She stops and sits up, but doesn’t stand. She looks confused at my presence here. I guess I don’t blame her for that. At least it’s confusion and not anger. Maybe we can have a civil conversation.
“Dixon?” she asks.
She’s wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt that’s covered in grease and dirt. It hugs her curves, just like the tank top at the diner. Her blonde hair is up in its usual ponytail, not down like it was yesterday.
I lick my lips, taking her in.Why am I noticing her body now?I realize I’ve just been standing here, ogling her as she crosses her arms over her chest, starting to look annoyed.
Say something, you idiot.
“I wanted to thank you for your tip yesterday at the diner. And apologize for last week’s antics,” I finally say, stuffing my hands into my jean pockets.
A look of surprise crosses her face as she stands, wiping her hands on her jeans. Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman wipe her dirty hands on her jeans before. It’s kind of, dare I say—hot.
Did I say hot? No.No.
Stop thinking that Regan Brady is hot, you fucking fool.
“Oh, you’re welcome. I told you, if you need it, I’m happy to help where I can.” She smiles, and I know she’s being genuine. That smile shows a dimple on her cheek that I haven’t ever noticed before. Has it always been there? “As for last week,” she continues, walking toward me, “I was pissed, but looking at the replay later, it was clear that the air shifted between our cars, and you never made contact. I’m sorry I punched you. That wasn’t the right way to go about it.”
She holds out her hand for a shake, and I give a small smile before taking it. That buzz from the contact of her skin returns with her touch. Hands that look soft, but have calluses on them all the same. My jeans tighten behind the zipper, all from a damn handshake. I’ve raced with this woman for two whole years, so why is it just now that I’m noticing how beautiful she is? Or have I been ignoring it? I cough and let go of her hand, though something inside really doesn’t want to let her go.
“I would have done the same thing,” I chuckle. “I know you want to help, but I’m okay without it. I can do things on my own.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” she says in a softer tone as she takes another step closer. A whiff of her scent catches me off guard, her shampoo I think. Vanilla mixed with the grease on her shirt and pants. “I do appreciate the apology, Dixon. Not something I expected from you.”Me either.She catches my gaze, sending more sparks through my chest. I take a step back, hoping putting some distance will snuff out that spark, stomping it out before it grows into a wildfire.
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. It’s a one-time thing, Brady.”
That dimple appears again as she smiles. God, it’s fucking gorgeous. I fight the urge to reach out and rub my thumb across it.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I need to get out of here.
“Of course. You’re my rival, after all,” she says in a slightly teasing tone.
“So, see you on the infield?”
“Yeah, see you, Dixon.”
She goes back to what she was doing and disappears under her car. I scrub a hand down my face, wondering what the fuck just happened. I hop back in my truck and head home. My thoughts are still spinning around Regan.
Regan? Brady, just Brady.
I’m walking through the garage at Charlotte Motor Speedway to meet with Daniel and his family. I’m really excited to have them here. I pulled some strings and got the pit passes, and they will be in one of the nice suites to watch the race.
I walk over to the gate and nod at the security guard to let them pass through. I crouch down so that I’m eye level with Daniel.
“What’s up, big guy?” I ask, raising my hand for a high five that Daniel eagerly gives. He’s still connected to an oxygen tank that he is dragging behind him. “You ready to get an exclusive tour?”
He nods in excitement. “Yeah! I want to see everything!”
I lead them into the garage, showing them the car and introducing them to the team. They all give high fives and even let him use an air gun on the tires.
Daniel and his parents are all smiles. I love that I can bringthis kind of joy to someone else. I take them out of the garage and bring them to the pit box, helping them climb up.
“This is where Steve sits throughout the race, giving me all the information I need from his fancy computers to help me be faster than everyone else.”
“That’s right,” Steve says as he climbs to the top of the box. “He has to listen to everything I say. That’s why being a crew chief is so much better than being a driver,” he says with a wink.
