“Is this … what does this mean?” I ask, confused.
He winks as he hands it back. “You’ll be smart to keep him on top of that to-do list.”
I laugh. Blushing. OMG is he asking me to do him? Is that his name? No way, it can’t be. “It’s not my to-do list. I’m looking for a driver,” I say.
“I know the best driver in the world. Actually.”
“Really.”
“Yep.”
“I’d like to meet him. Then see him drive to see if I agree.”
“You’ll agree, all right.” He stares at me. He looks very cocky right now, lips curved. “Tell you what. If you agree he’s the best driver in the world, you fix my car,” he then says.
“And if I don’t?” I dare.
“I’ll get you a brand new one.”
“Oh wow, that confident of you.”
He just smirks, those damn gorgeous eyes twinkling again.
I laugh, my tiredness evaporating. “So who’s Racer. Is that you? Or is it this driver?”
His smile fades, and his eyes drink in my whole face again. When he speaks, his voice is lower. Husky. “Come to dinner with me, and we’ll talk about it all you want.”
Oh god. Is he staring at my mouth?
Am I staring at his mouth?
“I can’t. Well, I suppose I could but … I’m here on work. I don’t have time for dinner. Even if I’m starved.”
There’s a change in his expression as he regards me in unnerving silence, then he gruffs out, “I’ll be right back.”
I watch him head down the stands, a part of me hating to watch him leave, knowing I’ll probably never see him again. I don’t know why he has this effect on me. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been around my brothers and father too long. Maybe I really do need to get laid before going back.
The blue-eyed hottie appears about ten minutes later, and he’s carrying the best-looking hotdog I’ve ever seen, a bucket of fries, and a bottled water.
For a moment I gape at the food as he extends it over, his eyebrows low over those brilliant eyes as he smiles down at me, saying nothing.
“I …”
Usually I’m the one bringing food and drinks to everyone. I’m so unused to it I don’t even know what to say.
When he keeps his arm out, I force myself to take it.
My fingers brush over his, and a current shoots down my spine.
I try to hide my reaction by bringing the food to my lap and lifting the hotdog immediately to my mouth. I take a large bite, then realize he’s settling down next to me, watching me.
“Thank you,” I say, gulping it down.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes twinkle again as he shifts his thigh, his body lean and big and yet remarkably agile in the easy, stealth-like way he moves. “You said you hadn’t eaten or slept. It was either this or a pillow,” he says, his eyes glinting amusedly.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
“Let me pay you.” I reach into my wallet, the hotdog in one hand as I try to open up my wallet with the other. “How much was it.”
“Don’t worry about it, I get free food here,” he says.
I think he’s joking, because his eyes are doing that wicked thing they do, but I’m not sure because he’s not smiling.
Relenting because I really need to watch my expenses during this trip and he looks stubborn enough that I’m pretty sure arguing won’t work, I slowly eat it, aware of him watching the track as I do. I hear his father and girlfriend walk down the steps. “We’re heading home,” his dad says.
The guy keeps his eyes on me, absently nodding as he looks at me thoughtfully.
I see his dad frown at him, and his girlfriend also seems confused as they shuffle out.
“Your girlfriend seemed concerned that you’re sitting here,” I say, once they leave.
He chuckles a low, rich sound, shakes his head. “Don’t you know? I’ve got no driving manners, but I’m not wishing me on anyone.” He grins when I only stare. “I’ve got no girlfriend.” He leans over, brushes a little piece of bread out of my lipstick. “But you’re pretty.”
“Thank you.”
I glance at the track, the food almost stuck in my throat as he lifts his thumb and licks off the piece of bread from his skin.
Oh my god.
I just came—almost.
There’s a silence. His eyes so blue I feel like they’re an angel’s eyes, or a devil’s in disguise.
“I don’t have one either.”
“You don’t have a girlfriend?” There’s a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his lips that I find irresistible.
I laugh. “No! I don’t have time for a girlfriend. I had … well, I had a boyfriend but …” I shake my head, look down at the hotdog on my lap. “I don’t mean to go through that again.”
After David nobody has touched me. I suppose that’s why my knees feel weak, why my cheeks burn as his finger brushes my hair, and why staring into his eyes makes me breathless.
I suppose I didn’t expect … that face.
I mean.
Who in the world could expect that face staring back?
Chiseled to perfection. Perfect nose, high cheekbones, hard jaw, glinting narrowed eyes, straight eyebrows, and fringed among the darkest lashes I’ve ever seen, those electric blue eyes.
I almost choke out, after I swallow my most recent bite of the hotdog. “Do I have more food on my lipstick? Your staring is making me nervous.”
His soft chuckle seems more amused than apologetic as he shakes his head. “You know what they say about people who wear their emotions on their sleeves.”
“Yeah.”
“You wear yours in your eyes.”
My eyes widen. He peers down at me intently, a smile on his lips.
“Really? How am I feeling now?” I laugh at that, feeling flustered as I clutch my hotdog.
“Now? Or before you asked?”
“Now.”
“You’re happy.”
“Really?” I say, and I do feel carefree, happy, and a little flirty too.
“It’s the hotdog,” he says, though I can tell by the mischief in his gaze he’s not buying that.
“Oh. For sure. You have no idea how long it’s been since I had one,” I say, biting into it again, a big bite to prove my point.
His smile widens for a second, and then it fades, and we sit in silence, watching the track as the cars zoom past.
I feel self-conscious now.
About my stupid, expression-filled eyes.
“Are you traveling on your own?” he asks.
I nod.
“How long are you staying here?” he asks again, sounding intensely curious.
“Not long,” I breathe, unsettled by his implacable gaze. “You? Do you live here?”
“I do. Not my family. They’re visiting.” He smiles lightly, one dimple appearing.
“Oh.”
Just then, he leans forward, taking the idle hotdog from my hand and lifting it to my mouth.
I open my mouth to protest and he inches it closer, and I end up taking a bite. My stomach tightens as he lowers it, watching me eat it, his eyes really blue, really observant and unnerving, and really, really close.
“What about him,” I ask, pointing at the guy currently out on the track.
“Awkward on turn four,” he says, sparing him a second’s glance.
I pay attention, and realize he’s right, he loses speed on turn four.
“Is it true you know the best driver in the world?”
I know I sound dubious, but I know there’s no such thing. All of them have qualities and flaws, all of them depend on the car, the weather, hell their lucky stars.
His eyes darken. He nods.
His body is delicious, I need to fight my eyes to keep them from dropping down to his thick thighs in those black jeans, and his shirt hugging those muscles.
“Will you introduce me.”
He reaches out and takes my pen again, scribbling a street address on the back of my list. As he bends down to write, I stare at his profile and at his mouth, and I wonder what that mouth would look like after being kissed by me. After kissing me.
He winks as he hands it back. “You’ll be smart to keep him on top of that to-do list.”
I laugh. Blushing. OMG is he asking me to do him? Is that his name? No way, it can’t be. “It’s not my to-do list. I’m looking for a driver,” I say.
“I know the best driver in the world. Actually.”
“Really.”
“Yep.”
“I’d like to meet him. Then see him drive to see if I agree.”
“You’ll agree, all right.” He stares at me. He looks very cocky right now, lips curved. “Tell you what. If you agree he’s the best driver in the world, you fix my car,” he then says.
“And if I don’t?” I dare.
“I’ll get you a brand new one.”
“Oh wow, that confident of you.”
He just smirks, those damn gorgeous eyes twinkling again.
I laugh, my tiredness evaporating. “So who’s Racer. Is that you? Or is it this driver?”
His smile fades, and his eyes drink in my whole face again. When he speaks, his voice is lower. Husky. “Come to dinner with me, and we’ll talk about it all you want.”
Oh god. Is he staring at my mouth?
Am I staring at his mouth?
“I can’t. Well, I suppose I could but … I’m here on work. I don’t have time for dinner. Even if I’m starved.”
There’s a change in his expression as he regards me in unnerving silence, then he gruffs out, “I’ll be right back.”
I watch him head down the stands, a part of me hating to watch him leave, knowing I’ll probably never see him again. I don’t know why he has this effect on me. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been around my brothers and father too long. Maybe I really do need to get laid before going back.
The blue-eyed hottie appears about ten minutes later, and he’s carrying the best-looking hotdog I’ve ever seen, a bucket of fries, and a bottled water.
For a moment I gape at the food as he extends it over, his eyebrows low over those brilliant eyes as he smiles down at me, saying nothing.
“I …”
Usually I’m the one bringing food and drinks to everyone. I’m so unused to it I don’t even know what to say.
When he keeps his arm out, I force myself to take it.
My fingers brush over his, and a current shoots down my spine.
I try to hide my reaction by bringing the food to my lap and lifting the hotdog immediately to my mouth. I take a large bite, then realize he’s settling down next to me, watching me.
“Thank you,” I say, gulping it down.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes twinkle again as he shifts his thigh, his body lean and big and yet remarkably agile in the easy, stealth-like way he moves. “You said you hadn’t eaten or slept. It was either this or a pillow,” he says, his eyes glinting amusedly.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
“Let me pay you.” I reach into my wallet, the hotdog in one hand as I try to open up my wallet with the other. “How much was it.”
“Don’t worry about it, I get free food here,” he says.
I think he’s joking, because his eyes are doing that wicked thing they do, but I’m not sure because he’s not smiling.
Relenting because I really need to watch my expenses during this trip and he looks stubborn enough that I’m pretty sure arguing won’t work, I slowly eat it, aware of him watching the track as I do. I hear his father and girlfriend walk down the steps. “We’re heading home,” his dad says.
The guy keeps his eyes on me, absently nodding as he looks at me thoughtfully.
I see his dad frown at him, and his girlfriend also seems confused as they shuffle out.
“Your girlfriend seemed concerned that you’re sitting here,” I say, once they leave.
He chuckles a low, rich sound, shakes his head. “Don’t you know? I’ve got no driving manners, but I’m not wishing me on anyone.” He grins when I only stare. “I’ve got no girlfriend.” He leans over, brushes a little piece of bread out of my lipstick. “But you’re pretty.”
“Thank you.”
I glance at the track, the food almost stuck in my throat as he lifts his thumb and licks off the piece of bread from his skin.
Oh my god.
I just came—almost.
There’s a silence. His eyes so blue I feel like they’re an angel’s eyes, or a devil’s in disguise.
“I don’t have one either.”
“You don’t have a girlfriend?” There’s a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his lips that I find irresistible.
I laugh. “No! I don’t have time for a girlfriend. I had … well, I had a boyfriend but …” I shake my head, look down at the hotdog on my lap. “I don’t mean to go through that again.”
After David nobody has touched me. I suppose that’s why my knees feel weak, why my cheeks burn as his finger brushes my hair, and why staring into his eyes makes me breathless.
I suppose I didn’t expect … that face.
I mean.
Who in the world could expect that face staring back?
Chiseled to perfection. Perfect nose, high cheekbones, hard jaw, glinting narrowed eyes, straight eyebrows, and fringed among the darkest lashes I’ve ever seen, those electric blue eyes.
I almost choke out, after I swallow my most recent bite of the hotdog. “Do I have more food on my lipstick? Your staring is making me nervous.”
His soft chuckle seems more amused than apologetic as he shakes his head. “You know what they say about people who wear their emotions on their sleeves.”
“Yeah.”
“You wear yours in your eyes.”
My eyes widen. He peers down at me intently, a smile on his lips.
“Really? How am I feeling now?” I laugh at that, feeling flustered as I clutch my hotdog.
“Now? Or before you asked?”
“Now.”
“You’re happy.”
“Really?” I say, and I do feel carefree, happy, and a little flirty too.
“It’s the hotdog,” he says, though I can tell by the mischief in his gaze he’s not buying that.
“Oh. For sure. You have no idea how long it’s been since I had one,” I say, biting into it again, a big bite to prove my point.
His smile widens for a second, and then it fades, and we sit in silence, watching the track as the cars zoom past.
I feel self-conscious now.
About my stupid, expression-filled eyes.
“Are you traveling on your own?” he asks.
I nod.
“How long are you staying here?” he asks again, sounding intensely curious.
“Not long,” I breathe, unsettled by his implacable gaze. “You? Do you live here?”
“I do. Not my family. They’re visiting.” He smiles lightly, one dimple appearing.
“Oh.”
Just then, he leans forward, taking the idle hotdog from my hand and lifting it to my mouth.
I open my mouth to protest and he inches it closer, and I end up taking a bite. My stomach tightens as he lowers it, watching me eat it, his eyes really blue, really observant and unnerving, and really, really close.
“What about him,” I ask, pointing at the guy currently out on the track.
“Awkward on turn four,” he says, sparing him a second’s glance.
I pay attention, and realize he’s right, he loses speed on turn four.
“Is it true you know the best driver in the world?”
I know I sound dubious, but I know there’s no such thing. All of them have qualities and flaws, all of them depend on the car, the weather, hell their lucky stars.
His eyes darken. He nods.
His body is delicious, I need to fight my eyes to keep them from dropping down to his thick thighs in those black jeans, and his shirt hugging those muscles.
“Will you introduce me.”
He reaches out and takes my pen again, scribbling a street address on the back of my list. As he bends down to write, I stare at his profile and at his mouth, and I wonder what that mouth would look like after being kissed by me. After kissing me.
