Crossing the Line (Hard Driving) (7 page)

And at the same time, he wanted to see Cori again so he could feel reassured that there were still good, courageous people in the world who fought hard for the right thing. When she’d talked about going after a career in journalism because it was her passion, he’d been both impressed and aroused. That kind of drive combined with a focus on what truly mattered appealed to him, especially right now.

But he still didn’t get a chance to catch his breath and give her a call. Instead, he left the office and spent the morning going over changes to the car with the crew. Then he had to do some marketing work before giving a phone interview that consisted mostly of the reporter lobbing overinflated rumors at him and Ty trying not to throw the phone across the room.

Business as usual. Yeah, right.

At nearly seven that evening, he was in the upstairs conference room reviewing footage from Sunday’s race, but he barely registered what he was looking at.

He was thinking about Cori again.

On the screen, his car went round in circles. In his mind, he only saw her, those multishaded eyes wide and begging—

“What are you still doing here?”

Ty nearly jumped out of his chair at the sound of his mother’s voice coming from the doorway to the video room. She must have finished her sessions downtown, where she and another psychologist were partners in a private practice, and swung by on her way home.

He’d barely stood up before she was in front of him, hugging him tightly, the familiar lavender smell of her hair wafting up to his nose. Ever since he’d hit that growth spurt at fourteen, he’d never quite been able to stop thinking how strange it was to be taller than his mom. She had so much presence that she’d always seemed much more imposing to him.

He made a mock-choking sound at the way her arms were squeezing so hard, it felt like she was trying to break his ribs. “Hey now, Mom. No need to cut off my air supply. Unless you’re sick of me and are actually trying to suffocate me to death.”

She hushed him, but her grip loosened somewhat. “Oh, don’t ruin this moment. I haven’t gotten to hug you for too long!”

She had a point. She had called him right after his victory lap the other day, whooping in excitement over the phone. But it wasn’t the same as when she was able to get out to his races and congratulate him in person.

He laughed. “Hey! You saw me just a few days ago! Besides, you know your clothes are gonna get wrinkled if you don’t let me go soon.”

Vonda Riggs was famous in Charlotte for her well-coiffed, elegant style, and he was proud of that fact. Almost as much as he was of the brilliant work she did as a psychologist.

Mom huffed at him, but pulled away smiling. “A few days ago? Hardly. I haven’t seen you for a whole
week,
Tyler Riggs. A little wrinkle or two is more than worth it.”

Just then, Dad walked in.

“Bobby.” Mom’s greeting was little louder than an exhale. She stepped toward him immediately and Dad wrapped an arm around her waist. She lifted her head up for a kiss, and he obliged with a smile.

“Nothing like a kiss from the woman I love at the end of a hard day.” Then he pulled back and frowned. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Mom shook her head. “To be honest, I was worried about you two. I’ve had three people today stop me on the street and ask me if it’s true that Ty bribed the race inspectors to pass his car with modifications.”

Dad’s head snapped up and his gaze met Ty’s. The similarity in that accusation was way too close to what Bobby’s former crew chief had done—bribery before a race—to be dismissed.

Good, though. Maybe now, Dad would finally see reason and make a public statement. Maybe now he would understand how important it was to fight to defend the integrity of Riggs Racing by owning up to the mistakes of his past.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Dad relaxed his expression, then turned back to wink at Mom. “It’s just idle gossip, is all. It’ll blow over eventually. Don’t worry about it. But if you need something to relieve stress in the meantime, maybe you can pick up a hobby. Like cross-stitching.” Dad’s voice was solicitous, like he really meant what he was saying, but Ty could see the twinkle in his eye. The day Mom took up cross-stitching would probably signal the end of the world. She spent most of her free time reading heavy textbooks and presenting papers at conferences—domestic labor wasn’t really her thing. She laughed.

Ty clenched his fists at his sides and tried not to shout at them both for ignoring what was quickly becoming a very unpleasant reality.

Don’t upset Dad. Don’t upset Dad.

But damn it, he
had
to get out of there and find a way to let go of this angry energy that was threatening to explode out of him. To relieve some stress.

Hmm.
Dad had been joking just now with Mom about relieving stress, but he had a good point. A little distraction might be exactly what Ty needed, too. In fact, it might be the only thing that kept him sane over the next couple of months.

Which was probably why, when they all parted and Ty left the garage to go home, he found himself slipping a hand into his back pocket to clutch at the paper like it was a talisman.

He was going to call Cori the first chance he got.

That night, Cori walked into her tiny rented cottage just past eight o’clock, feeling like the world’s hottest mess. Somehow, over the last week, her life had gone on a bender and she was still racing to catch up with it.

After her meeting with Alex that morning, she’d rushed to take care of the things that had piled up in her other role while she’d been out of the office—ordering supplies, paying bills, filing expense reports, essentially managing the office the way she always had. But on top of that, she’d had to book travel and get her reporting schedule lined up for the next race, and things had gotten so busy that she hadn’t even had time for lunch.

But by the time she left the office for the long drive home, she was so hungry that she didn’t feel like eating, even though that made no sense. It was like her body had simply given up on any hope of food and had adjusted to running on fumes.

Now that she was home,
thank God,
she would grab something small to eat, then fall into bed and try to sleep off the intensity of today’s emotional roller coaster. But she’d barely crossed onto the faded linoleum and switched on the light when her phone rang.

Every muscle in her body went tight with anticipation.

She turned around and, despite her exhaustion, practically ran back to where she’d left her bag on the floor, rummaging through it for her phone.

It’s probably just Mom and Dad. It’s probably not Ty. Calm yourself. Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t—

She yanked her phone out and stared at the caller ID.
Restricted number.
That was usually reserved for people trying to sell her things she didn’t need or want, which was why she was on most no-call lists. So she rarely got calls from restricted numbers.

But now she was getting one the day after giving Ty her number . . .

That still didn’t mean it was him, though.

She swiped the screen and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

She hoped she didn’t sound too eager. If it turned out to be a telemarketer, she’d be so embarrassed. Not that anyone would know. But she’d never been this flustered by a guy before. Least of all such a hot one.

“Cori?”

Her stomach bottomed out.

It
was
Ty. She’d recognize his voice anywhere.

“Ty?” It came out breathless and excited, and she rolled her eyes at herself for being so obvious.

“Yeah. I’m glad you remembered me.” He laughed, smooth and so full of happiness.

“How could I possibly forget you?” She was teasing him, grinning as she said it, buoyed by the sheer joy in his laugh, but she immediately heard him make a soft sound of pain, almost like she’d gut-punched him.

“Yeah, I’m all over the news, I guess.”

Oh. Damn.
She’d heard about the increasingly vocal demands for an investigation of Riggs Racing. She’d even written a brief update on her original piece as soon as it had started trending on social media, but she hadn’t checked to see if any other outlets had written articles on it.

She didn’t want to hear the unpleasant things that were being said about Ty and Riggs Racing.

Then how are you going to write the exposé, if that’s what it comes down to?

“I read your article.” Ty spoke into the silence. The change of subject was abrupt, and felt significant.

She tightened her grip on the phone and tried to sound casual. “Oh?”

But her voice broke, even on that single syllable, and the reality of what she truly cared about for that piece came crashing through. It didn’t matter how many hits it had gotten. It didn’t matter that she’d made a huge career move because of that article. What mattered now was that she wanted
him
to like it. She’d written it . . . well, she wasn’t completely sure, but she’d wanted to honor him, somehow, the man who was good to his team and liked how he could have freedom on the track, who’d found himself in a terrible situation that he didn’t deserve.

Shit.
She truly
believed
in him. But what if he really had done what some were now accusing him of—bribing race inspectors to overlook deflated tires and holes in the wheel wells, both of which would make his car go faster?

What good could possibly come out of striking up a . . . well, not quite friendship, but some relationship that was more than professional with the son of the man she might end up publicly shaming?

Would you still really go through with it, if that’s what it came down to?

Uncertainty threw her brain into gridlock.

But Ty’s voice pulled her out. “It’s really good. Best thing I’ve ever read.” He sounded sincere.

But she demurred anyway. “Best thing you ever read? I don’t believe that. What about
War and Peace
?”

He laughed again. “I haven’t read it. But it doesn’t matter. Your article is definitely better.”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say. Technically, she hadn’t read that tome either, but modesty demanded that she argue, anyway, because Tolstoy was famous, while she was a no-name junior reporter.

But the truth was that she didn’t want to argue. She wanted to be able to say to someone,
Yes, it’s a great feature, isn’t it?

Before she could come up with a response, though, he changed the subject again. “I promised you an off-the-record conversation.”

Oh.
So that’s why he was calling. Not to flirt with her, but to follow up on a promise he’d made. She should have realized he was that kind of guy, just based on how much he praised his team members, and she was glad for it. It made their conversation more professional.

But still . . . she fought the urge to slump her shoulders in disappointment.

She’d wanted to flirt and think about his knee and breathless almost-kisses.

It’s for the best. You have to keep it under control, remember?

But then he added, “Besides, I’d really like to see you again.”

Oh. There it was. The flirting. She could hear the seduction in his voice, and despite whatever logical protests her brain had thrown up about why this was a bad idea, she felt her knees and her will go weak at the sound of that smooth, suggestive sound.

“Me, too,” she sighed.
Oh, great.
Had she just implied that she wanted to see herself again? She sounded like an idiot. “That is . . .
I’d
like to see
you
again.”

He didn’t seem to notice her flub, though. “Good. So what are you doing on Saturday night?”

Her heart started beating faster. “This Saturday?” There was no race this Saturday.

His laugh made her blush. “Yeah. I was thinking I could fly up around six o’clock and we could go somewhere quiet. Maybe grab an early dinner and talk.”

Fly up?
Just for dinner? Was that a romantic gesture, or did athletes do this kind of thing all the time?

Goodness, she was out of her element. But she tried to play it cool, and asked playfully, “Is
that
what they’re calling it these days?”

Smooth, Bellowes.
She immediately wanted to kick herself for saying such a thing. It was too forward. Too suggestive. But she’d been thinking about his eyes and his lips and his
knee
and
that bed
for what felt like years—

“No . . . but I’d like to actually kiss you this time, if that’s what you mean.”

She nearly choked on her own spit. “I, uh . . .”

She needed to stop this right now.

On the other hand . . . it was just dinner. And a kiss. One little kiss wouldn’t hurt anything, right? It wasn’t sex. It wouldn’t go
that
far.

She took a deep breath and managed to respond with “I’d like that, too.”

“Yeah?” She could hear his excitement, which matched her own. “Then what do you say? Saturday?”

“O-Okay.” The moment the word left her, she felt her anticipation grow exponentially, almost like she’d just agreed to something more than just a date.

No. Not a date. Just two semiprofessional people meeting up for dinner and a kiss. Friendly acquaintances kissed all the time, right?

“Only thing is . . .” He sounded uncomfortable.

“You want to keep it under wraps.” She knew it already. Given the PR mess he was in right now, being seen with a reporter under questionable circumstances wasn’t ideal.

Which worked out perfectly for her.

“Exactly.” This time, his tone was relieved. “I knew you’d understand. I’m sorry I’m asking you to keep a secret, though. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Too late. Too late to all of it.

But she made herself reply, “It’s okay. I do understand.” She gave him her address.

“Great. Thank you, Cori. I can’t wait. I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”

“Yes. Saturday,” she confirmed, but she squeezed her eyes shut as she said it, as though shutting out the truth made it easier to bear.

* * *

Ty woke up the next morning feeling like he’d swept all the races in the season. He’d done it. He’d asked out Cori, and he was going to see her this weekend.

He pulled on a pair of sweats and headed downstairs, hoping to get in a short workout before he had to get out to the garage. Like the other drivers, he tried to stay in shape so that he could last through the grueling conditions of a two-hour race, but not bulk up too much so that he would still ride light and lean in the car. It was a little tougher for him, being on the taller side, but he managed. He envied guys like Kolchek, who was a couple of inches shorter than Ty’s mom.

Racing was one of the few sports where being small was an advantage. And as much as folks liked to poke fun at short guys, Kolchek had women practically throwing themselves at him wherever he went, even though he was maybe five-foot-four on a good day. Too bad Kolchek was a total asshole when it came to women. But then . . . Kolchek was an asshole 24–7.

The doorbell rang and Ty glanced at the clock. Just after seven in the morning. There was only one person that could be.

The workout would have to wait. He grinned and padded over to the door in bare feet, opening it to let Mom step in. She hugged him and pinched his cheek teasingly. “Did I wake you up? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

He laughed and shut the door behind her, then ushered her into the kitchen. “You didn’t wake me up, but fifteen minutes earlier and you might have. Do you have time for coffee?”

“Do I have time for coffee with my only child? What a question.” Mom winked, but Ty knew she was serious, and he appreciated it. Even though Dad was frustrating the hell out of him right now, he loved his parents and loved that they made time for him.

It angered him that they’d worked so hard to give him a good life, and now that was being threatened by someone with an axe to grind.

Mom went to the counter and switched on the coffee maker. She was dressed impeccably, as usual, on her way to her office. It wasn’t far from there and she often dropped by in the mornings to say hello.

He took a moment to study her, to try to see her through a stranger’s eyes. Despite her doctorate in psychology, despite the care she put into the way she looked, spoke, acted . . . some people would simply never see anything but their own prejudices. At least because he was doing so well in racing, the stories that began with the color of his skin were usually favorable, even if they still focused too much on the wrong thing.

It was why he’d wanted so badly to start that program, for diversifying racing and making it more welcoming for kids of color, for women . . .

Now it was a broken dream.

Mom set out two mugs and gestured for him to sit down at the kitchen table. She poured coffee into both cups, added a splash of milk into one, then brought both over to the table to join him. “You seem a little distracted this morning. Yesterday too. Any particular reason?”

Damn.
He’d been hoping it wouldn’t be that obvious. He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Busy with the season starting, I guess.”
And dealing with a major disappointment and meeting a woman who I’m really, really interested in.

“I heard about your program being put on hold.”

Ty resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course she had. Dad didn’t keep any secrets from Mom.

She continued. “But I don’t think that’s what is really distracting you.”

He should have known Mom would see past his feigned nonchalance.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Something’s going on in your life that doesn’t have anything to do with racing, isn’t it?” She frowned. “But your dad didn’t tell me about it.”

Mom was good. Was it in the way he’d smiled just now when he’d thought about Cori? His too-stiff shrug? Either way . . . Mom was too perceptive by half, and Ty looked down at his mug, grinning at being caught. “That’s because
I
didn’t tell Dad about it.”

Mom laughed. “I should have known. I love him, but the man has no finesse. So does this involve a woman, by any chance?”

For a second, he hesitated. He didn’t want Dad to know, not least because Bobby might ask Ty to stop seeing Cori. She’d agreed to keep their meeting quiet, but his father was so fearful right now that even well-placed caution might not be enough.

But then, Mom was a lot better at keeping private things private and . . . why not tell her about Cori? As long as she didn’t tell Dad, it wasn’t like it would really hurt anything.

Ty shared what had happened so far with Cori, and that he was going to see her this weekend. When he’d finished, Mom nodded. “She sounds perfect, baby.”

He snorted. “Except for the part where she’s a journalist and we’re in the middle of a PR nightmare.”

“And you don’t think you can trust her?” Mom’s voice was sharp.

“No, I . . . I don’t know. She wrote something great about me when everyone else has been trying to tear us down because it’s more exciting to write speculative trash than the truth. I
want
to trust her. And we’re not going to be seen in public.”

Mom was quiet for a bit, studying him, then finally nodded. “In that case, sweetie, go for it. Just . . . be careful, okay?”