“I, uh—” I have no clue what I want to say, but it doesn’t really matter because words aren’t possible around the lump that’s lodged in my throat.
It’s official. Ben’s rendered me speechless. Not an easy feat where I’m concerned. Who knew praise was all it takes to make me shut my mouth.
Is that my kink? Am I a praise whore? Maybe, because the thought of Ben praising me for something other than my driving prowess—like maybe my blow job skills—definitely has my dick perking up.
“Are you okay?” He puts a hand on my thigh just above my knee and my already attentive dick is really rising to the occasion now. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. It was just video. It’s not like I’m a crazy stalker or something.”
The door swings open and Elodie, Jacques’ daughter, pokes her head in, her curvy figure impeccably dressed in a hot pink pant suit and matching heels. She looks like one of those Manhattan society girls who carry dogs in their purses, but in her case, looks are definitely deceiving. The woman is like a walking F1 encyclopedia, and she takes no shit from anyone, not even her father. “If you two are done with your little heart-to-heart, the engineers want to see you in the garage. Something about a potential fix for the power problem.”
Ben jerks his hand off my leg like it’s on fire. And now that I mention it, it sure feels like there’s an inferno blazing where he touched me.
“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” he barks at Elodie.
No one speaks to her like that without feeling her wrath, but Ben must be an exception for some reason that’s beyond me because she just flips her long blond hair over one shoulder and smiles. “That’s for people who don’t sign your paycheck.”
Damn. The woman is good.
Ben shoves his chair back and stands. “We were finishing up here anyway.”
Okay. I guess we’re done. I follow Ben’s lead and stand.
Elodie nods approvingly and disappears, her voice trailing after her. “Good, because you know how impatient engineers can be. Especially when they want to show off how smart they are.”
I don’t know about engineers. But I know my dick is feeling pretty fucking impatient right now. And unfortunately, it looks like it’s gonna stay that way for a while.
CHAPTER5
Ben
Back-to-back race weekends are killer.
With only a few days off between Spa Francorchamps and Zandvoort—and a car to get functioning again—I barely have time to breathe. Which is probably a good thing because it keeps my mind off other things. Like Stefan’s increasingly frequent calls and texts, which I’ve avoided responding to. And Grady’s absence, which I’m more aware of than I want to admit.
Most drivers return home between races when we’re in Europe. Even the drivers who live in Canada or the States during the off season tend to have a crash pad somewhere in Italy or Switzerland or the UK, where most of the teams are headquartered. Monaco’s a popular choice too, and that’s where Grady is now, in the apartment he rents for the season, hopefully enjoying some downtime and shaking off his DNF in Belgium.
To his credit, he didn’t want to go. He wanted to travel with the team to our factory in Silverstone for our Monday debrief, and then to the Netherlands on Tuesday or Wednesday with me and the other engineers.
But I insisted he take a damn break. He needs to get his head on straight, not worry about what the car is doing or whether it will be at peak performance for qualifiers on Saturday. He’ll have plenty of time to do that when he shows up on Thursday, with two practice sessions on Friday and one Saturday morning before qualifiers. A few days off won’t kill him.
Besides, that’s what reserve drivers are for, and ours, Giancarlo Rossi, is one of the best. He’s with the engineers now, giving his input on the changes they want to make. He’s as familiar with Grady’s car as Grady is, having done a lot of the preseason testing. He’s part of all our team meetings and briefings, too, and once in a while he even gets some on-track time in the first practice session.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s no Grady. He doesn’t have Grady’s natural racing instincts. Or his grit. But he’s a solid driver and a decent dude, exactly the kind of guy who the team needs to step in when Grady’s not available.
I drain what’s left of my third or fourth coffee of the day—I’ve already lost track, and it’s barely noon—deposit the mug on my desk, and head for the paddock to check in with Giancarlo and the rest of the crew. They’re doing a box run—a systems check where the car is fired up and the engine, hydraulics, gearbox and differential are all tested and data checked. Then we’re supposed to check the pit wall and workstations for IT, power supply, or intercom problems. There’s nothing worse than finding out you’ve got a communications issue minutes before the first Friday session.
I’m about halfway to our garage when my cell rings. Probably Zeke, who’s cat sitting for me. It’s almost 6:00 a.m. in Clearapple, and he usually calls around that time a couple of days a week before his shift at the Pump-N-Dump to let me know how Shelby and Miles are doing. I fish my phone out of my pocket and answer without bothering to look at the name on the screen.
“Oh mein Gott, you actually picked up the phone. Good thing I’m sitting down for this. Then again, I’m always sitting down.”
Damn. That’s not Zeke’s distinctive Kentucky twang over the line. It’s Stefan. The man I’ve been avoiding since I took this job.
Serves me right for not checking the damn screen before hitting accept.
“How’s Lina?” I’ve always liked Stefan’s wife, but I’d be lying if I said she didn’t scare me sometimes. She’s German, like him, but with even less of a filter. Which is probably why I’ve barely spoken to her since the accident. I’m afraid what she might say. Stefan might not blame me for what happened, but I’m not so sure about Lina. Like I said, she’s got no filter. If she’s mad at me, she won’t hesitate to let me know it.
“If you really cared how she—or I—were doing, you would have answered my calls before now. Or responded to my texts.”
Stefan’s voice has lost its teasing tone. Guilt stabs me in the gut. I’ve been a shit friend. Bad enough I put him in a wheelchair. Now I’ve abandoned him, too.
