“It was good. Just had some lunch and did some catching up. Nothing crazy.”
“I’m glad y’all had a good time,” Dad says before resuming the video.
It was nice to catch up with Cindy. I need to remember to make it more of a priority when I’m not too busy. I know she understands when it’s racing season, but that’s no excuse.
I think back to Dixon working in the diner to support himself. I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t want someone to help. It doesn’t have to be from me. From the look he gave me, he was surprised someone he knows showed up there. Obviously, he keeps that part of his life under wraps.
Honestly, he keeps most of his life outside of the racetrack away from the limelight. Other than the persona he shows at the track—I don’t really know much about him.
“Where did you go just now?” Dad asks. I didn’t even realize I spaced out.
“Nothing. Just thinking about the Charlotte race and what we have to do to prepare.”
I don’t even know why I’m lying to him. It’s not like it’s a crime to see people outside the racetrack. But talking to Dixon without any obligation may seem like I want to be friends with him or something, and I donotwant that.
A nice hot bath sounds like a good way to relax, especially before race weekend and to let go of what happened with Dixon at the diner. I sink into the warm water, filled with a relaxing bath bomb, giving the room a fresh, lavender scent.
The hot water seeps into my taut muscles. I didn’t realize how tense I was until now. The pressure of this season is already taking its toll, and we still have many races left. My mind wanders back to Dixon in his Meadow Diner work shirt. How it fit him snug across his broad shoulders and showed off his clearly fit physique. I start to squirm under the water and bubbles.
My eyes flash open.
I amnotgetting turned on by Dean fucking Dixon. No, no,no. This is not happening. I squirm again, but even in the water, I can feel how slick I am between my thighs.
The need for relief sweeps over me, and I reach down tomy center and rub a light circle around my clit. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the urge to touch myself. It’ll only happen this once. Just to get off quickly. That’s it.
I start to picture what it would feel like with Dean’s body above mine, imagining that my hands are his much larger ones as I continue to play. I circle harder, faster. I don’t stop until I feel myself on the brink of my orgasm. The image of his lips on mine sends me over the edge. I bite my lips to keep from calling out his name, along with any other noises I may make as my fingers slow and finally come to a stop.
Breathing hard, coming down from my release, my endorphins start to wear off and I realize what I’ve just done. I just made myself come to the thought of Dean Dixon and I together. I scrub a wet hand down my face.
What is wrong with me?
Sure, I’ve noticed that Dixon is attractive, but he’s never turned me on before. Maybe I just need to try and keep my distance from him. That has to be it. I’ve been forced to see him so often that my hormones are taking over.
Yep, it’s totally hormones.
I climb out and drain the bathtub, pull on some clean pajamas, and try to make myself fall asleep.
THIRTEEN
DEAN
When I leave work,I’m thoroughly exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally, as well. Seeing Brady has drained me. I pull up in front of the race shop and walk up the stairs to my studio apartment above it. The owner, Tom Sampson, is nice enough to keep rent fairly cheap for me. All I have to do is give some extra hours in the shop. A fair price to pay.
I slump down on the futon, trying to relax my body and mind from the long ass day. I absentmindedly rub the spot on my wrist that Brady touched earlier. It’s like I can still feel her warm touch, her small fingers wrapped around my wrist. I wonder what it would feel like on another part of my body.
That sends a jolt south, and I thread my hands through my hair. I really need to get it cut. I can’t be thinking about Brady like that. She’s my rival, I don’t even like her. We’re competing against each other.
I assumed she would still be upset about last week’s wreck. I guess she’s let it go. Maybe I should talk to her about it. Even if it’s just to avoid future physical assaults. She was nice at the diner today, and she did leave that very generous tip.
She looked good, too. Wearing jean shorts that exposed her toned thighs, and a tight red tank top that displayed her womanly curves and breasts. I don’t usually see her out of her fire suit or team polos. The way she looked up at me, eyes like pools of caramel, makes me believe that she has good intentions.
The following day after my shift at the diner, I swing by the Brady Racing shop to see if I can find Regan, hoping to clear the air about last week and to thank her in person for her generous tip yesterday.
The two large garage bay doors are open as I pull up and park my truck. The evening air is still warm, even as the sun begins to set. The sounds of large industrial fans whir loudly inside the shop to keep it cool.
I spot her reaching into a toolbox to switch out a socket on the ratchet she’s holding. She starts to lay back down on the flat roller to roll back under the car. Before she pushes herself under, I call out to her.
“Brady! Hey!”
