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Zoey

The familiar sound of a clicking keyboard fills the air as I enter the kitchen of the apartment I share with my best friend. I pause for a second, taking in the strong smell of coffee, inhaling deeply to wake my foggy brain. I’m grateful every morning that Lana is an early riser and always has coffee going by the time I’m ready to start my day. We both work from home, but while Lana still has to keep regular working hours, my schedule as a fledgling self-employed sports blogger is more flexible.

It’s only ten in the morning, but I already feel worn out. I stayed up far too late again last night watching interviews and writing up a recap of this weekend’s NASCAR race. I’ve only just gotten my blog going, but it has yet to really take off. While my subscribers seem to like the wit and humor of my writing style and the unique spin I add to my race recaps, none of my blog material is breaking news. I’m too new to the journalism world for the big-time racers to give me the time of day for an interview. So, since I can’t rely on spotlighting unique content, I’m constantly hustling and posting to keep my subscribers and advertisers happy.

I beeline to the coffee pot, pouring myself a cup and greedily taking a sip, and sighing in relief as the warmth works its way through my body. My eyes are still closed when I hear my footsteps in the hall followed by my friend’s cheery voice.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were doing something obscene with those noises you’re making,” Lana teases, reaching around me to refill her own mug.

“It’s the nectar of the gods, Lana. It deserves to be appreciated.”

She laughs and shakes her head at me. “I’m surprised you aren’t scrambling to write up something for your blog about the Zach Westwood scandal,” she says.

It takes a moment for my sleepy brain to catch up with her words, but when I do, I still have no clue what she is talking about. “What scandal?”

“I guess you haven’t heard the news, or you wouldn’t be sitting here talking to me right now.”

Lana pulls her phone from her pocket and taps the screen a few times before handing it to me. My heart jumps when the image of a familiar man appears on the screen. The same man who has starred in my dreams for years. He’s the white whale of my journalistic career. Well, mine and pretty much every other sports journalists that covers NASCAR. My fingers are trembling as I tap the play button.

At first, the video is a bit chaotic before it focuses on the man pushing his way through a crowd of people, all yelling and screaming his name. There is no way of making out what they are saying as they jostle and shout over each other in an effort to get his attention.

“Why doesn’t he have security to escort him into the airport?”

“Shh!” I whisper, watching carefully as the tall man pushes his way through the screaming crowd, or at least he tries. It’s clear from his body language that he is growing agitated but the people keep pushing him from all directions while others shove their phones and cameras in his face, making it difficult for him to move.

“He’s going to snap,” Lana confirms my thoughts.

I see it too. The vein on his forehead is pulsing angrily, and his mouth is set in a flat line. Those gray eyes that haunt my dreams are cold as ice as they look forward, and I notice his jaw tick with barely contained rage.

“Don’t,” I whisper under my breath, even as excitement builds in my veins. “Please don’t do it.”

“Oh, he does it.”

“Don’t do it,” I whisper once more to the screen, hoping I can somehow change the past, though Lana has already confirmed the unfortunate truth.

“He’s going to do it,” Lana taunts into my ear, and the second her words are out, Zach jolts backward as something is shoved dangerously close to his face. His hand flies up and knocks the object away, sending it crashing into the surrounding crowd. Several shouts of surprise and protest rise up as he gives a forceful push forward through the crowd, finally breaking away and gaining some space. Zach turns around just before passing through the safety of the security checkpoint, and his fury is clear in his eyes.

The phone taking the video shifts to the crowd where a man is now brandishing his broken phone and yelling about assault and property damage. The onlookers quickly lose interest, though, and the video cuts out after a few seconds.

“He did it,” I whisper, a little shaken by what I just watched. “Zach Westwood just lost his temper in public, and with Neil Buck of all people. I don’t understand,” I say, looking at Lana. “I mean, I get being irritated by the paparazzi, but Zach is known for keeping his cool. He’s never lost his temper like that before.”

Lana shrugs, “It was pretty clear Neil was asking for it. You don’t shove a camera into someone’s face like that. Neil is an asshole, and he deserved it.”

“This could kill Zach’s career. Neil has been known to blacklist guys for less.”

“Zach has been the prince of NASCAR for more than a decade. I doubt even Neil Buck could touch him. Or maybe Zach doesn’t care,” Lana responds, leaning back against the counter. “You saw the interview last week when he announced that he was planning to take a break, maybe even retire. Hell, it was all you would talk about for days. I don’t even like NASCAR, and I know all about every move the amazing Zach Westwood makes.”

I nod, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table with a sigh. The truth is, no one cares about Neil Buck. He is a sweetheart on television, but everyone in the field knows the guy is a jerk. He steals stories and uses underhanded tactics to get soundbites.

Zach Westwood, on the other hand, is every sports journalist's wet dream. He has dominated NASCAR for over ten years and holds a staggering number of records. Of all the drivers in the sport right now, Zach's winning streak is unmatched. The man is a beast on the track, but in the real world, he’s a ghost.

Not once during his entire career has Zach Westwood ever discussed his private life. His life on the track is the only thing anyone knows. Once he leaves the track, it’s like he disappears. It only makes him more alluring. Like everyone else, I’ve always been curious about his personal life, but it’s clear he hates the press. And now that the man has announced he will be taking a break from racing, I’m terrified that we might never learn what he’s like off the track.

“I’m going to do it,” I decide.

“Do what?”

My eyes shoot up and find Lana staring at me. “I’m going to interview Zach Westwood.”

Lana looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and quite frankly, maybe I have. See, Zach Westwood may be every sports journalist's fantasy interview for his talent, track experience, mysterious vibe, and exceptionally good looks, but for me, it’s different. I’ve been watching the man since the beginning of his career, and he’s the reason I developed such an interest in NASCAR in the first place. I feel a personal connection to him even though I’ve never met the man in real life. This is my chance to do just that!

“I want to interview him,” I say again.

“Oh, honey,” Lana whispers, pity written all over her expression as she places a comforting hand over my shoulder. “I don’t want to break your naive little heart, but Zach Westwood wouldn’t give you a second of his day.”

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry. I promise I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just, I know how you are. You set your mind to something, and you’re like a dog with a bone. Only this time, there’s no way you are going to catch this one.” I continue to glare at my so-called best friend until she relents and tries a different tactic. “Okay, look. I know you have been in love with the man forever—”

“Am not!” I argue, but I feel a faint blush climb up my cheeks, and Lana must notice it too because she scoffs at me.

“Zoey…” she starts, fixing those startling blue eyes on me. “Zach Westwood has turned down media giants like Sherry Mark. Remember her? The pretty blonde with legs for days and tits that were handcrafted to perfection? No way they are natural—”

“Lana!”

“Right,” she says with an eyeroll. “All the drivers are eager to give an interview to the queen of sports news, but not Zach Westwood. Even Sherry’s siren call and gorgeous face couldn’t lure Zach into telling her his story.”

“I’m not looking to lure him into anything.”

“So, what makes you think you stand a chance where others have failed?” she asks.

I pout at her words, hating that she’s right. Sherry Mark is indeed the queen of sports journalism, and if she couldn’t get an interview with Zach, then it’s highly unlikely he’d accept to do one with me—a mere rookie in the industry. “I thought friends were supposed to be supportive.”

“I believe the word you are looking for is honest.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair and pushing the strays from my face. “I only need fifteen minutes with the man.”

“And you think that is enough for him to tell you all his secrets?”

“I can do this,” I tell her, growing frustrated.

She shrugs, pushing away from the counter with her mug of coffee in hand. “I know you have a lady boner for the man—”

“That’s not even a thing!” I say with a glare. “Look, I am not in love with Zach, okay? I just… I think he’s talented, and I want to write about his life what pushed him into NASCAR in the first place, and why he wants to quite now at the height of his career.”

“So you are saying that if that man walked in through those doors right this second and promised to make you see stars, you wouldn’t take him up on his offer?”

I flush deeper at her words, fire burning my cheeks. “Lana!” I cry, flushing and looking away, but she’s right. Maybe I do have a little crush on the man, but confirming that for Lana would only give her more ammunition to tease me. “Zach Westwood is just one of many drivers that I admire. There are tons of others that I would like to interview. Not just him.”

She hums, clearly unconvinced by my words. “Sure, you keep telling yourself that.”

“It’s true!”

“Have you ever considered the fact that the reason he’s so private with his life is because he’s married and wants to protect his family, or maybe he’s hiding something. Maybe he’s a serial killer.”

“Zach is not married!” I argue.

“That’s more concerning to you than he might be a serial killer?” she teases. “How do you know he isn’t married anyway?”

My mind conjures an image of Zach; I know his every feature from memory. I’ve been watching the man for years and have witnessed his transformation from teen heartthrob to the mature, sexy beast of a man he is today.

His hair is dark, and lately, he’s been keeping it short. In the airport video, there was a five o’clock shadow dusting that gorgeous, chiseled jaw, and even with the jacket he had on, I’d seen hints of the tattoos that cover both of his arms. He’s tall and muscular, more lean than bulky. If I had a type, it definitely would be Zach Westwood.

A slow lick of heat climbs up my body as I think of the man, and I squeeze my legs as moisture spreads to the secret spot between my thighs. Lana is right. There is no freaking way someone that hot doesn’t have a wife or a girlfriend. Heck, I’ve never met the man, and he has this effect on me!

“I’m going to find out,” I say, setting my mug on the counter and heading for the kitchen door.

“W-what?” Lana squeaks.

“I am going to get his story, and if he has a wife…” I swallow hard at the thought, hating the jealousy that sets in. It’s silly to even feel this way; I stand no chance with the man. It’s stupid to fall for a celebrity, especially one in the sports world. They are known for their infidelity and philandering, and I would be setting myself up for heartbreak if I ever dated one. I clear my throat to chase off the unbidden thoughts. “If he has a wife, then I’ll talk to her too. I’ll have a Zach Westwood’s exclusive!”

I’m about to round the corner, but Lana stops me. “Where are you going to find him? The man could be anywhere in the world. That video is hours old, and he was flying out of a major hub. He could be headed anywhere.”

“He said in his press release announcing his sabbatical that he was going to spend time at home,” I say, thinking out loud. “He lives in Florida during the racing season, but everyone knows that, so it wouldn’t give him much privacy. There was a rumor a few years back that he’s from a small town not too far from here. I bet that’s where he’s headed.”

Lana looks at her watch. “Well, the regional airport is the only place he could be flying into from the airport in Florida. Based on the time of the video and how long it takes to fly from there to here, I’d say you have about two hours to get to the airport before he lands, if he is even actually headed this way. But that doesn’t explain how you’re going to get him to talk to you, let alone give you an interview.”

“He’ll need to rent a car to leave the city. I’ll wait for him at the car rental.”

“So what? Are you going to stalk all the airport car rentals to see which one he’s renting from?” That was exactly what I was thinking. “Zoey, what makes you think anyone will tell you even if you find the right one?”

I rush to my room and get ready to go. “I won’t know until I try, Lana.” I start, but then stop. “I want this story. The reason I fell in love with NASCAR was because of this man. My dad took me to every race he could get tickets to when I was younger, and Zach was always the racer I wanted most to see. No one knows why he’s taking a break or if he’ll be back, so it’s now or never.”

“You really want this story, don’t you?”

I nod, my bobbed hair flopping around my face when I do so. “I need it.”

She sighs, “Fine. I have a friend that works at one of the rental places at the airport. I’ll check with him and try to get you the details of where he’s renting the car from, but the rest will be up to you.”

I fling my arms around my friend and hug her close, my cheeks hurting from the smile I keep fighting. She’s right. It’s a long shot trying to get an interview with the grumpy racer, but the thought of finally meeting the man after years of watching him is enough to have me giddy with joy. “You are the best!”

“I know.”

“I promise to get early and make you coffees every morning for a moth when I return.”

Lana snorts. “If by some miracle you get the interview, you owe me more than just coffee.”

“Deal!”