Page 11 of Wrecking Boundaries (SteelTrack Racing #2)

I splash more water on my face and attempt to finger-comb my hair back into place. It doesn’t work.

“Princess, how do I look?”

“Like a man so full of shame he doesn’t know he’s doing the walk of shame.” Sarah leans against the bathroom door frame and crosses her arms. She’s still in last night’s pajamas, displaying none of my morning anxiety. “The look suits you.”

“Harsh, but deserved. You look amazing, like always.”

Sarah rejects the compliment as I knew she would. “I’ll put some coffee in a to-go cup for you.”

I put on my shoes and let myself relax before standing. It’s a full day between sponsor visits, driver’s meetings, and everything else. Sarah will be at the track, but we probably won’t cross paths. “Is there any chance you could swing by my trailer before the race? Or my hauler if you want somewhere more public.”

“That’s not a good idea. Your team will be swarming over it, and I don’t want to create rumors,” she says and frowns. “Take a sip before you go.” She hands over a paper cup.

I do as asked, primarily to hide my disappointment. “Go on a date with me next week.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

I ignore that because it’s only an opening offer.

“What if I place in the top ten? Think of it as a bonus in our business partnership. An employee perk, if you will. ”

“It’s barely a partnership, and I’m not an employee,” she says, but her expression is thoughtful. Her lips pull up into a smile. “Top five, and I’ll think about it.”

We’re negotiating, and I’ll come out the victor.

I expected another refusal. This is so much better. “Top three, and we go to bed together.”

“Don’t press your luck.”

I’m going to press. Foot all the way on the throttle. “Could I at least see you naked?”

“You need to go, Jake.”

“Naked from the waist up.” She cocks her head to the side. “One breast,” I say, since she still hasn’t refused.

Sarah attempts a glare but can’t keep her lips from twitching. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not behind the wheel, and not with you. I won’t quit, Princess.” Not until you’re mine.

“You’re going to be late.” She shakes her head with apparent amusement. “I’ll cheer you on during the race. I’ll be watching it with Maddie again.”

“I’m going to be so awesome; your voice will go hoarse from cheering.”

“Top five finish, then we’ll see.”

I grin because she just agreed to a date. “You’re amazing.” My phone dings, and I groan. People will be looking for me soon. “Thank you for letting me stay over.”

“Top five, Jake.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

∞∞ ∞

I was late for a sponsor visit and another sponsor visit, and now I’m late for the driver’s meeting. Absolutely fucking worth it.

Even after a shower and clean clothes, I can still smell the soft floral scent of Sarah’s perfume. That was my best night of sleep in months.

I scan the large meeting room, trying to find an empty chair. It’s a full house, with media and guests also attending. My eyes bulge upon finding the lone empty chair, primarily because of the occupant in the seat next to it.

“Boone,” I say, in a vague sort of mumble.

He glances at me and frowns. “Surfer boy. Good of you to join us. Tardiness is an excellent strategy for today’s race. You should keep it up.”

“I was aiming for a grand appearance. Anything for another camera on me.” It’s complete bullshit, but it will go over better than the truth. “You could learn from me. Hey, I can give lessons if you think it would help.”

I stayed the night with your sister. I tried hard to shag her but struck out. Want to hang out?

If this continues, we’ll come to blows, earning ourselves another fine. That’s the last thing I need.

“I prefer a more professional approach with the media. If it works for you, that’s great.” Boone’s tone makes his opinion clear. “You’ll need it.”

“I’m going to beat your ass today.”

Boone eyes me, his entire body dismissive. “Lots of luck on the track today, surfer boy. You’ll need it.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Is that what you did last night?” He laughs soundlessly and turns his attention elsewhere .

My mood sours, but then the bigwigs file up to the front, and I forget about the guy next to me.

He’s Sarah’s older brother, so our mutual dislike needs to be resolved.

Not today, though, because a top five finish means dinner and much more.

∞∞∞

“Jake, there you are.” Bert slides up next to me. He dabs at his forehead and cheeks with a handkerchief. “Dry heat, my sorry ass. Heat is still heat.”

How did he survive in race cars on concrete tracks? Heat exhaustion isn’t unusual in the sport.

“Morning, Bert,” I say, keeping it light because a sarcastic comment would not be well received. He also doesn’t deserve one. “Is Pierce with us today?” It’s a casual question because his partner attends races, even if he hasn’t been around this season. Sarah told me to avoid detective work, but this doesn’t count.

“He’s working on some other business deals. The tech world is too complicated for me.” Bert pulls at his waistline. “I didn’t mean for our conversation to end abruptly yesterday.”

Funny, it went fine for me except for the weird feeling. That’s still a worry. “It’s not a problem. You were busy.”

“Let’s meet at headquarters in the next couple of weeks. I’d like to discuss your contract renewal.”

My eyes pop up from shock. The conversation is past due and still comes as a surprise. “Sounds great. Thanks.”

He nods. “I expect you’ll do well today. Second pole and a second place finish here last year. Make us proud. ”

No pressure at all. “I intend to.” No pressure because Sarah promised me a date.

The pre-race show ends, and I head to pit road for engine starts.

This part of race day has always been one of my favorites. Racing is a part of me, but it’s also a stressor. Those moments when you’re alone in the car, and every engine starts once, it’s a rush of sound and energy that can’t be duplicated.

Then, you follow the pace car and enter a liminal space that transports you into another world. Not even the most devoted fan will experience it. The only people who exist are you and other drivers.

Mike gives his final pit chief send-off, and I head to my car.

Further down pit road, Sarah stands next to Madelyn Bennett. She pauses their conversation, and we briefly make eye contact.

The spell breaks, and she turns away, but not before raising her hand and stretching each digit wide.

Five.

∞∞∞

“Two down and one to go,” I say into the radio.

“How are those tires?” Mike asks.

Taking the second pole was a needed boost and kept me in the top ten. “Nice and warm. Good grip. What do you see?”

“Good performance. You’ll need a change before the race ends.”

“Not unless I want to blow them up,” I say and chuckle. Mike doesn’t respond, which is fine. “That was a joke. ”

He doesn’t respond.

“The 22 on your left rear. Two lengths,” Derek says.

I’m hugging the middle, which means a pass will be difficult unless Ryan McCarthy wants to do something stupid. However, the 22 is known for hasty decisions and pointless wrecks. “I can’t see him. Tell me if he looks for a spot.”

I took two tires and one tank of gas before starting the third stage. It won’t win the race, but it did give me ten laps in the lead, and I need every one of those.

“22 steady,” Derek says. “The 5 and 38 on the back stretch. It looks like they want to battle it out. 5 in front, now 38. Back to 5.”

“How’s my fuel?” I ask Mike. “Let’s increase throttle to 75. This car has performed great today. She can do more.”

“Don’t blow the engine,” Mike says.

“I will not blow the damn engine,” I say.

“22 on the inside,” says Derek.

I let him pass. There’s plenty of time to work my way up front.

Laps go by, and I keep my top ten placement. It isn’t enough, but all I need is one caution.

“Mike, I’m coming in. Can we go four?”

“Bring it in. We’ll fuel up.”

I pull down pit row and into my box. The best spot is reserved for the driver who takes the pole. It means another second or two, and that matters.

“Let’s go,” Mike yells into the radio. “Tire. Tire. Let’s go.”

I stay quiet for five long seconds. “Fucking hell. Gas. Let’s go.”

I get the tap and push the throttle.

Nine seconds.

“Mike, please pass on my thanks to the rest of the crew. That might be our best time this season.”

“Confirmed,” he says. “Will convey.”

“Could you sound a little excited when you do?” I say, knowing he won’t respond.

Once I return to the course, Derek says, “The 5 and 22 are back at it.”

“What’s my position?” Nine seconds is quick, and it’s also longer than forever.

“You lost thirteen spots,” Derek answers. “The 5 is getting loose. He’s twisting and hit the 22. The 38 is stuck in the mess. Coming up on the backstretch.”

I finish the turn and get through the wreck. “Counted four cars,” I say, and then forget about it because the yellow flag is out.

My lucky caution.

The field goes in for a final pit, and I shoot to the front. It’ll be a fight at the end, but a battle makes for excellent racing.

“You’re coming up on the 19,” Derek says again.

Bob Mason lost a tire early and has been down ever since. “Nothing to worry about.” There was not enough time for him to gain, and he’s experienced enough not to wreck me at the end.

Five laps later, the flag turns green.

“Let’s go, boys,” I say.

“You’re in great shape,” Mike says. “Increase throttle.”

I do, and the number of laps finished grows.

“You have the 29 on your left,” Derek says

Shit. That’s Boone Rivers, my future brother-in-law. “Let’s make him work for it.” Future relationship or not, I will not give way to that asshole.

Two laps remain.

I pull ahead, and Boone goes high. I follow, and he falls back.

“He’s gaining,” I say.

He pulls up, and we cross the line.

I suck in a breath. “How did we do?”

“Third place today. That’s a good finish. Rivers in 2nd with the 29.”

“Papa, I’m coming home,” I say, and Mike ignores that, too.

Rainbows out of my ass.

∞∞∞

Third place. I needed it. All of us did.

“Great work, Mike,” I tell my pit chief. “The car drove great, and I appreciate the work you and the engineers put into it.”

The pit crew surrounds me, and I hug each one, giving them my appreciation. Drivers get all the accolades even though it takes the whole team. These guys are beasts on race days, and I’ve witnessed them train enough to know how much they work for it.

Bert approaches, arms stretched wide. What the hell, we both stink. I’m soaked under the suit. We loosely embrace, and he steps back. Someone hands me an energy drink, not seltzer, and I guzzle it.

“Great performance today, Jake. You did us proud.” Bert removes his hat, revealing a sunburn on his head. The poor guy must be miserable. “They’ll be more in your future.” He points at a reporter and leaves, probably for some needed shade.

It’s Jill Longwood, who operates the racingtoday.com site with her husband.

“Jake, tell us how you feel after today’s race.” She asks without preamble.

I pull my helmet off, chucking it into the car seat behind me. “Great. I had a fast car and one of the best pit crews in the entire series. They deserve most of the credit for these results, especially with that last stop.”

She doesn’t care. “You’ve had some rough performances this season, especially after last year. Are you out of the slump?”

Screw that, I was never in it. “Lots of racing still to go. Two poor starts in the beginning mean little, not to us. We’ll keep improving, and I’m confident there will be trophies in our future.”

A glance shows Boone Rivers doing his own interview. Sarah and Maddie are talking. Her back is to me, but I know she’ll eventually see the entire interview. She won’t be able to stop herself.

I smile, answer the following question, and casually raise my hand. To any viewer, it looks like a stretch. Only one person will know what it means, and she’s the only one who matters.

Five.