-clad ass as he sways our hips together. It’s not nearly as effortless and sexy as when Griffin did it.

  Just the thought of Griffin’s powerful hands guiding me over Wyatt’s thigh have my core muscles clenching and my back arching, forcing my ass further into Charlie’s boner. He groans in my ear, his hand moving up my side where his thumb skims the side of my boob. It takes no effort at all to pretend he’s someone else. I get lost in the growing sensations of lust overtaking my body. Charlie isn’t on my team. Charlie wants me. Charlie could put out the fire that wants to engulf me in flame.

  “Fuck off, Charlie.”

  My eyes pop open, taking in the hulking rage of Griffin’s face right in front of mine. I stop moving immediately, frozen in fear of what Griffin is doing in my face, telling my new friend Charlie to let me go.

  “I don’t think so. Shelby seems happy enough to be dancing with me, and I don’t want to upset her.” Charlie circles his arm around my waist and pulls me into him. I don’t know how to react. A minute ago I was imagining that the man behind me was the man now standing in front of me. Chills speed through my body with Griffin’s closeness and the possessive tightness of Charlie’s arm around my stomach.

  “I think Shelby would feel differently if she knew you were the reason Griff’s Supra is in pieces and he’s driving her car,” Wyatt says, coming to stand next to Griffin.

  “You’re Charlie Sweeten?” I ask, pushing his arm off my waist to turn to look at him. Actually, now that I take a closer look, I recognize him from his second place win today. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it earlier. I guess he just looks different outside of his fire suit and without his team hat. “You know what, Charlie,” I purr into his ear. “I agree with Griffin. You can fuck off.”

  I step away from Charlie, into the protective space between Griffin and Wyatt, who puts his arm around my shoulders. Charlie holds his hands up in front of him.

  “Whatever. I just wanted to dance. I don’t need a Smoke and Mirrors bitch bringing drama.”

  “Watch your fucking mouth, man. The only bitch I see around here is you. Now you can apologize to this beautiful woman before you go and make sure she believes you,” Griffin says, getting right up in Charlie’s face. His hands are fisted and nearly shaking with the restraint of holding them at his sides.

  I look at Griffin quickly, caught off guard by his sudden need to stand up for me when others sling insults my way. It’s kind of funny how many times he’s been on the other end of things. I guess he really is taking everything seriously about getting along with me.

  “Back off, asshole,” Charlie growls, inching back as Griffin gets closer. He turns his face toward me, a tight grimace keeping him from looking as handsome as he did earlier. “Shelby, I meant no disrespect. You are not the bitch I was referring to, this fucker is.” He thumbs toward Griffin before he turns around with his middle fingers in the air and leaves.

  “Motherfucking pussy,” Griffin calls to his retreating back. I’m left shell-shocked and unsure of what to do next. Griffin is on another level tonight. He takes a few deep breaths and runs his hands through his hair before shaking his head. Wyatt grips his shoulder for a moment before he turns to me.

  “If you wanted to dance, sweet thing, all you had to do was ask,” Wyatt says, turning me in his arms and immediately moving us to the beat. “Griff, get over here and give this girl something to grind on. I bet you a thousand bucks it will be the highlight of your night and totally worth it.”

  I make to cover my face in embarrassment and move away, but Griffin is there, capturing my wrists in his hands and forcing his thigh between mine. My hands find his shoulders tentatively, and once again I am sandwiched between these guys who want nothing more than to get me off, now that they know they can.

  “Just relax, you’re too stiff,” Wyatt says in my ear as he massages my hips. I giggle because it tickles. His fingers dig in further as his thumbs brush softly under the hem of my tank top, finding skin, and suddenly it doesn’t tickle as much. Griffin pulls me close, crushing my chest against him as his fingers play along my waist.

  “Is this what you want?” he asks softly, his lips near my ear.

  “Maybe,” I manage, my eyes closing and chill bumps rushing from my neck to my fingertips with the hot breath he puffs against my skin. I like this feeling of being completely crushed between their weights and held like I’m precious. A little too much.

/>   “I bet you wish it was just me making you feel good,” he whispers just loud enough for me to catch what he’s saying. He draws his lips along my jaw as he pulls away.

  Is Griffin looking for validation that I’m attracted to him? That I’ve fantasized about what he would do with me? That I don’t need Wyatt? I pretend to not hear, because there is no way I can answer that. I shouldn’t even be here dancing with them like this. It’s hard to concentrate on the reasons why I shouldn’t when they keep up their pace grinding me between them, their hands wandering across my torso like they’re blind men discovering the sensation of touch.

  A breathy sound escapes my lips as my piercing catches the friction of Griffin’s leg. They’re going to do it again, and I don’t want it to stop, even if it’s wrong. I feel Wyatt’s face buried in my hair as Griffin drags his lips softly along my jaw. This isn’t dancing. It’s dry humping vertically, and I’m just along for the ride, caught up in the sensation of hands and legs. It’s probably indecent and not fit to do in public, but that’s partly the appeal. It’s dangerous and bound to get me in trouble and just like my street racing days, it gives me a high I can’t deny. Wyatt uses his hands to angle my hips, sliding me harder against Griffin while he buries himself against my ass.

  “Oh God,” I breathe, feeling my body reaching for that peak to free-fall from. Griffin takes my earlobe between his teeth, pulling lightly. I let my face fall into the space between his neck and shoulder, my arms grasping him tightly as waves of pleasure overtake me. Inhaling his spicy scent of cologne, soap, sweat, and even a little bit of tire smoke with a ragged breath, I work to not scream my pleasure. It’s even better this time around.

  “I told you it would be worth it,” I hear behind me.