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  My hands drop to my sides in surprise. Wow. I can’t believe he’s ready to kick one of his drivers off the team because he doesn’t want to work with me. I guess he really does have my back. Paul has made my list of highly respected individuals, even though it’s crazy to pick me over a driver. But this has gone far enough. I don’t want Griffin to quit or get fired and leave Paul and the team down a driver.

  “Hey, Paul,” I say, slowly moving toward him and Griffin. I keep my eyes on Paul and refuse to meet the stare I know Griffin is leveling my way. I come to a stop a few feet from them and place my hands on my hips, my legs spread in a power stance. I read somewhere that by using these sorts of poses you can look and feel more powerful. I need it right now. “We can figure something out to make working together less...hostile. I think. There’s no need to find another driver. Just make sure he can control himself around me, and I won’t sit on the cars again, okay?” I finally chance a look at Griffin and see him appraising me. His lips are set in a thin line, but there is calculation burning up his blue stare. He wants to call bullshit, but he values his place on the team more. Good.

  “Keep your ass off the cars and stay out of my way, got it, Goldilocks?”

  “Oh, please,” I scoff. “Come up with something more original next time you call me a name, dipshit.” I turn away from them.

  “Adolf Titler,” he mumbles to my back.

  I whirl around and narrow my eyes. “Weapons-grade douchebag.”

  “Thundercunt,” he says, stepping around Paul toward me. Paul throws his hands up in exasperation and moves away from us.

  “Cock-jockey.” I meet him toe-to-toe again, ready to throw down the worst insults I’ve picked up being around rude and aggressive guys my whole life. You don’t grow up in a car shop without picking up a few insults that will sting a man’s pride.

  “Twatwaffle.”

  My lips twitch, amusement gaining on my anger. This reminds me of a game my brother and I used to play as kids where we would come up with creative insults. “Asshat.”

  “Seriously, asshat? That’s not even original,” Griffin grumbles, his hands on his hips as he stares at me in confusion. I can’t help it, I laugh in his face. This whole situation is truly comical. Once you get past the tension, the yelling, and the alpha-douche lord, that is.

  “Like you were at all creative.” I shake my head and walk to my chair, grabbing my bottle of water and chugging it down. When I glance back at Griffin, it’s with a practiced look of indifference on my face. You can’t hurt me if I don’t care, I practically ooze. He stands where I left him, confusion marring his beautiful features. Wait, what? Stop thinking he’s attractive, Shelby. This guy just insulted you, multiple times. Have some fucking self-respect.

  Thankfully, he turns back to Paul, who is looking just as perplexed by this whole situation. That’s right, boys, there’s more to me than the face and body. I’ve got sass and enough fearless attitude to swagger my way through any situation. I grab my bag and head into the shop to change. I would feel so much more righteous and awesome if I weren’t in barely there clothes and sky-high shoes. Sort of the weakest outfit a girl can find to sling insults in.

  When I return in jeans, Toms, and a hoodie, Griffin is nowhere to be found. Good. I’m not sure if I could keep myself from staring at him if he were just hanging around innocently. Paul, however, is waiting for me.

  “Shelby, I am profoundly sorry about...that,” he says, his arms windmilling toward the Supra and the lights that are now being packed away. “Griffin is...well, he’s a really great driver, but he can be a hothead sometimes. He’s...protective of the team and the cars.”

  No shit, Sherlock. “Just keep him on a better leash when we have to work together, and we’ll be fine. If he touches me again, you can believe he will be down a hand, and I am pretty sure he needs both to race successfully.”

  “Ah, yes, can do that. I’ll talk to him again and make sure he understands. We really need you here. Please don’t leave.”

  I tilt my head and wonder at the tone of desperation that laces his voice. “No way, Paul. You’re stuck with me. I signed a contract and I want to get my end of the bargain. But freaking warn me if there are any other crazies I have to work with, okay? I don’t need raging psychos attacking me for sitting on the cars when I’m told to.” I smile and let Paul know I’m not mad. The relief that washes over his face is comical. He was truly worried that I would go home and leave this opportunity on my first day.

  There’s no way I would pack up and head home with my tail between my legs after one unpleasant encounter. I’ve got a tougher exterior than that. Besides, I gave up so much to be here. I don’t want to prove Dad right by running home after my first day.

  I don’t know if he will ever come to terms with me taking this modeling job. “You’re just going to be meat for the masses. It’s not something any daughter of mine should be doing. Don’t expect to have a job or place to stay when you get back,” was the only thing he said to me when I was leaving. Henry assured me he didn’t mean it, but now I have to figure out what to do with myself when my gig with Smoke and Mirrors is up in two months.

  I’m struck with an idea that I have to act on before the confidence escapes me.

  “Hey, Paul,” I say, causing him to look up from the phone he was texting on. “I want to be more involved with the team between races when I’m not actually needed for promo. I think I can put together a video series for the shop and our progress during the California Championship series. It would be like a documentary of our work to get through the season. I’m here already, might as well put me to work.”

  I don’t want to sound desperate, but I need him to see the value in keeping me around and making this work for both of us. I don’t want to have to grovel and beg my dad for my job back at the end of this two-month run. If Paul decides to keep me on for the summer series, it wouldn’t come down to me returning to San Jose to face the music, after all.

  Paul scratches his head and looks at me. “You actually want to work? How are you with social media?”

  Chapter Two

  “How the hell do I post a link and keep my blurb to one hundred and forty characters?” I say to myself as I once again rewrite the tweet I want to send out for Smoke and Mirrors.

  I’m trying to share a shop tour video I made, complete with music and text. I had Ryan, the shop mechanic, help me film it when I wanted to be in certain shots. Of course, I am wearing my cropped logo tee and booty shorts, a prerequisite for anytime I am on camera. People like skin as much as they like the cars I’m recording. Sex sells, and if I can show some skin to help this team, I am down to do it.

  I need them to need me.

  “Oh, thank God, finally.” I get my wording just right, tagging the American Drift League and other drift accounts, and share the link to the four hundred and seventy-three followers Smoke and Mirrors has. The last few days have been filled with more photo shoots, thankfully uninterrupted by Griffin the asshole, and me learning my way around the shop and familiarizing myself with the team via write-ups and Google searches.

  I am slowly settling into the tiny, sparsely furnished apartment procured for me by S&M. I shake my head thinking of how Paul shortened Smoke and Mirrors. The abbreviation is just too much, but everyone calls the team that. I will hopefully find time to fully unpack once the first race is over.

  I don’t want to go back to San Jose, at all. It was a dead end for me, living in Daddy’s NASCAR shadow. As long as I stayed with our shop, I would always be his pretty daughter and nothing more. I’ve called home every night and spoken to Henry, but Dad still won’t talk to me. I know he’s hurt that I just up and left them hanging without a shop manager for this gig. I didn’t think he would be this pissed, but he’s holding onto his stance that I prefer being a piece of meat to be dangled to the fans over the family business. Sometimes that’s what it feels like, when I am wearing next to nothing and sexualizing everything from tires to wrenches, but
this job is more than that. And now that I have a legit place with the team, I feel like this is an even better opportunity than being the brand ambassador.

  At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

  “Hey, Shelby, did you get the video uploaded?” Ryan asks as he leans against the doorway of the shop office.

  I look up from where I am sitting cross-legged on the ratty old plaid couch with my laptop balanced on my knees. I put jeans back on, but my midriff is still on display along with my tightly encased boobs, which Ryan is having a hard time avoiding. Guys. I grab my hoodie and slide my arms into it so I’m completely covered. The look of relief that eases his almond-shaped eyes and his ability to look me in the face says more about his comfort levels with my “uniform” than my own, that’s for sure.

  “Yeah, just tweeted it out.” I switch tabs on my browser back to YouTube and see we have already gotten a few views. “Thanks for your help, I really appreciate it. I would much rather have a real person handling a camera than have to get one of those stupid selfie sticks to use.”

  Ryan laughs loudly, his deep brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can just imagine you holding out a camera on a stick and talking to yourself. Oh man, that would be rad to watch.” He walks into the room and leans against the desk across from me while looking at his scuffed shoes.

  “The couch is old and probably hasn’t been cleaned in years, but it’s decently comfortable if you want to sit down. I don’t bite.” I indicate the empty half of the couch next to me.

  He just shakes his head and stays where he is, but finally meets my eyes. “I heard about how Griffin treated you at the first photo shoot. Paul said you handled him pretty well, so we shouldn’t worry about you too much. You must have a spine of steel and hiding some balls to match to have stood up to him like Paul said you did. I really wish someone had caught that on video so I could see you knock Griffin on his ass.”

  My cheeks burn with the memory, but I manage to smile. He’s trying to make me more comfortable. I gather my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and wrap an elastic around it while I think of how to approach this.

  “I get why he was mad. I know it was dumb to sit on the hood. I’m not some stupid blonde with no concept of the intricacy of the builds that go into race cars. I’m quite aware of what you have to do to make it ready for races and how delicate all of that can be. I was extremely careful and I wouldn’t normally just crawl up on something like that if I weren’t being told to.”

  Ryan smiles a little as he looks back down at his feet. “You don’t have to defend yourself. Griffin blew up unnecessarily. That’s typical of him during the season when things don’t go his way, but he shouldn’t have gotten all crazy on you.” He removes his baseball hat, combs his fingers through his shaggy, nearly black hair, and resettles it on his head. He runs his fingers over his short black beard and finally settles his roaming hands against the desk behind him.

  “How does anyone stand him?” Thinking back to the brooding, hulk of a man set on a mission to destroy me for touching his car makes me hot all over, and not just from anger. Damn him for being such an ass. And for having such pretty tattoos that I want to examine. And for being incredibly sexy while focused intently on his car. My core heats as I remember how he forcefully pulled me back to him when I tried to walk away. I shake my head. Stop it, Shelby. Thinking lusty thoughts about a teammate is so off-limits.

  “He’s actually a great guy. He’s lots of fun and often cracks jokes. He’s just super protective of the cars and the team.”

  That’s the second time I’ve heard that excuse for his behavior. What is this guy, the black knight of S&M? “It seemed like he was more worried about being the focus of the team. I guess bringing a girl in to be the face of the company isn’t high on his list of priorities.”

  Ryan chews the hoop circling his bottom lip, making me wonder if it hurt to have it pierced. I have a little metal body art myself, but would never pierce my face.

  “No, definitely not. Griffin is old-school. He thinks the team’s focus needs to be on the drivers, to show off the talent, rather than divert the focus to some tits and...uh, you know.” Ryan quickly looks away, rubbing the back of his flaming red neck. “It was all Paul’s idea to bring in a spokesmodel. Since he finances the team, there’s not much room for argument.”

  “Do you all resent me being here?” My stomach twists with nervous anticipation. I need them to want me here. My future depends on it. My present does, too.

  “Oh, hell no! I think it’s a great idea. I understand what Paul is thinking. You can bring in a different audience for the shop and the team. It doesn’t matter how well Griffin and Wyatt drive, there still needs to be a hook. You’re it.”

  I smile at him appreciatively. He may be awkward as hell around me, but he’s still determined to make me feel better. That’s more than I can say for the rest of the team. They have resolutely avoided me, or at least haven’t been in the shop while I’m here.

  “Well, I plan to be the hook, line, and sinker for this team, catching whatever attention and sponsors you need to make it successful.”

  A bubbling noise comes from my laptop, capturing my attention. I look down and see a notification on my Twitter feed. “Holy shit, look! Network D just retweeted the video! They are freaking huge in the action sports field and have over fourteen thousand followers.” I flip my laptop around and beckon Ryan closer to show him the screen.

  “Damn, girl, you’re magic. Paul has been posting stupid shit on there for months and never got any traction. You know what that means, right?” His grin tells me it’s good but I don’t know what he’s fishing for. I shake my head and wait. “You just earned your paycheck today.”

  I laugh and turn the laptop back around. “Well, that’s good. Now, I need your help with something else. We have to keep the momentum going or we will lose it.”

  ***

  “This is insanity,” Ryan calls from across the garage.

  “I ran it by Paul. He said it’s fine. We just can’t break anything.” I turn the keys in the electric blue Nissan 350Z. The engine growls to life, the seat thrumming as the idle settles. It feels so good to be behind the wheel of a powerful machine again. Henry hadn’t yet put the finishing touches on Project Black Sheep, my own drift car, when I left, so I still haven’t had any time driving it.

  I run my hands along the sleek steering wheel and mentally thank Paul for this moment of bliss. I was surprised he agreed to let us use the Nissan for a little video, but I’m thinking he wants any attention for the shop he can get. I didn’t dare ask to use the Supra for fear of Griffin’s wrath. Paul was just as thrilled as Ryan said he would be when I told him about Network D sharing our video. When I proposed another video, he was on board. I may have downplayed my role in this little adventure, but it was a small omission.

  “I’ll do a burnout and pull the car into the back lot for a little fun. Get a good shot the first time and we don’t have to do it again.”

  “Are you sure you can handle it? That car is wicked powerful. Don’t get crazy. It’s my job to fix anything you break, and it won’t make you more popular with the team.”

  Ryan fiddles with the GoPro I gave him for this adventure, unable to meet my eyes. When I told him what I planned to do, he balked. Having Paul at my back, and maybe even because I batted my eyelashes at him and asked pretty please, he agreed to help me out.

  I tip my head back against the seat and fight to not roll my eyes. This reaction isn’t new. Most guys don’t trust me, or any girl, when it comes to their expensive toys. If only they knew I was doing burnouts in my daddy’s cars before I could legally drive, they might not worry so much. I guess access to powerful cars and the freedom to play all I wanted is one plus of being the daughter of a NASCAR legend-turned-successful shop owner.

  “Yeah, got it, Ryan. Now get out of the way and make sure you hit record.”

  I wait for Ryan to step outside the garage bay and give him a
minute to get situated. “Hit it,” he yells from beyond the bright light that separates the dark garage from the outdoors.

  I know the soft concrete floors of the garage will be easy to roast the tires on, so I keep the clutch pressed firmly to the floor for a second before I heel-toe my right foot on the gas and brake, quickly bringing the RPMs up high. The responsive roar of the engine blends beautifully with the immediate squeal of the tires. I feel alive in this moment, holding this beast of a car steady, letting the power build and the turbos spool. I monitor the gauges, watching the PSI climb as wisps of smoke float through the open windows, bathing me in the scent of burning rubber and creating a theatrical background. This is what makes me feel alive. Having this kind of power at my fingertips and knowing I can use it is a thrill that will never get old.

  I slip the car into second gear and release the brake, modulating the throttle to shoot through the open garage door and out into the sunshine. The swift change in lighting only fazes me for a second as my eyes quickly adjust. I press the handbrake a few times in quick succession while turning the wheel hard to powerslide the car into a drift. Ryan appears right where I told him to, standing hesitant but steady as I circle him. The wind sends pieces of my hair sliding across my face and around my neck, whipping it out the window as I let the wheel spin through my hand and reverse my slide. This car is so responsive and perfect. S&M did such a great job with the power and tuning. It makes me excited for the season ahead.

  I spin to a stop a few feet away from him and light up the tires again, building more smoke. The euphoria of being in a powerful car has a giddy smile breaking my face in two before I let off the gas and bring the idle back down. Ryan walks toward my open window, still holding the recording camera.

  I hope I placed the car correctly to capture the Smoke and Mirrors shop sign behind the car. I look straight at the little wide-angle lens and purse my lips. “Listen up, American Drift League. Smoke and Mirrors is coming to collect your California Championship titles this season. Look for this hot Nissan and our Supra on the circuit and know we’re set on total annihilation.” I hold my stare for a second, then motion for Ryan to stop. He hits the button and then his hands are ripping his hat off his head and grasping his hair.