Fuel To The Fire (New Adult Contemporary Romance) (4 page)

“Uh
sorry—” Marco begins.

Harvey
overcomes his shock and thankfully exits the room.

“Uh...I’ll
just wait out here,” he says as the door closes.

“Dammit
Marco!” I shout. I can’t get him off me fast enough.

“Hey
settle down,” he replies.

“This
was supposed to be a medical exam!” I holler as I grab my bra and panties.

“Hey,”
he protests, “You wanted it too. Putting your hand on my bare hip. You started
it!”

“What?”
I shout. I reach down, grab one of his shoes and launch it at his smiling face.

The shoe
ricochets off his forehead. I pick up another shoe and throw it. This one
strikes him in the chest and falls to the floor between us.

“Are you
done yet?” he barks, beginning to get a little angry.

I chuck
the shoe straight at his head, but he ducks. The door opens, and this time its
Enzo, our Red Bull sponsor, who takes it in the chin. I am so angry I don’t
even notice that I’m still stark naked and must look like a raving lunatic.
Enzo though doesn’t appear to be too upset about the whole shoe thing and just
bends over to pick it up without taking his eyes off my body. I grab my race
suit and do my best to cover myself from three sets of prying eyes. Harvey is
back in the room and is all too happy to be here.

“Can we
have a little privacy here?” Marco finally says. He takes one menacing step
towards the two men who quickly back out, shutting the door in front of them.
Marco turns to me, an ugly look beginning to creep onto his face. “Now, if
you’re finished with your little tantrum, will you please get dressed. I still
have some work to do and you’re supposed to be in the pit with the rest of the
crew.”

Slowly
the reality of my situation sinks in. As I get dressed I wonder if this is the
last time I’ll be putting on the red, blue, and silver Red Bull pit crew suit.
Marco seems to guess my thoughts and his face softens. He smiles and walks over
to me.

“It’s
fine, Carrie. I’m sure this isn’t the first time a driver has had relations
with a member of his team. You don’t have to worry about losing your job, if
that’s what you’re thinking. My job may be on the line, and I may lose my ride
for next year, but for now, I’m all Team Panata has and if I go they all go.
It’s actually in everybody’s best interests if I’m happy and driving well. I want
you on my team and no one’s going to fire you because of this little incident.
Like I said, I’m sure this is not the first time something like this has
happened.”

While I
appreciate his little speech here, I can’t help but wonder something. Has he
ever been involved in one of these little incidents that he claims probably
happens every once in a while? I wonder how many other pit crew girls he has
given that speech to. He seems to read my thoughts.

“In case
you’re wondering Carrie, this is a first for me. So no, I haven’t given this
little speech before. And besides, in case you haven’t noticed, females are
scarce when it comes to the teams. You’re in a man’s world, Carrie.”

We
finish dressing in an uncomfortable silence and leave the room; exam unfinished.
I doubt anyone’s going to complain about it though. We have a race to get ready
for, so people’s minds are going to be on everything but our indiscretions.

The
moment I enter the pit crew area I discover just how wrong I am. Suddenly there
are ten pairs of crew members simulating the ‘exam’ that just went down. Wow,
news spreads fast around here. I refuse to be baited and just keep my eyes down
and refuse to be drawn into any conversation that has to do with anything other
than racing. After a minute or two everyone realizes their little joke is just
not that funny and they give up and return to the task at hand, winning the
upcoming race.

“You can’t fix stupid…”  Larry Morgan

Marco

Marco
Panata’s practice run at Atlanta Motor Speedway...

“You got
your head in the game now Marco?” asks my crew chief Alanzo.

“As
opposed to where his head was a minute ago?” my Red Bull sponsor sneers.

Geeze,
the hell I’m gonna catch for what just happened. Well I was hoping I’d catch it
some other damn day! It’s gonna be hard enough to concentrate today.

“Looks
like he’s still got Carrie on the brain...” says Craig, my gas man.

“Yeah,
kinda like water on the brain,” Alanzo replies, “only the swelling happens
someplace else.”

“Very
funny guys, very funny.”

I climb
into my new number 77 and strap myself in. The conditions are ideal for a
practice run. There’s a cool breeze, the track is dry but not too hot. Ideal
for the tires I’m running right now. As I start revving her up my spotter
checks in.

“How ya
feelin’ Panata?”

“I’m
ready to tear it up!”

“Show us
what she’s got!”

The
moment I pull out of the pit area and onto the track I know something is
wrong...really wrong. I’d have a lot more credibility with my team had I known
exactly what was wrong before nearly putting myself into the wall at the first
turn. I screech to a halt just inches from the concrete barrier.

“Something
wrong boss?” asks my spotter.

“I can’t
get her to make a left turn. What the hell you guys do to her?”

For an
answer all I hear is laughter coming from my team. Boiling over with
frustration I climb out. I’m done for the day. I rip my helmet off and throw it
to the ground. The reality of my situation hammers me right between the eyes.
Those idiots! They turned my damn car around. If I hadn’t been so distracted by
the whole Carrie episode I’d have noticed before I even climbed in. I give my
helmet a swift kick for good measure and hoof it back to the pit area and my
waiting crew.

“Very
funny,” I snap. “Very fucking funny, guys. Are we really doing so well we can
burn through a practice session with childish pranks?”

Ignoring
their apologies, I stomp off to my trailer to cool down. They just about put me
into the wall with their lame ass joke! Well...in retrospect, had my head really
been in the game the joke wouldn’t have gone as far as it did. I really do need
to get out there and put some time in this new car or I’m gonna be in worse
trouble come Sunday.

The next
four hours behind the wheel are some of the roughest laps I have ever turned in
a race car. Murphy’s Law is in full effect. I start out over steering but when
I come into the pit, they over correct and the next corner puts me in the grass
in the middle of the track. Then my tire carriers bring the wrong set of tires
over the wall and my tire changers don’t catch the mistake. They set me up for
running hot on a day when the surface temperatures aren’t even pushing eighty
and I’m all over the place. On the last pit Carl, my Jack man, fails to get out
of the way and I end up running over his foot. What a day. The only good thing
about today, well aside from my little exam with Nurse Carrie, is that today
wasn’t a race day.

Carrie

Monday
Evening…

I’m just
sitting down with my second glass of Pinot Noir when there’s a knocking on my
door. It’s gotta be Rachael. No one else comes by at. I look at my watch. No
one ever comes by this late except Rachael.

“It’s
open!” I holler. I hear my door open then close again. “Perfect timing Rachael,
I was just sitting down—”

I turn
around as I’m speaking, and when I see who it is that’s really dropped by, my
glass just about ends up on the floor. I barely recover and set it on the
kitchen counter.

“Sorry
to ambush you like this Doc, but I really would appreciate it if you would
finish the exam.”

“You
really think that’s wise?” I ask.

“I
promise, I’ll be 100% gentleman, no funny business.”

“You
know I could lose my job if Dr. Collins catches wind of our little escapade
this afternoon.” Dr. Collins is the team physician and oversees Rachael and I
and the rest of the medical staff.

“Not to
worry Doc, nobody’s telling anyone about it,” Marco says.

“I’m not
a doctor, I’m a nurse. And I fail to see how this is going to be kept secret
when the entire team knows about it.”

“Yeah
but they know who to tell and who to keep things from. They all like you and no
one wants anyone to lose his job over this.”

“Well I
hope you’re right, because if I blow it on this team I’m finished with NASCAR
for good!”

“I know
hun, I know.”

“Then
you should also know I’m not your hun, or sweetie, or dearie, or anything else
you might think of. I’m your trauma nurse, so let’s try and keep this
professional.”

“Agreed.
Hey is that your bedroom?”

“No
going back there. You stay where I can see you,” I protest.

“Is this
for me?” he asks, returning to my kitchen with the bottle of wine.

“It was
for Rachael, since I was sure you wouldn’t have the bad taste of coming by at
this late hour.”

“Hey,
dial back the hostility will ya? You got my promise, I’m 100% gentleman.”

He does
seem sincere...but a part of me wishes he wasn’t. For some inexplicable reason
I find myself wanting to be with him. Yeah, as bad an idea that is, I can’t
help what my body responds to. And right now it’s responding to him...again. I
decide to sit down on my couch. I’m suddenly feeling a bit wobbly on my feet.

“You
okay Doc?” he asks, walking over to the couch, taking a seat at the opposite
end.

I
consider protesting him sitting there but that seems a bit extreme since he
gave me his solemn promise twice. And besides, he wouldn’t dare come into my
trailer and take advantage of me. He’d be kicked off the team in a heartbeat.
As I sit here contemplating, I find myself sneaking glances in his direction.
He is one handsome man, especially when he’s got a week’s worth of growth on
his chin. His hair is damp and even from here I can smell whatever body wash he
just used in the shower. And that’s where I lose it. Thinking about him in the
shower. Dammit, if he would have just waited till after he comes over to shower
I wouldn’t be thinking about his naked hard body right now. Two glasses of wine
don’t help my ability to resist either. I rarely drink at all, and having two
glasses of some strong wine is really catching up to me. I turn my body to
where my knees are pointing in his direction. Big mistake. The short flimsy
skirt I’m wearing decides to ride three quarters of the way up my thighs and it
turns into a micro mini in the blink of an eye. This is not how this is
supposed to be going.

Of
course the move is not lost on Mr. “I’ll be the perfect gentleman”, either. He
shifts to face me as well. Now our knees are only a couple inches from each
other and I can almost feel the electricity between us. This is not good.

“So what
brings you by?” I ask, for lack of a better thing to say.

He sets
his empty wine glass on the coffee table. “How do think I ran today?” he asks.

“I
really don’t remember, actually.”

“Are you
normally this detached?” he asks.

“Hmm...I
don’t know, never really thought about it.”

“Right.
I think you usually pay attention but today was...how shall we say...it was
rather unforgettable, don’t you think?”

“I think
you’re under a lot of stress Marco, and that’s affecting your concentration and
your ability to function behind the wheel. You have a lot riding on these next
few months, yes?”

“That’s
pretty much it. Just before my doctor sprung me, my crew chief and my primary
sponsor Enzo, from Red Bull Italy, came by.”

“That
can’t be good.”

“No, it
wasn’t. If I want to race next year for Team Panata, the team that carries my
freaking name, if I don’t wanna lose my ride next year, I have to either place
top ten in points or win at Daytona.”

“How are
you doing in points?” I ask.

“Too far
off to make it unless I win every single race for the remainder of the season.”

“Well,
we both know that’s not possible. Not even your father could have done that.”

“Right.
So that leaves Daytona. If I win at Daytona I get to keep my sponsor and my
ride for another season. That’s why my brain is so fucking scrambled right
now!”

“So you’re
saying I’ve gone and hitched my wagon to the wrong horse?” I ask. The minute
that comes out of my mouth I regret it. That was a little too morose.

“Didn’t
anyone ever tell you not to whip your horse? He’s liable to bolt and you’ll
lose your wagon as well.”

“Sorry...I
shouldn’t have said that.”

“You
think I can get a refill?” he asks, picking up his empty wine glass.

“Sure.”

I refill
both our glasses. This time when I sit down I notice he has moved closer to my
side of the couch and his knees are about an inch from mine. At least I got the
chance to return my skirt to its normal mid-thigh location.

Over the
next hour or so we talk about our favorite subject, NASCAR. There’s not really
anything else that interests either of us. When I set my glass down again and
turn to face Marco I’m suddenly aware of how much I’ve had to drink. My head,
which was buzzing along rather pleasantly for much of the evening, has picked
up the pace and is now spinning.

When I
turn to face Marco, I move a little too fast and sway, dangerously close to
falling off the couch. Marco realizes it and is there in a flash to steady me.
The only problem is that he happens to cop a feel in the process. The moment he
realizes what he’s inadvertently done he jerks both his hands back and I end up
falling unceremoniously onto the floor with a thud.

“Sorry...sorry
Doc, didn’t mean to let you fall...”

“It’s my
fault. I sat down kinda fast,” I glance at my empty glass. “And I don’t usually
drink this much.”

He lets
me pick myself up off the floor, but this time when I sit, he’s so close that
I’m practically in his lap. Before I know it we’re in each other’s arms and
horizontal on my couch.

“You
promised to be a gentle—”

He
covers my mouth with his. There’s a battle raging in my mind. I swore I would
never get involved with another driver after Danny, and here I am sprawled out
with yet another driver. But we’re not actually
involved
, here. It’s just two consenting
adults having some post-race practice fun...or something like that.

A
wandering hand tugging at the edge of my panties brings my mind back to the
present. Marco’s hand slips beneath the thin material and an involuntary gasp
escapes my lips as his palm cups my sex, forcing my legs farther apart. Without
really meaning to, I find myself arching my back. I let out a long sigh as he
lowers his weight down onto me. I feel him pressing against me, and I lose all
pretense of self-control. We undress each other in a hurry, and finally connect
in that most intimate of ways.