Drift Heat Page 6

  Griffin eyes me warily, but stops and waits for me to get to him. “Of course you need me. I’m everything you’ve ever wanted.”

  I roll my eyes at him. Egotistical douche. “Seriously, don’t be a prick. I just need your attention for five freaking seconds.”

  “What do you want?” His deep voice rumbles, and his eyes scan me from my messy bun to my running shoes.

  I give him a pissy face before I can smooth my features into submission. He brings out the feisty side of me with a simple comment. He knows damn well what I want, but he’s being uncooperative to irk me. The way he looks me up and down, judging my apparel, makes me even more ready to call him an asshole. It’s not like he’s dressed up, or my clothes are so out of place. I’m still in my running tights, with a hoodie I stashed here at the shop thrown over my tank top. I needed to work off some of the carbs I ate last night, so I ran here from the apartment and did a bodyweight workout while the guys started their competition prep. They may think I’m a nutcase, but the walking lunges, the jump squats, and the rest of the workout I performed in the yard were exactly what my carb-filled ass needed. I’m not normally so disciplined with my workouts or my diet, but the threat of revealing clothes and constantly being judged on my appearance is a great motivator.

  “I need a few minutes with you for the intro series.” He rolls his eyes and turns away. Seriously, this guy is getting on my last nerve. “Or would you rather opt out and let me put more shots of me driving online instead?” I purposely goad him, knowing he won’t refuse an interview now that I’ve issued this challenge. His shoulders bunch up as he turns to face me, the irritation clear in the set of his lips. Those full, red lips that need to be kissed. Ugh. Or smacked.

  “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

  “No, I’m awesome and selflessly here to get you better press. I read some write-ups and you desperately need a better image. Even though you’re a total dick, I can help you.”

  I learned more than I thought I would when I was researching him. He started racing at sixteen, thanks to also growing up in a family-owned car shop. Knowing my own driving time started before that, I’m thinking he was hot-rodding cars well before he had his license at sixteen. He came up in the rallycross world, which is basically drifting and jumping cars in dirt, and transitioned into drifting a few years ago. He started competing with Smoke and Mirrors just two years ago, and after only one season qualified for his pro license during the California amateur season, the Pro-Am. His rookie season in the American Drift League was littered with outbursts and unsportsmanlike behavior that had people talking, but sponsors running. He’s notorious, and it’s hurting his image.

  “I’m a dick? You’re the show-off who doesn’t know her place.” Griffin crosses his arms over his broad chest, looking down on me with his six-plus feet of height. Not wearing my hooker heels means I don’t get the advantage of meeting him nearly eye-to-eye, but I can handle his bravado.

  I roll my eyes and shift my weight on my feet as I cross my arms over my stomach. “Put this thing between us on ice for a few minutes and pretend I’m someone else. Someone here to make you look good, rather than the hotheaded, helmet-throwing, fight-starting bad boy of drift. You need to clean up your image or sponsors will continue to shy away from the entire S&M team.”

  “You got all of that from a few write-ups?” The snark is strong in his voice, his lips twisting into a slight smile.

  He’s got to know his reputation in the ADL is notorious and known for his incredible outbursts when he loses a round. He’s not a graceful loser, and even more of a sore winner, celebrating in excess after a good run. We’ve got to temper his reactions and paint him in a better light if we want to get some money funneling into the shop. Sponsors won’t touch him with a ten foot pole if he is going to sully their name.

  “Uh, yeah. It’s called Google. You can find anything that way.” I pull out my GoPro and turn it on. “You ready?”

  Griffin runs his hands through his hair, pieces sticking up in crazy spikes. He shrugs his shoulders and shifts from one foot to another. I’d say he is nervous, but I get the feeling that Griffin isn’t the kind of guy to get caught up on nerves over a few questions. He composes his face and levels me with a wicked smile and the glinting stare to match. Oh, boy...

  “No, are you ready, Shelby? You’re about to know the true meaning of awesome.” His smile is smug and fits the cocky bravado he’s wearing so well.

  I roll my eyes and try not to gag as I hit record. “Tell me who you are and what team you drive for, then a few things about your car,” I instruct.

  “I’m Griffin McGregor and I drive for Smoke and Mirrors out of Newport Beach, California. My car is a twin turbo Toyota Supra with a 2JZ engine. We’ve modded it for fifteen hundred horsepower, keeping it at a thousand to optimize reliability and to keep the low-end torque.”

  He goes on to list a few mod specs and the power upgrades S&M has done to make the Supra a beast of a drift car. I can tell when he stops seeing me holding a camera and focuses entirely on the car he drives, his face becoming animated and his posture more relaxed. If I had known it would be so easy to get him to speak on camera about his car and the mods, I would have asked him earlier. I definitely expected more resistance.

  “What do you plan to accomplish in this year’s American Drift League season?” I ask when he slows down about the car. Griffin looks at me like he’s just realizing I’m still there.

  Awesome, now I’m invisible. It’s just like being back home with all of my gearhead friends and family. I fade into the car parts and mod list when they get on a roll. At least I understand the appeal, follow the lingo, and can add my own two cents into the conversation.

  “I plan to dominate the competition. I want my shot at the ADL title. I won’t stop until I’ve hit the podium at every one of the events, even if I have to push myself and my car to the max. This is my year.” The intensity of his direct gaze is overwhelming. I shiver at his words and work to steady the camera.

  “How did last year, your rookie season in the ADL, prepare you for this second attempt at the California Championship title?”

  “I learned the courses and had a chance to see how my car and I could run our best on each one. I’ve learned from the mistakes I made and plan to use that to my advantage now. I know where I need to make changes to get the best runs possible. I’ve got a great team backing me up and I know I can do this.”

  This is exactly what we need to show sponsors. He believes in his team and the passion in his voice would inspire confidence in even the most hard-hearted corporate big wig. I need to get him to address his past issues and show he has made a change this year. Even if it isn’t true, he needs to fake it till he makes it.

  “Speaking of mistakes, a few cost you races at multiple events last year. How do you expect to handle any losses this season?”

  Griffin narrows his eyes at me. I’m just trying to show potential sponsors that he has grown up and doesn’t plan to start fights or throw tantrums if he doesn’t get the run he was hoping for. I motion for him to answer and mouth be nice, sponsors.

  “I don’t plan to make the same mistakes this year. I know this sport is constantly changing and drivers have to evolve with it. Coming up against the same drivers will yield different results because the elements of each race are different. I plan to drive to the best of my ability and trust that Smoke and Mirrors has made my car the best it can be. I still intend to win, though.” Griffin motions for me to turn the recording off.

  “Cool, that should work. Thanks,” I say, turning away and saving the video.

  “What’s your fucking problem?”

  I turn back around and give Griffin my ‘back-the-fuck-off’ stare. “Other than you being an asshole? Please tell me, what problem would that be?”

  “What’s with bringing up my mistakes? No one needs to be reminded of shit that went down last season.” Griffin has followed me a few steps and is right up in my face
. My first instinct is to step away from the primal energy that practically sizzles between us. Instead, I hold my ground and stare him down, placing my hand on my hip. He doesn’t scare me. Much.

  “First of all, step off or I’ll knee you in the nuts. I like my space without assholes all up in it.” I stare daggers right back at him and wait for him to comply. It takes a minute, but he eases back a few inches, allowing me to think clearly without his spicy cologne and the scent of cars invading my nose. “You may be a decent driver, but you are hell on this team with your attitude on and off the track. Every video clip I found of your races last season ends in you throwing shit or peeling away in your car if you lost, or being a total jerk with celebratory mocking of your opponent if you won. If you care about Paul and the team, you are going to have to change a few things to allow money to flow into the shop.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re here for? Why don’t you shake your tits or flaunt your ass and see who throws money our way. I’m here to drive.” Griffin pulls one of the strings on my hoodie until it stretches, then lets it go so it bounces up and hits me in the face.

  My teeth are set on edge and I’d like nothing more than to punch him for being such a jerk. I breathe deeply and look up at the thick gray clouds massing in the sky and dig deep for a calm that is escaping me.

  “I’ll do whatever I have to in order to help this team. Will you?” I push my finger into his chest to make my point. He grabs my hand, holding it in place against his hard chest, his breathing speeding up under my palm.

  What the what? Before I can pull away from him, he steps into my hand more, bringing us closer together. My senses are on fire, battling with the alarm bells that are ringing while I take in every last minute detail about this moment. My nipples harden and my nose flares as I raggedly breathe in the subtle shop scents and the cologne he’s wearing. His eyes are hooded and trained on my face—no, my mouth—and he’s making me shiver in response to his electric and unexpected touch. His lips purse, and I want nothing more than to feel them on my skin, on my face, kissing away the sting my hoodie string left and the hurt he likes to throw my way with every comment.

  “You have no idea what I would do for this team, Shelby.” His voice is a soft rumble of distant thunder, warning of trouble. “I won’t let you waltz in here and turn it into whatever it is you think it should be. We’re good on our own, and our performance this season will prove it. We don’t need some hot piece of ass attention whore to get us more recognition. You don’t have the slightest clue what it takes to make a team successful. You’re just a pretty face with no talent. I’m the driver, the one who actually makes a difference here.” With that, Griffin releases my hand and turns on his heels to head back into the garage.

  I stand in shock, processing his actions and the words that seem to be at war with them. He taunts me and works up my anger, while keeping me close and touching me. His words are so hurtful, but his eyes say he’s thinking about more than why he hates me. It doesn’t matter what his body says, he worked to stab me in the heart with exactly what my dad has been saying all along, and what I’m most insecure about—not having any worth outside of my appearance with this team. My eyes sting and my throat grows thick with the unshed tears I refuse to let fall.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I look up to find Wyatt standing in front of me with a concerned look on his face. I bite my lip and work to keep the tears from welling in my eyes. Damn Griffin for knowing exactly what to say to hurt my feelings. I nod my head, then shake it. I don’t know if I’m okay or if I want to go hide and have a good cry.

  “Come here.”

  His arms are open and I’m falling into them, hiding my hot face against his soft, black Hoonigan branded T-shirt. He holds me tightly and rubs gentle circles on my back as I breathe deeply, focusing on controlling the embarrassment and shame Griffin brought to the surface. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of making me cry. I sniffle the tears back and focus on how I can turn this into productivity and momentum to make the team better.

  There are five other guys who respect what I can offer and seem to be perfectly fine with what I’m doing to help out. Like Wyatt, who is rubbing his hand softly up and down my back. I pull back and blow out a breath, feeling more centered and less in the wind with emotions.

  “I could kill him for getting in your face and making you upset.” He keeps his arms around me as he scans the parking lot for Griffin.

  “I’m fine. Just learning to deal with the asshole and all of his insults.” I step out of Wyatt’s comfortable grasp to stand on my own.

  “What did he say this time? I’ve never seen him like this. He’s totally on edge and moody.”

  I wave away the question. I’d rather forget about it. “Just normal derogatory stuff shithead-chauvinists would say to make a girl feel worse about her job.”

  “Shelby, tell me exactly what he said, or I’ll make Griffin tell me.”

  Wyatt thumbs toward the shop and starts to walk backward when I balk. I grab his shirt to pull him back. He comes willingly, holding my hand to his shirt the same way Griffin did. The moment feels too raw and fresh, so I pull my hand away and quickly tell him what Griffin said about me having no talent and no place on the team other than to be eye candy.

  “That motherfucker. Don’t believe any of the negativity he’s spewing because he’s jealous.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Jealousy seems to be the last of his many issues.”

  “No. I bet you a hundred bucks it’s because he’s totally jealous. You have managed to bring positive attention to the team in a way he has never been able to. He’s been the source of our sponsor problems, and here you are, a few days into the job and already there’s interest brewing before the season even starts. Griffin is a good guy, but he’s not great at controlling his emotions. Don’t let him get to you, okay?”

  I nod and smile my thanks at Wyatt. It’s nice having a bunch of good guys looking out for me. “I should really upload a few videos and make sure the team is presented in a good light before tomorrow’s race. When do we leave?”

  “Paul wants to push out in a few hours. We’ll drive to Long Beach and get the cars to the track so Griff and I can go to the driver’s meeting and the tech inspection. Then we’ll grab dinner and settle into the hotel. You have some time still. And thank you.”

  “Why are you thanking me? I should be doing that.”

  “For how hard you are working for the team. I don’t think any promo model has ever taken an interest in a team the way you have. You’ve gone above and beyond your job description, and we appreciate it. And thanks for putting up with Griffin.”

  I smile. “We will see just how much of Griffin I’m willing to tolerate. The rest of you are amazing.” I head off toward the shop, but stop and turn back to Wyatt. “Hey,” I say. His eyes bounce from my ass back to my face, his cheeks dimpling with a smile when he realizes I caught him checking me out. I laugh. “When do I get to see your tattoos?”

  He pulls the neck of his T-shirt down, showing me a string of script draped below his collarbone. I walk closer to inspect the words. My eyes meet his as I gently pull the neck of the shirt further away to see the entire sentence. His dimples are gone, but he makes no move to stop me. I look down and read the script that sits in a half circle from one shoulder to the other.

  What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.

  “It’s Bukowski.”

  My eyes find his, seeing warmth in the pale blue so different from the coldness Griffin shows me. And just like that, I’ve got a tiny crush on nice guy Wyatt. “Do you have others?”

  He holds my gaze, lifting the hem of his shirt up to show intricately shaded smoke and tire tracks on his right ribs. It’s like a tiny car did a burnout across his side. I smile and trace my fingertips along the shaded ink, drawing goosebumps on his skin. I let my fingers fall away and step back. I have no business touching him. Or developing a crush. Daddy warned me not to get involv
ed with race car drivers, even the nice ones. They’ll break your heart as fast as their car parts. He also taught me to not shit where I eat.

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?” I tuck my hands into the pocket of my hoodie and tilt my head.

  “Do you have any body art?” Those damn dimples are back and making me want to share all of my secrets with him.

  “Maybe. I guess you’ll have to see another time.” I laugh at his crestfallen expression and skip into the garage, feeling much better and ready to put some videos together.

  Chapter Six

  “Hey, busy bee, do you have time for some lunch?”

  I look up from my video editing, which has taken me longer than I’d like, to find Marny smiling in the doorway of the office. I scowl down at my primitive editing work on the complicated software and want to punch my screen, but push the frustration away to return her smile.

  “Hey! Yes, I could definitely use a break. I think I bit off more than I can chew with these intros. Editing one video so it looks good is one thing, but splicing together a whole bunch and making it seamless is a little outside my realm of expertise.”

  “More videos, already? You’re a total go-getter.” Marny slides onto the couch next to me and pulls her knees up to her chest. “Paul loved the videos yesterday. I’m sure these will be fantastic.”

  I sigh and feel a small weight release from my shoulders. “It’s so good to hear that Paul is appreciating this. I just want to help the team and make this season a good one.”

  “Trust me, you are doing it. I mean, originally, the plan for adding a promo model was just to bring more attention to the team at events. Finding out what a perfect fit you are, and seeing how much you are willing to offer, has been more than we could’ve asked for. We’re so happy to have you working with us.”

  A lump forms in my throat as a smile stretches my face. “Dang, Marny, way to make a girl feel good about herself.” I lean over and bump my shoulder into hers.