Page 3

Zoey

They say that you should never meet your heroes, and I am now realizing why that is true. I’ve always known Zach to be a grump who rarely smiles, not even for the cameras, but seeing it firsthand still floors me.

He’s definitely a grouch, but an extremely hot one. I can hardly focus on anything else as I navigate out of the city.

Okay, so maybe I have more than a little crush on the man, but who would blame me? The images I’ve seen online don’t do him any justice, and those dark gray eyes are a hundred times more intense in person.

No , I can’t get carried away by the man’s gorgeous face. I need my head screwed on straight if I am to convince this man to let me interview him. I’ve made it this far; I can’t let myself become distracted now.

“Take the next exit,” he says gruffly. It’s the first he’s spoken since we escaped the car rental lot. I nod, doing as he said. I can’t help but sneak a glance at the man when he strips off his jacket, balling it into a pillow that he props between his shoulder and the door. I nearly swallow my tongue when he reveals a tapestry of tattoos. I knew his arms were covered in them but, God, seeing them in real life is a whole other story.

I clear my throat, refocusing my attention on the road, but it’s a test of will as his muscles ripple with movement, the contours of his arms creating enticing shadows. I feel a flutter of excitement in my belly, and I still can’t believe that I’m in a car with my racing idol. I get to see and talk to the real man, not just his image on the screen. I can think of at least ten journalists that would kill to be where I am, and a few hundred fans besides.

Okay, this is definitely not the time to fangirl!

The air between us is thick with tension as we maneuver in and out of traffic. I have to remind myself to obey the speed limit in my excitement to see Zach’s hometown.

It’s not until we’re on the highway nearly a half hour from the city and sure that no one has followed us that I finally break the silence.

“So, Valor Springs is your hometown?” I ask, glancing at the man, whose eyes are focused on the road ahead. He stays quiet for a long time, and I almost believe he’s not going to answer me.

“It hasn’t been for a long time.”

“What do you mean?”

He briefly turns those dark eyes to mine before looking away again. “It’s been almost a decade since I set foot in Valor Springs.”

Okay, we’re getting somewhere. I didn’t expect him to open up so soon, and a part of me gets greedy as I try to push for more. “If it’s your hometown, then why have you been away for so long? Is that why you took a break? To reconnect with your past?”

“Not entirely.”

I shift in my seat, hungry for more. “Then what’s the real reason you’re taking a break at the height of your career?”

“Nothing the press needs to worry about.” And now we’re right back where we started.

I slump the seat with a sigh, staring ahead as I rake my brain for what I need to do to get this man to warm up to the idea of a formal interview. “Why do you hate the press so much? We’re not all bad.”

“You lied and manipulated your way into getting this interview. This morning, someone shoved their camera in my face and nearly took out my eye. I don’t know how you can say that journalists are not terrible people when they do whatever it takes to get what they want, including disregarding everyone’s feelings but their own.

He has a point, and I realize that his dislike runs deeper than I thought. How in the world am I supposed to convince this man to let me interview him when he has such negative thoughts about the press?

Maybe I am going about this the wrong way.

“Okay, how about you think of me as a fan and not a part of a group that you dislike?”

“Fans can be just as bad as the press. Everyone seems to think they’re entitled to every aspect of my life. My personal life is nobody’s business. Besides, you didn’t exactly make a great first impression…”

“You’re right, and I am sorry for tricking you and that baby-faced clerk. I knew he could get into a lot of trouble if discovered, and that was selfish of me.” I say, turning to face the man for a moment so he can see the sincerity on my face before facing the road again. “So, how about we start over?”

I expect him to outright reject me or make some snarky retort about there only being one chance to make a first impression, but he makes no such remark.

“Fine, maybe if you can make me like you then I’ll be willing to entertain the idea of an interview with you, Miss….”

“Zoey Ballerini,” I respond, almost smacking myself for not making the introduction earlier. “But you can just call me Zoey.”

“What exactly do you do?”

“I cover NASCAR races, write about the drivers and their stats on my blog.”

“The last time I checked, you don’t need to talk to the drivers to do that.”

“I don’t want to write about your stats or history as a racer. I’m more interested in writing about you as a person. What makes you such a great racer goes beyond just your training. I want to know what makes you, well, you.”

“Why would anyone care about my life outside the circuit?”

“To some people, it matters. It opens a door to relate to their favorite racer. To a lot of people, you’re an inspiration. Think of all the kids who watch you race at the track or on TV who are dying to be where you are. You’re a small-town guy who made it big in NASCAR, almost a living legend,” I say with a sigh, my mind drifting to his last race. “And after every race, when you climb out of the car and pull off your helmet, you don’t look like one of us.”

“What do I look like?”

I chuckle at my own thoughts. “I don’t even know, but it’s something more. A hero, a demigod, an alien—but not the green kind, of course.”

“Of course.”

If he is being sarcastic, I can’t tell from the man’s unreadable expression. “It was a compliment. What I meant to say is that you stand out. I’m hoping to show everyone that you are, in fact, one of us. That your life is more than just the circuit.”

“It isn’t,” he responds quietly, almost like the words were not meant for me, but before I can question what he means, he quickly adds, “Enough about me, it’s not time for your interview yet. Tell me more about yourself, Zoey Ballerini.”

“Okay, I’m twenty-two—”

“Jesus Christ, you’re twenty-two?” he chokes out, and it’s the first show of emotion outside of annoyance I read on his face. As much as I would like to say his reaction is a unique one, the truth is most people in my field react the same way when they learn of my age. They look at me and see a rookie female journalist wannabe who has no place in the sports world. It’s quite difficult to get someone to take you seriously when they don’t think you deserve to be interviewing there. For a horrifying moment, I question if Zach is that kind of guy.

“I may be a young, but I am not talentless,” I say defensively. “I’ve written plenty of popular articles. I may be just getting started, but my blog has a dedicated following already, so don’t look down on me because of my age.”

Zach’s laughter rings out, and it’s so surprising, I nearly jerk the steering wheel. “I don’t think you are talentless. You did manage to manipulate your way into this car,” he says with a shake of his head before turning back to the road. “So, we’ve gotten as far as your age…”

Right. Somehow, I’ve become the interviewee, but I suppose it’s only fair.

“I’m an only child. My parents were high school sweethearts, and they had me shortly after they graduated. I had a pretty normal childhood, grew into an adult who loves NASCAR thanks largely to my dad, and now I write about it.”

“That’s it?”

My brows furrow in confusion. “What else would you like to know?”

“Have you ever raced yourself?”

“Um, no?”

“Done any adrenaline-inducing activities before today’s stunt?”

“Writing can be—”

“Jesus, that is not what I meant,” he growls, something unreadable spreading across his expression. “How can you write about something you’ve never experienced? If what you pulled back in the rental lot making our getaway is any indication, you’ve got some skill behind the wheel. Haven’t you ever wanted to feel the thrill of going nearly two hundred miles an hour?”

I’ve never come anywhere close to experiencing a thrill like that. But I can imagine it, the feeling of adrenaline pumping through my veins, the quickening of my pulse as I fly around the track, the sense of freedom tinged with danger. I’ve never had the opportunity to drive a car like Zach’s, and I doubt I ever will. Truth be told, as exciting as fleeing the rental lot had been, I’m not sure I’m cut out for the high stakes of a superspeed drive.

That doesn’t mean I can’t understand the allure for a man like Zach. God, Zach Westwood is so fucking gorgeous, and I should sneaking looks at that firm mouth I want so badly to feel pressed against mine, or his chiseled jaw that could possibly cut through glass. For my own sanity, I need to focus on what brought me here, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to control myself.

In my short time building up my sports blog, I’ve met all kinds of men, even those outside of NASCAR. Many are good looking, and on some occasions even have good personalities too, but Zach is different. He’s the only one that’s made my body tremble with these unfamiliar feelings.

The blaring sound of a car horn brings me back to the present with a jolt, and I slam the brakes just in time to avoid colliding with the rear end of a large SUV as it cuts in front of me.

Snap out of it, Zoey! You’re going to get you both killed!

Taking a deep breath to steady my shaken nerves, I notice a weight on my thigh. My eyes dart to the hand on my thigh, and I can feel the heat of it on my skin even through the layer of clothing between us. I bite down a gasp when Zach begins to rub in a soothing, circular motion up and down my thigh. Does he even realize he’s doing it, or the effect it is having on me?

Focus, Zoey!

“Sorry about that,” I breathe, “I didn’t see him changing lanes.”

“It wasn’t your fault. That asshole cut you off. Jesus, you are trembling, Zoey.”

My reaction has nothing to do with what just happened, but telling him that will only bring up questions to which I have no answers. How do I tell this man that my heart hammering so fast because of the hand he has pressed against my thigh?

Breathe, Zoey. Slow and deep.

“I’m fine,” I manage over the loud pounding of my heart. “It just spooked me, but I’m good now.”

“So no adrenaline-inducing activities for you, then,” he teases, and there’s that humored glint in his eyes again.

“Not for me, no. I’ll stick to writing about driving on the wild side.”

His mouth lifts in a smirk. “I don’t know, you showed a real knack for it back at the rental place. Maybe NASCAR isn’t for you, but you’d be a great tactical driver. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in action again. Want to give it a try now? There aren’t that many cars on the highway right now.”

“No,” I cry out, grabbing the hand resting on my thigh, and something electric sparks between us at the contact. I expect him to quickly pull away now that I’ve brought attention to his wandering hand, but he doesn’t. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for the day, thank you very much.”

Zach briefly turns to me, and in place of humor, there’s something else in those dark eyes. Something heated and dangerous that sends the spot between my legs pulsing with need. “There’s no such thing as enough excitement, Zoey. Not if it’s the right kind.”

“I’ve had more than my quota for the day. From meeting you to pretending to be your wife and then driving you to your hometown, I imagine that’s enough excitement for the day.”

He turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “So, you don’t often to be married to strangers then kidnap them?” he quips.

“Only NASCAR drivers I’m dying to interview. It’s a short list with just one name, so this is my debut performance.”

“It was too flawless for it to be your first time!”

“I was just lucky,” I counter, surprised by his sudden levity. The grouch from earlier seems to be dormant for now. “That poor kid was so excited when I told him I was your wife and took my word for it. I hardly needed to do much convincing, I think he was worried about offending you.”

“I see,” he says, leaning back against his seat, and I can’t help but note how at ease he looks now that we’re out of the city; it’s like he’s lost the weight of the world. The car falls into another silence, but less awkward this time, and neither of us brings to attention the fact that we’re still holding hands. I can admit that I’m reveling in my crush’s touch, but what’s his excuse?

“Off record, tell me one thing,” I say in attempt to distract myself from the sensations rolling through me at the feeling of his skin on mine. “What’s the most thrilling thing you’ve done outside of the circuit?”

Zach turns to me once more, and my breath catches in my throat at the grin on his face. “I’d never been kidnapped before, so that’s high on the list,” he says, and I roll my eyes. Is he ever going to let that go? I mean, sure, I forced him into the car with me, but is it still kidnapping if I’m still taking him where he wants to go? Before I can voice my argument, he continues, “I’ve also never brought a girl home before. It’s my first time visiting Valor Springs since I started racing, and now I’m bringing a girl home with me. The town gossips are going to have a field day with this.”