Charlotte Motor Speedway…
I’m dreading the task ahead of me. After Johnny’s wild stunt at the cat expo, things haven’t gone well. My dad had been livid when the event was covered on all the major news stations.
“Star Racecar Driver Johnny “Boy” Jones Escapes Vegas Cat Expo on Kibble Golf Kart” the newscasters had all crowed, giggling behind their manicured nails.
For three days, we were the laughing stock of the racing circuit. Then another news story came along and they stopped playing the video on a loop.
Now I’m here at the racetrack in Charlotte, North Carolina with Johnny’s new racing suit in my bag.
This time, I’m getting and keeping the upper hand with him.
“For the love of God, just get him to wear the logo racing suit and don’t screw this up,” Dad had said to me. “Our share prices have been increasing and I plan on keeping it that way. The man is making a fool out of us.”
I’d swore to him that I would.
After hanging up with Dad, I’d texted Johnny to set up a quick meeting to go over our working arrangement and a few other details.
He’d returned my text with a quick one of his own.
“Glad there’s no hard feelings, Summer. You can come party with me after the race. I can’t meet with you now. Too busy. I’m sure you understand.”
Just re-reading the text sent me into another spiral of rage. The nerve of that man. Too busy to meet with me, huh?
I knew Johnny would be at the track doing practice rounds so I decided to pay him a personal visit. A quick call to Bob, who had been nothing but nice to me so far, told me exactly where to find Johnny.
As it turns out, I wouldn’t have needed Bob’s directions after all. Once I arrived at the racetrack and showed my credentials to get into the infield, all I had to do was follow the crowds.
I find him nestled in the middle of a crowd of fans, shaking hands and kissing babies like a politician running for office.
For a long moment I stand there and watch him. His face is slightly windburned and the tight, black t-shirt he’s wearing shows off his muscular arms. There’s a tattoo running down his bicep that I’ve never noticed before.
He’s smiling and happy, clearly in his element, chatting up the fans and making sure everyone is having fun.
I watch as he signs autograph after autograph, then poses for a ton of photos. He treats everyone the same…the scantily-clad, gorgeous race groupie women, the little kids, even the older men who want to talk about Richard Petty driving his Petty-blue, number forty-three car back in the day.
Johnny is patient and giving.
This is a side of him I haven’t seen before or even knew existed.
I like it, though I’m surprised.
When the crowds begin to thin out, I take a deep breath and smooth down the pink and white ruffle skirt I’ve chosen for this occasion.
Here goes everything.
The wind throws my hair and skirt into wild disarray as I march ahead in determination.
Johnny is bending down to sign a little boy’s arm cast when I approach. Glancing up, he beams at me.
“Summer!” he says as if I’m a long-lost friend, instead of the enemy whose expo he ran away from last time we saw each other.
Once he’s finished signing the cast, he throws his arms around me in a warm hug.
“Did you come to see me win again tomorrow? And then celebrate with me afterwards when I do?”
Startled, I eye him warily.
Is this guy for real?
I don’t answer and instead hold up the duffel bag carrying his new race suit.
“I’ve brought your new racing suit with our logo. I hope you’ll consider wearing it during the race tomorrow. It would mean a lot.”
Johnny scowls at me.
“Seriously? You’ve got to lay off this nonsense about the clothes. It’s borderline obsessive-compulsive and is beginning to give me weird vibes. Tell me something. Did you always wear brand names when you were a kid or something?”
I’m gripping the bag so tightly the plastic is digging into my palm.
“Do I need to remind you that you work for me, not the other way around?” I ask.
Johnny heaves a sigh and starts walking back toward a luxurious trailer parked in the infield.
“Sorry, got to run, Summer. We can catch up after the race. I’m heading to the trailer to grab a snack. This afternoon will be busy as hell.”
I rush after him in my high heels. The rain the past few days has caused the grass to be soft and my heels sink all the way down into the mud.
He turns around to look at me struggling and laughs.
“You should’ve worn something a little more practical,” he says. “Not that I’m complaining. At all. The wind is doing all kinds of sexy things to that short skirt of yours. You have a Marilyn Monroe thing going on. Minus the blonde hair.”
Right as he says that, a big gust of wind blows my skirt up around my waist, showing my bright, pink panties to anyone who’s watching.
“See what I mean?” he says, laughing outright at me now. “Damn! You are sexy as hell, girl!”
I gasp, holding the bag with his suit with one hand and trying to pull down my skirt with the other.
“Hang on,” he says with a big grin. “I’ll rescue you before you ruin those ridiculous shoes. I can’t believe you showed up in a fancy outfit. If you’re trying to impress me with your sexiness, it worked.”
He takes two big strides and picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I yell. “Put me down! My skirt!”
“Listen sweetheart, I don’t have all day to watch you stomp around mad in the mud in high heels. I’ll take you to my trailer where you can wipe your shoes off. Then I’ll call someone to bring a cart by to take your little pink panty-covered ass up to the VIP suite where you belong. From what I hear they have catered meals up there and everything. You don’t belong down here in the infield.”
He waves a hand to a glass box high up in the grandstands.
I don’t argue because the man has a point.
“You have a trailer here?” I ask against his warm neck.
He smells good, clean like soap, not heavy with strong cologne.
“Sure, right over this way,” he says. “I move it to another location at night. I don’t spend the night here because it wouldn’t be safe with all the fans camping out here in the infield too. They might attack me in my sleep. Or other things. You never know with racing fans if they’re friends or enemies. They always feel strongly one way or the other.”
He carries me over to a black motorcoach with his smiling face painted on the side and puts me down carefully on the metal steps before unlocking the door. Swinging it open, he motions for me to go in.
Once we’re inside, he grabs a paper towel and wets it at the small sink. He hands it to me.
“Wipe the mud off your shoes.”
“Thanks,” I say gratefully. “You’re right. My shoes are completely inappropriate. I’m new at this.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’ll learn. There’s a racing fan deep inside you somewhere. I’m sure of it.”
I don’t think so, but I’m not about to tell him that.
Johnny reaches past me to open a cabinet and I suddenly realize how physically close we are. The space inside the trailer is cramped. His face is mere inches from mine.
His gaze pointedly drops to my lips.
“Jeez, if you wanted to get with me, all you had to do was say something,” he jokes.
I try to ignore the warm heat spreading through my body.
Instead, I thrust out the bag toward him.
“C’mon Johnny, it’s one race. Please wear the suit.”
“Why does this fucking suit mean so much to you?” he asks.
He peers at me, genuine interest on his face.
“My dad,” I say simply with a shrug, “He thinks that you’re our ticket to super-stardom. You’re the darling of the press, and the hottest racecar driver on the track.”
“Thank you,” Johnny says, clearly pleased with himself.
“If it were up to me, we would’ve dropped you and gotten another team after that first day,” I say with a sigh. “Dad is stubborn as hell though. He’s convinced you’ll come around.”
Johnny grimaces.
“That’s too bad, because I won’t.”
“I know,” I say sadly. “I tried to tell him.”
My gaze goes to my mangled heel. A nice designer shoe ruined for this. And yet, did I really expect anything less?
My dad’s voice sounds in my head. “If at first you don’t succeed, then try again… and again, and again, and again, and again.”
His favorite quote with his own personal touch.
“Shit,” Johnny says, probably seeing the dismay on my defeated face. “This really means a lot to you, huh? Looks like you’d do just about anything to have me wear your suit.”
There’s a devious tone to his voice. I glance at him to see him wearing an worrying smirk.
“Just about,” I say with a stoic nod.
A tremor of excited fear goes through me. What exactly am I getting myself into here? I feel as if we’re playing a weird game of “truth or dare.”
“Even go on a date with me?” Johnny says, still smiling that smile I don’t trust.
“Depends on what kind,” I answer hesitantly. “If it’s just a date, and nothing is expected of me, then fine. If you’ll wear our logo, I’ll go on the date with you.”
“Deal,” Johnny says, reaching out to pump my hand in a quick shake. “Let me take a look at the suit then.”
He takes the bag and unfurls the suit. To his credit, he doesn’t bat an eye at the cat logo or make any distasteful remarks.
“There might be a slight problem,” he says after a moment.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You don’t like the color pink or the cat or the name of the company.”
He shakes his head.
“No, I was willing to go along with all that,” he says. “For one date with you. A deal is a deal. I shook on it and gave you my word. The problem is this suit isn’t made out of the same flame-retardant material as my regular racing suits. Do you realize our cars occasionally catch on fire which means we might catch on fire too?”
My eyes widen. I feel like an idiot. I’ve been so caught up in getting him to do what I wanted that I didn’t do my research.
“I didn’t realize,” I say.
“Yeah, it happens. More than we’d like, that’s for sure. A good racing friend of mine, Shane Davis was burned badly in a wreck a while back. Have you met him?”
I shake my head.
“His face is burned all the way down one side. Luckily for him, his racing suit protected most of the rest of his body. It was bad though. It took a long time for him to recover. He’ll never look the same. We can’t be too careful about this kind of thing.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for the suit.
“Hell, even my underwear is flame-retardant,” he says. “When I wear it. Which isn’t always.”
“Don’t I feel stupid,” I say. “I didn’t know. I would never ask you to do something to put your life at risk.”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about it,” he says. “I can wear it right now if it will make you happy. At least try it on to see if it fits. For the race tomorrow, I’ll wear my regular, specially-made racing suit though. How’s that sound?”
I nod in agreement. What else can I do? I screwed up.
“Alright then. You might want to turn away while I change. Or not,” he says, his shirt already halfway up his muscular physique.
Rapidly, I glance away, my cheeks burning.
“The thing is,” he continues conversationally as he changes. “Nothing will be expected of you on the date. Because by the end of the date, you’re going to want to spend a whole lot more time with me.”
“Are you always so over-confident?” I ask.
I turn around to give him a piece of my mind when I see that he’s only in his boxers. There’s a telltale bulge in the crotch area. He chuckles when I quickly glance away again.
“What’s the matter? You wanted me to try it on. At least I have on underwear this time.”
I jump up. The trailer is too small and I’m feeling uncomfortable being in here with him practically naked.
“I need to go,” I say.
“Hang on! Don’t you want to see how it looks? I meant to call someone for you to bring a cart around. There’s no need for you to go back into the mud again.”
I hesitate because I would like to see him in the racing suit since I’ve gone to all this trouble.
He’s stepping into it and tugging up the zipper.
“Damn! Too small,” he says. “If I take off my underwear too, maybe it will fit. Let’s try that. Anything to make you happy.”
He jerks the suit down and is quickly stepping out of it. Grabbing the band of his underwear, he jerks it down too. His incredibly large cock springs free.
Fuck!
“No need,” I say, almost falling out the door in my hurry to leave.
Before the door slams shut behind me, I hear him call out, “See you later! Don’t forget about out date!”
I make no response as I try to hurry away while maintaining my dignity as much as I can.
The wind whips my skirt up. I hold it down to avoid flashing all the spectators up in the stands watching the qualifying laps.
I should be smiling. He agreed to put on the suit which accounts for something.
The victory feels hollow with what just happened with Johnny.
There’s no denying the coil of heat between my legs. What if Johnny isn’t just a cocky talker after all? The more time I spend with him, the more attracted to him I am, against my better instincts.
What if he’s right and I want to spend more time with him after our date?
I can’t help but laugh at the thought.
Fat chance of that.
I know trouble when I see it.