Faster Harder (9 page)

“I’m in,” I tell Harrison, looking down onto his gorgeous
features, “Whatever the hell it is we’ve doing, I’m all in. As long as we can
be honest with each other, totally honest, from here on out.”

“I can do that,” Harrison tells me, “And right now, I
honestly want to take you right here on this beach and refuse to leave until
we’ve both had our fill.”

“Not so fast, Tiger,” I laugh, “You’re used to beating your
own time on the race track, but your days of driving solo are over. There’s
someone else with you behind the wheel now. Are you man enough to handle that?”

“And then some,” he tells me, “Just you wait and see.”

Chapter Six

Sex Hair

“Miss Lazio! Miss Lazio, over here!”

“Over here, Siena!”

“Question, Miss Lazio—Question!”

I blink out into the crowd, a mess of flash bulbs and eager
faces. Reporters, bloggers, and photographers rubberneck around each other,
every single one vying for my attention. I’m sitting at a long table with Enzo,
my dad, and Gus. It’s our last press conference before today’s qualifier race,
and every media type out there is trying to get the last bit of dirt that might
give them the edge. Even the journalists of F1 are too competitive for their
own good. I take a deep breath and lean toward the microphone.

“Yes, you there,” I say, nodding to a stout American man in
the front row.

“Miss Lazio,” he says, pulling himself up to standing,
“What’s the mood like in the Ferrelli camp, heading into this Grand Prix?”

“I’d say that, as a team, we’re optimistic about our senior
driver’s chances,” I tell him, “And confident that he’ll make a real showing
this weekend.”

“Well sure,” the man presses, “But you must be a little
shaken up by what happened to Maxwell Naughton on the track yesterday.”

“We’re deeply saddened by Mr. Naughton’s accident,” I say,
folding my hands in front of me, “It’s always difficult to see a good driver
and a very respected man get injured during a race. It reminds us all of the
risk these drivers take every time they get behind the wheel. Next question,
please.”

Dozens of voices rise up in the conference room, calling for
attention. When I first started running Ferrelli’s press events, the din was
overwhelming. But by now, I’ve been through this particular ringer far too many
times to let nerves get the best of me. I’m in my element here, wrangling the
press. It’s what I’m here to do, after all.

“You,” I say, pointing to a prim blonde woman in the back of
the room, “What is your question?”

“It’s a follow up, really,” she tells me in a musical
Swedish accent, “Has the change up of McClain’s roster altered anything about
Ferrelli’s strategy, going forward?”

“Our strategy is rather fixed,” I tell her, “Drive fast.”

An appreciative chuckle goes up around the room, but the
blonde reporter doesn’t flinch. “Harrison Davies is a very different driver
than Maxwell Naughton,” she says, “He’s fresh out of the gate, and very good at
that. He has a lot to prove this weekend, as well. Are you telling me that
Ferrelli isn’t concerned?”

“That’s right,” Enzo says, grabbing the microphone away from
me. I have to sit on my hands to keep from snatching it right back. Enzo’s
never been very good at speaking to the press. His temper makes it impossible
to control him during these events. “I’ve been an F1 racer for years. I’ve
trained since the day I was born. Pardon me if I’m not intimidated by a rookie
with a toothpaste ad smile.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” the Swedish reporter goes on, her
eyes gleaming, “Mr. Davies actually outpaced you yesterday during the trial—”

“Those times count for nothing,” Enzo says hotly, “And
anyone who claims otherwise is too ignorant about the sport to even be
speaking.”

My dad shoots me a furious look from down the table. I set
my jaw and go once more into damage control mode.

“That’s all we have time for today,” I say quickly,
resisting the urge to elbow Enzo in the ribs, “We have a qualifier to run,
after all.”

The room erupts into a cacophony of voices as the four of us
rise and take our leave. I wait until the conference room door has closed
firmly behind us before rounding on my petulant big brother.

“What did I tell you about addressing the press?” I ask
hotly.

“That woman wasn’t the press,” he sniffs, “She was after
gossip. Conjecture.”

“And that’s exactly what you gave her,” I retort, “Now,
thanks to your little chest-pounding moment, we’re going to have a dozen
articles about the rivalry between you and Harrison Davies.”

“There’s no rivalry between us,” Enzo says, “To be rivals,
you must be equally matched. That child has nothing on me.”

A flash of anger erupts behind my eyes for Harrison’s sake.
“What do you have against Harrison Davies?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you what I have against him,” Enzo says, “He’s an
opportunist and a playboy. He’s treating Maxwell Naughton’s tragedy like a personal
victory.”

“He’s McClain’s alternate,” I say exasperatedly, “It’s his
job to race if the senior driver is ineligible.”

“Well, he shouldn’t be so damned gleeful about it,” Enzo
growls, “Naughton is a good man. I respect him. This Davies kid is nothing but
a pretty face.”

“Look,” I say, crossing my arms, “I don’t know what this
vendetta is really all about, but you’re going to seriously bang up your image
if you keep antagonizing Davies in front of the press.”

“Your sister is right,” Dad says gruffly, “You’re only
giving him power by mentioning him at all.”

“What am I supposed to do then?” Enzo asks our dad, “Pretend
that I’m OK with him? He’s a show off. Nothing but charisma.”

“Just because you envy his charm, doesn’t mean it’s a good
idea to make a big deal out of it,” I say.

“Your brother doesn’t envy Harrison Davies anything,” Dad
snaps, “And shame on you for suggesting otherwise.”

“Hey, I’m not the problem here,” I say, hurt by my father’s
accusation, “And don’t talk to me like I’m thirteen years old. I’m speaking as
your PR manager right now, not your daughter.”

“You’re always my daughter,” my dad says, “No matter how
many titles you rack up. I won’t have you insulting your brother and this
entire family right in front of me.”

I stare at my dad, stunned into frustrated silence. It’s
been this way forever in our family: Enzo can do no wrong, I can do nothing
but
wrong.

“Tell me something, Dad,” I say, “Are you ever going to
treat me like a professional adult and trust me to do my job?”

“I do trust you, Siena,” he says, “More than anyone, I trust
you to have this team’s best interests at heart. To be the faithful team player
you’ve always been.”

My heart tightens as I remember the feel of Harrison’s lips
against my skin. Not twelve hours ago I was straddling him in the sand, wanting
nothing more than to give myself over right then and there. We both managed, by
some miracle, to hold back...but we came pretty damned close to going way
beyond the bounds of casual hooking up. If I’m honest with myself, my feelings
for Harrison Davies were far from casual from the start.

I lower my eyes, fearing that my family will be able to see
the guilt eating away at me, like I have sex hair that everyone can see. I’ve
always put the team, my family first. What would they think if they knew I was
off fooling around with McClain’s new number one man? It would be one thing if
I was attracted to some low-ranking driver from an unknown team, but Harrison
is shaping up to be a real competitor in this tournament. And the fact that
Enzo already dislikes him certainly doesn’t lighten the weight that’s dragging
at my heart.

“Are we gonna get a move on, or stand here biting each
other’s head off for the rest of the day?” Gus asks gruffly.

“Right,” Dad says, “We need to move. This qualifier isn’t
going to run itself.”

“You guys go ahead,” I tell them, “I’ll meet you there.”

They depart for the course without a word, but I start off
in the other direction. I step out into the warm morning, drawing in deep
breaths. Of course, the air is hardly as fresh as it might be. Rippling waves
of steam and exhaust billow up around the city as teams prepare for today’s
run. This will be the last go around before the actual race tomorrow. The
results of today’s qualifier will determine each driver’s position in the real
race. I know that Enzo is gunning for first today so that he can secure his
spot in the pole position tomorrow. Pole position is the best place to start
from in any race, and snagging that right can make a huge difference in the outcome
of a race.

I make my way to the course and spot Bex and Charlie
chatting beside the track barrier. Bex spots me as I hurry their way and can
tell in an instant that I need to talk. Charlie follows her gaze and sees me
approaching, too.

“Where the hell did you disappear to last night?” he asks
bluntly, “We waited at the bar forever after you left.”

“Just decided to call it an early night,” I tell him, “I
needed my beauty sleep.”

“Wish I had done the same,” Bex says, “Charlie and I knocked
back a couple more than we might have. Right, Charlie?”

“I suppose so,” he says.

“Speaking of, would you mind grabbing me a coffee or
something?” Bex asks, tossing her blonde curls back over her shoulder.
Charlie’s eyes catch on my best friend’s glistening locks, white tank top, and
skin-hugging jeans. He’s a goner.

“Sure,” he says, “I’ll...uh...be right back.”

My best guy friend hurries off on Bex’s errand, leaving us
alone to talk.

“It’s like you have magical powers or something,” I say.

“I just know how to get what I want. Especially from men,”
Bex smiles, “Besides, Charlie is not exactly the most difficult person in the
world to read.”

“No. And I’m reading that he’s way onto me,” I say softly.

“Onto you and Harrison, you mean?” Bex asks.

“Yeah.”

“I figured that’s where you snuck off to last night,” she
says, turning away from the crowd, smiling wide, “Tell me everything.”

“I just wanted to talk to him, at first,” I say, “We met
down on the beach, and—”

“You totally screwed, didn’t you?!” she asks excitedly.

“What? No, we...I mean we fooled around, but—”

“I can’t believe that this is your life, Siena,” Bex says.

“That makes two of us,” I sigh, “What the hell am I supposed
to do? Harrison is quickly becoming public enemy number one for Team Ferrelli.”

“I think you’re blowing it out of proportion,” Bex says,
“Charlie’s going to hate any guy who shows an interest in you. He’s your guard
dog. And Enzo’s going to have it out for any new driver who might give him a
run for his money. He’s too competitive for his own good.”

“So?”

“So, none of that has anything to do with you, or Harrison,”
Bex says, “Listen, Siena. I understand why you’re a little freaked out by
wanting to get freaky with Davies. This sport is your world. But try and see
beyond it, for a minute. In the grand scheme of things, you’re just a woman,
and Harrison is just a man.”

“Somehow, I don’t think my family will see it that way,” I
point out.

“Juliet’s family didn’t want her to be with Romeo,” Bex
says, “What would have happened if she’d listened to them, huh?”

“You do know that Romeo and Juliet both end up dead at the
end of the story, right Bex?”

“Details.”

I sigh, leaning my elbows on the barrier railing. “Maybe the
rivalry thing will blow over before it even gets going,” I say hopefully, “If
Harrison isn’t a real threat to Ferrelli’s chances of winning, no one will care
if I spend a little time with him.”

“Exactly,” Bex smiles, “And really, what are the chances
that this rookie is actually going to be good enough to beat your brother?”

“I don’t know,” I say, “Harrison seems to be a rather
skilled gentleman...”

“I expect a full play-by-play of last night. Right this
instant,” Bex says.

“Come on now,” I wink, “You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

Bex is about to retort when the race announcer’s voice roars
through the speakers.

“Today’s qualifier will begin in just a moment,” the voice
says enthusiastically, “Drivers and crews should report to their positions.
Spectators are encouraged to find their seats.”

Bex and I hurry off to where the rest of Team Ferrelli has
gathered. Charlie hurries up behind us, coffees in hand. I happily accept my
cup, glad to have a tiny distraction from my racing thoughts.
Just focus on the race
,
I coach myself.
There
will be plenty of time to figure out the personal stuff later
.

The excitement rising above the crowd is palpable. This is
the first time we’ll all get a glimpse of the full Grand Prix lineup. The track
is lined with car after gleaming car, each plastered with stripes and logos and
vibrant colors. Each vehicle is an extension of its driver—celebrities in their
own right. Even the drivers who never finish in the top ten are still regarded
as heroes around here. No matter what a driver’s ranking, he’s still racing in
Formula One, after all. It’s a small, elite group of people who have the guts
to do so.

I spot Enzo’s emerald green ride right up front. From this
far off, I can’t see his eyes behind his visor, but I know that they’re
gleaming with anticipation. Enzo’s never more himself than when he’s speeding
down the race track. Despite his ego, despite his temper, he’s one hell of a
driver. Sisterly pride swells up inside of me every time I watch him race by,
and today is no exception. There is one thing, of course, that makes today’s
run very, very different for me: Harrison Davies.