Drift Heat Read online

  “What got you into creating videos? Was it your job back home?”

  “Oh, no way. I was a...office manager, but I worked a lot with the social media person for our...company. He showed me a few things to create and edit videos, but I’m not very experienced.” I blow out a breath, thankful I could be completely honest with Marny without giving away the true nature of the “office job” I worked at Jensen Performance.

  Marny nods. “So how about lunch? I brought a truckload of food and expect you to get your skinny butt over there first before they gobble it all up.”

  “I like skinny butt better than fat ass,” I mumble, closing my laptop and sliding my feet to the floor.

  “Who called you a fat ass? I’ll show them a fat ass, and then my fist.” Marny looks furious and I hate to admit the truth.

  “It was just something said in anger the other day. I didn’t take it seriously.”

  Marny gives me a knowing look and squeezes my shoulder. “Griffin.” No question, all statement.

  I cringe at my transparency. “Yes,” I admit. “I’m okay, though. Wyatt says he’s just jealous of the spot I’ve carved out on the team already.”

  “Wyatt sounds right. That’s not something I would say often, but in this case, it works. We’ll talk to Griffin again. He needs to cool it or else Paul will get tired of this and replace him. It’s been a lot to deal with, between his track antics, and his recent bad behavior where you are concerned. It blows my mind that he would be anything but the charming gentleman he normally is when it comes to a girl.”

  “So it’s just me, I bring out the worst in him?” My chest caves in with the weight of the bad match we’ve made on this team. All I wanted was to find my place outside of the family business where I could be seen as an individual in a fulfilling position. Instead, I’ve found myself at odds with the star driver of the team and fighting him at every turn.

  “No, stop it. You haven’t done anything. Griffin is responsible for his behavior and reactions, not you. From what I can tell, you have done nothing to warrant this, which is why we insist he stop it. Now, forget about that for a few minutes and come eat. I was serious about the boys eating everything.”

  I follow Marny out of the office and find a pickup truck backed up to the garage door, the tailgate down and loaded with food. She was being serious about a truckload of food. I grab a paper plate and load up on salad, fruit, and lunch meats, skipping the delicious looking carbs that are in abundance. Just two months of watching my figure and I can have my fill of them again.

  The team is scattered around the shop, sitting on folding chairs or leaning against the walls, all shoveling food into their mouths. Ryan catches my eye and waves me over. He grabs a chair and drags it between his and Cole’s. I plop down and pick at my salad as Cole continues to talk about strategy and tuning with Ryan.

  “As long as they stick to their lines, it should be fine. The qualifying shouldn’t be an issue. Both Wyatt and Griffin are great drivers and get the style, line, and angle right on any course. It’s the second day tandem events I worry about. Wyatt has been understeering and breaking drift in practice when he’s chasing Griffin. When he leads, he’s fine, but the pressure of being the following car gets to him.”

  “I thought he worked the understeering out? He’s chased me a few times recently and he’s been great. Maybe it’s that the 350Z has too much power to follow at a slow speed. He’s got that drag racer mentality that has him mashing the gas on the start to build speed and close the gap between the lead and him. He doesn’t need it so much to break traction and initiate drift. Or maybe it’s just Griffin being aggressive that freaks him out. I guess that’s the best way to prepare for these competitions, though. You want that element of aggression in practice to get you ready to face unknown drivers in head-to-head matches.”

  “I wish they had more time to feel out the cars before this race. It’s going to be interesting tomorrow, to say the least.” Cole takes a big bite of his sub sandwich and chews thoughtfully.

  “How are the videos coming?” Ryan asks before he opens a bag of chips and inhales a handful of cheese dust.

  I set my plate in my lap and swallow the strawberry I just bit into. “Frustrating. I think I need to keep the videos separate, instead of fusing them into one like I had originally planned. I’m just not that experienced with editing to make it work.”

  “Hey, that means shorter videos. People prefer those to a long piece, anyway,” Cole says around a bite of sandwich. He swallows and continues, “I do, at least. Give me a two-minute clip and I’m happy. Twenty minutes? You’ve definitely lost my attention after maybe five.”

  “Good to know.” I sip my water and think about my video work. “That actually makes me feel better about it. I should take my food and finish those up so I can get them out with some time to run back to the apartment to shower.” I stand and smile at the guys. “Thanks for the help.”

  “You don’t have to work through lunch, girl. I’ll give you a ride back soon if you want,” Ryan offers.

  “Nah, I’ll be good. Thanks, though.” I tuck my water bottle into the crook of my elbow and head back to the office with my plate balanced in my hand.

  A heated exchange coming through the open door brings me to a halt before I make it to the office. Paul and Griffin are arguing inside. I feel like a total eavesdropper for wanting to listen, so I turn around to leave until I hear my name.

  “What is it about Shelby that’s gotten under your skin?” Paul asks, unseen.

  And now I’m officially staying to listen in.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s nothing.” Ouch. Thanks for that, Griffin.

  “You are being a total jerk to her. Normally you’re the nicest guy to any lady who comes within a mile of you. Why are you treating her like dirt? She’s just here to help. Wyatt said you made her cry today.”

  I hear an exhalation of breath, I assume from Griffin. I didn’t cry, but I sure felt like it. Stupid Wyatt, ratting me out to Paul.

  “She’s a pushy little brat who came in here with a head full of ideas of what she wants us to change. I don’t need to change. And she’s disrespectful of the cars.”

  Paul whistles. “She’s under your skin and you can’t even see it. You’re the only one who seems to think she’s pushy. She’s been nothing but supportive and helpful. You just don’t want to admit she’s doing a good job and you like her.”

  Griffin scoffs. “I like her about as much as a broken axle.” His confident bravado is tellingly missing from his words. It doesn’t dampen the blow to my ego.

  “Seriously? The rest of the guys are tripping over their dicks whenever she’s around, and they haven’t seen her dressed in her little outfits and fully made up yet. All they see is a sweet girl who likes cars, which is enough. You, on the other hand, have seen it all. You trying to tell me you don’t think she’s a hot piece of ass that you’re dying to bag?”

  Whoa, Paul. Simmer down there, married man.

  “I didn’t say she’s not smoking hot, but what promo model isn’t? They’re a dime a dozen at these events. It’s her bossy, know-it-all attitude and pushy way of changing things that bother me.”

  “Change is good, bro. We need the kind of change Shelby is bringing.” He sighs, and I hear the papery sound of his hand rubbing across his face. “I can’t afford to get you guys to every race this season on my own. I don’t even want to think about what comes after the California Circuit, because hauling our rigs across the country is a total no-go right now. The shop being slow is going to ruin us financially. Last year we at least had plenty of jobs that made it happen. I thought bringing Wyatt on this season would be a piece of cake, but the numbers don’t lie. If the shop had a year like the last, it would have been easy, but we’re hurting now.”

  I lean against the wall outside the office, torn between leaving immediately or continuing to listen. I have no right to stay, but I feel glued in place, needing to hear where
this is going.

  “So let’s give ‘em hell this weekend and show Southern California that Smoke and Mirrors is the place to get your rig made into a beast. We can do that with our driving.”

  “Shelby can do it with a few videos, man. I’ve had serious interest pour in since she posted her videos yesterday. I need that, and you need to play nice, or else...”

  “Or else what, Paul?” Griffin’s quiet voice is steel wrapped in ice, so cold it would burn.

  “We can’t afford to let your hot head and bad attitude scare off any more sponsors. Either you make nice with Shelby, or you’re out.”

  “I can’t believe you would pick a chick over me. We’re family. She’s not even guaranteed a spot with the team after this season. Here you are, wasting money paying a set of boobs that would be better spent on race entries and tires. I thought you were better than that, Paul.”

  I scurry away when I hear movement, intent on avoiding being caught eavesdropping. My heart pumping hard in my throat, I make it outside and find Marny packing up the leftover food. I control my breathing and dump my half-full plate into the trash bag that hangs from the tailgate. I busy myself helping her while doubt niggles at my brain.

  A bitter thought has my mouth twisting into an unpleasant snarl. Griffin was right. Paul is wasting money on me when he needs it so badly to afford the competition costs. If I want to get paid, I’d better bring in a ton of business and help them secure enough sponsorships to at least cover their race fees. Then I won’t feel so guilty knowing what I’m costing the team.

  Chapter Seven

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I say in excitement, watching the view count climb on the video series I posted on YouTube an hour ago.

  “Practicing for later? Why don’t you add my name and maybe an ‘oh my God’ too.” The silky smooth voice jars me and my mouth drops open when I realize who just said that absurd comment. Griffin is standing in the doorway, a perfectly pleased smirk on his face.

  “Uh, excuse you? Maybe you should stop with your sexed up thoughts and run along now. I’m busy.” I’m trying my best to hide my surprise. Maybe this is Griffin “playing nice” because Paul threatened his spot on the team. He better work at it a little harder.

  “Admit it, Shelby. You’ve fantasized about me making your pretty little mouth ache from the bad language you’re so prone to. You know I would give you exactly what you need.”

  My jaw falls open, but I quickly snap it shut. “What the fuck are you talking about? Where is this filth even coming from?” I set my laptop on the couch and stand, hating the height difference with him towering over me while I sit.

  Griffin laughs. “You’re so easy to fuck with. Paul says we’re leaving in twenty. Get your shit and be ready.” A grin still stretches his face when he turns to leave.

  Ho-ly shit. That was the most unexpected Griffin interaction I could have imagined. And now that he’s planted the idea in my head, all I can think about is what he would do to my body, to me, with his. As strange as it is to say, I’m turned on by his sexualized comments. And I hate it.

  What would he do to my mouth? Punish me for my bad language, evidently. Do I want to be punished for anything? Hell no. But when Griffin said it, the words dripping like warm honey over barbed wire, part of me wanted it. And by it, I have no clue what he had in mind, but my brain is eager to fill in the blanks. I can just imagine his cock filling my mouth, a punishing rhythm established as he uses me to satisfy his needs.

  Whoa, what the actual hell am I thinking? I do not want Griffin, cock or otherwise, anywhere near my mouth. Do I?

  I shakily pack my laptop into my backpack and walk out into the garage in a daze. My cheeks feel flushed and my eyes glazed with the lusty thoughts that won’t leave me alone. I have been pretty vanilla and mostly satisfied in my relationships. The kink he just introduced to my brain should not make me as horny as I feel right now. I’m better than that. And he was just messing around, anyway. He wanted to fuck with me and throw me off, he said so much himself. I shake off the wobbly thoughts and get angry, because it focuses me. Who does he think he is talking to me like that?

  “Hey, there you are,” Ryan calls as I exit the garage and look around.

  The two trailers are loaded and the quad-cab trucks are idling, ready to hit the road. I gravitate toward Ryan, feeling far more comfortable and sane around him than Griffin, who just upset my axis and sent me reeling. There are no weird sexual thoughts concerning Ryan, which makes him safe.

  “Did you bring your stuff with you, or do you need to stop by the apartments first?”

  “I have everything here. I’ll go grab my bag real quick.”

  “Hop in, I’ll grab it and we’ll load everyone up.”

  I climb into the backseat of the black pickup I’m standing by and slide over for Wyatt to follow. Cole climbs in the front seat and Ryan gets behind the wheel. I look over at the gray pickup and see Paul behind the wheel with Ezra and Griffin riding with him. Marny has left in her own car, and I don’t know if she’ll be joining us at the races or not.

  We head north toward the American Drift League Streets of Long Beach course. It is one of two non-racetrack races we will be competing at. San Jose Grand Prix is the other. They set up the course along the streets and get a completely different experience from the races than you would on a traditional track.

  It’s about a forty-five-minute drive, which we pass by talking strategy and favorite cars and drivers. I pull out my GoPro and tape a few videos, thinking I can create an “On The Road to the ADL California Championships” video with this kind of thing. I throw in a few comments here and there, but I’m keeping my car knowledge to myself for the most part.

  We unload the cars and our gear at the pit of the Long Beach track just in time for Griffin and Wyatt to run off to their meeting. Ryan, Ezra, and Paul do some last minute checks on the cars while we wait. They will have a tech inspection at some point to make sure the cars are fully functioning and ready for the competition.

  “So, Shelby, you’ve been asking the rest of us all day, so now it’s your turn to answer questions. What’s your story?” Cole asks, crossing his arms over his chest. I squint as I look up at him. He’s so tall it seems like no matter where he stood, I’d always be looking into the sun.

  “Where do you want to start?” Again with the questions. Marny was safe. Cole? I have no idea.

  “You’re from the Bay Area, right?”

  “Yeah, San Jose. I’ve lived there since I was three. We moved around a bunch before that, but it’s home to me.”

  “Is there anyone at home who is missing you now that you’re living in Newport?”

  Is Cole asking if I have a boyfriend? He runs his hand through his light blond hair and gives me a cool look, like he’s not sitting on the edge of his seat waiting for my answer. I stall, tapping my bottom lip with my index finger to mess with him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

  “No one special. My dad and brother, and some friends. But I’m already enjoying the change.”

  He smiles a little, his eyes losing the tightness of a moment before. “So, what got you into cars? You are obviously comfortable driving The Beast,” he says, referring to the Nissan 350Z. “You said you were a drag racer before picking up drifting. Do you race for profit, or pleasure?”

  “Who said I race?” I play it cool, but I’m dying inside. A huge part of me wants to tell him all about my car builds and my past track victories, but I still feel like I need to keep that part of my life secret, because it all points back to Jensen Performance.

  I’m wondering now if it’s even worth it to keep it all a secret. It’s not like these guys are going to think less of me for growing up in a car shop, but they would probably treat me differently once they know who my dad is. Anyone in the car world has always changed how they looked at me once they found out about me being the daughter of the legendary Hank Jensen, five-time NASCAR champion. For now, I harbor my secret like a fugitive and hope it do
esn’t come out anytime soon.

  “Don’t play the dumb blonde card. I thought you said you weren’t just eye candy? You’re obviously experienced behind the wheel and that doesn’t come easily. Where have you driven?”

  I shrug my shoulders in defeat and look at my feet. I guess I can give him this much. It’s going to come out sometime, anyway. “I went through Skip Barber’s race programs at Laguna Seca Raceway a few years ago. Before that, I was hustling the local street races until the cops cracked down and made illegal street racing super dangerous. San Jose doesn’t have a close track, so I go to Sacramento, Sonoma or Monterey for track time. I’ve never driven down here in SoCal before.”

  “No shit, Skip Barber? Those programs are legendary. No wonder you had complete control of the Z. But they’re expensive. What kind of work did you do while in college to afford something like that? I know his three-day programs are like five grand a pop, and if you did more than that, it would be crazy expensive.”

  I roll my lip with my teeth and avoid his stare. “My dad paid for it. He...values good racing technique, and didn’t have time to do it himself, so he sent me to Skip.”

  At the time I hadn’t thought twice about the price of the classes, and Dad hadn’t batted an eye when I asked him. At eighteen, he thought I was finally old enough to take the classes seriously. Henry had taken the courses at sixteen and I died of jealousy as a sad thirteen-year-old who had watched the Fast and Furious franchise too many times. It’s funny how he wouldn’t pay for my college classes, but he was all over making sure I wouldn’t embarrass the family name with crappy driving skills.

  “Must be nice. My folks could never afford anything like that. I had to get a job at a carwash in high school to afford my first car. I found a second gen Mitsubishi Eclipse GSX with a blown transmission. I had to save for another six months before I could get a new transmission in the thing and even drive it. What was your first car?”

  I bristle at his accusation that I haven’t had to work for anything. If only he knew, but then I’d have to fess up to more than I’m willing to share.