Smokin' & Spinnin' (23 page)

Ryan speaks softly again. “Lay back down.” He runs both hands around my neck. His touch sends chills down my spine, and I close my eyes. He grasps each end of my necklace and unlocks the fastener. I watch his every move as he removes my necklace and places it on the nightstand.

Ryan looks around the room and spies my duffel bag on the floor. He rifles through it and comes up with a T-shirt. He returns to my side and kneels down. He hands the T-shirt to me as he proceeds to remove my shoes. While he is preoccupied with my sandals, I pull the T-shirt over my strapless dress, suddenly embarrassed by the way he is caring for me like a child.

Ryan helps me stand. He pulls my blue sundress down caressing my legs with his fingers. “I love this color on you, and the fact that it matches my car, too.” I smile shyly although I am about to collapse from the sensation of his touch.

I step out of my dress and kick it to the side as Ryan pulls the hotel duvet back. I slide down into the cool sheets. It feels heavenly. Ryan steps back and removes his shoes and empties his pockets.
What is he doing?

“Slide over,” Ryan says softly.

I obey his command, and he slides down into the bed with me. I turn away from him, and he snuggles behind me. Ryan drapes his arms over me. I can feel his lips on my ear when he says, “I don’t mind if you tell Brooke about us. I know how important she is to you.”

I nod against his embrace and whisper, “She is only thing I have left.”

“Not anymore,” Ryan says, then softly kisses my neck below my ear and pulls me deeper into his arms. I smile into my pillow and am sated as I drift away.

* * *

I awake to the sound of my iPhone alarm. Oh no! My head pounds with each ring. I sit up, not even sure where my phone is, but quickly find
it lying on the nightstand within arm’s reach. Suddenly, I realize as I swipe the home screen to silence the alarm that I am alone. Ryan is gone. Or was he ever there? Did I dream it?

I try to process all these thoughts, but I am hit with a wave of nausea. I have to take something for my head. I turn back to the nightstand, and there is a glass of water waiting for me. Strange! Beside the glass is a note.

I didn’t want to leave you, but I had to get back before dawn. Drink this water, and eat your breakfast. You will feel better. See you at the track.

Gasp!
He was here. My heart swells. Before I can process any thought in my brain, there is a slight knock on my door. My heart skips a beat.

“Room service!” I hear someone call out from the door.

I scamper to the door, still in my T-shirt, open it, and the attendant rolls though my door with a breakfast spread and a large vase of beautiful white roses. He hands me a small card as he sets up the feast. I am taken aback. I can’t believe Ryan coordinated all this for me.

I hold the card tightly in my hand, then reach for my purse to find a tip.

“Oh, no, ma’am, please, it has already been taken care of.”

Of course it has. I smile and nod as he leaves. Once the door clicks and I am safely alone, I remove the white card from a small envelope.

Please don’t worry. We will figure this out. RFC

I laugh out loud at his signature, RFC, and the memory it evokes. My Ryan Fucking Carter. I lie back on the bed with a million thoughts fluttering in my mind. Does he want to figure this out? Is there more to figure out? He must care, or he wouldn’t have coordinated all this, this morning. Or does he know that he has already screwed me up and he feels sorry for me, as the end to this fling is near? My head continues to pound with each thought. I cannot do this to myself. This internal self-dialogue is taking its toll on me. I have to get control.

I sit up and look at the roses and breakfast again. He does care on some level, no matter what my subconscious might say. I stand up shakily and walk over to the table. The breakfast smells heavenly. Before I sit down, I reach out and finger the gorgeous white roses that grace the table. So soft. Hmmm, I wonder.
Why white?
Doesn’t each color stand for something? I will have to ask him.
No, don’t even go there, Whitney!
He probably doesn’t even know himself. Just leave well enough alone.

* * *

Ryan was right. After a good breakfast, Advil, and a hot shower, I feel good as new. Plus, my anxieties from this morning seemed to have passed. As I approach the pedestrian tunnel, race adrenaline begins pumping carelessly through my veins. I am filled with exhilaration as I jump out of the Escalade and bid Max good-bye.

Today is a huge day, qualifying. This is as big, if not bigger, than the race itself since the time trial decides how each car will start the race. There are fifty cars on the docket today, but only forty-four will make the cut. Ryan has secured a morning qualifying position, while Garrett will take his turn in the afternoon.

We have events scattered throughout the day, as if qualifying wasn’t enough. At lunch, we have a photo shoot with Ryan’s car for
the race. It has a special paint scheme to celebrate the Fourth of July. Then, we have a meet and greet in the Sprint Fan Zone at 1:00 p.m., and lastly, a ribbon cutting and cocktail reception for the new opening of the Carter Racing Legacy display in the Daytona 500 Experience. It makes me exhausted just thinking about it all, but I can’t think about anyone or anything right now. I have a job to do.

The hauler is quiet. Everyone must be over in the garage. I place my duffel and my garment bag in my usual spot. Since today is so hectic, I won’t have time to go back to the hotel to change before the reception. I will have to change into my cocktail dress here.

I set out to the garage to see how close we are to Ryan’s qualifying slot. When I arrive, everyone is gathered around Ryan’s car as he sits inside. Bobby is talking animatedly and waving his hands in the air, which I’m sure means he is giving Ryan a lecture. I laugh.

The sound of my laughter causes everyone to turn in my direction. I flush, then smile.

Bobby walks over to me. “It is almost his turn, and then he is all yours!”

I laugh at him. “So soon?”

Ryan interjects. “I can hear y’all, you know!”

I smile at Ryan. “I would be worried if you didn’t,” I snap, then turn back to Bobby. “How is the car?”

Bobby sighs, “It is good, real good, probably the best car we’ve had all season, but if hothead doesn’t keep his britches on and learn to be patient, we are all screwed!”

I almost choke on Bobby’s response. Ryan gives us both a disapproving look and then fires the engine to his number #62 Chevrolet. We watch and laugh at his expense as he backs his car out of the garage to proceed to pit road.

Bobby and I stand in the garage and watch the monitor as Ryan takes the track for his warm-up laps. I take a deep breath.

“It has gotten to you, hasn’t it?”

Bobby’s question takes me aback, and I blink rapidly, trying to process his question. Did he say “it” or “he”?

Bobby quickly clarifies. “Racing, the adrenaline?”

I take another deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “Yes, it has.” I smile.

“Ryan really does have a great car for Saturday, and I just hope he can keep a clear head about him. We need a win badly.” Bobby sighs.

“I understand.” I nod, then turn my attention back toward the monitor as Ryan gets the green flag for his qualifying lap.

Bobby is very tense, and I can’t hear the words that he is muttering under his breath. Ryan is moving effortlessly through the turns and then fires down the back straightaway. The monitor displays his current speed versus cars that have already qualified. Unfortunately, I don’t have a clue as to what they mean or how Ryan relates.

Ryan sticks the car down low, very close to the apron, as he navigates turn three, then turn four. He guns the car out of the last turn, then fires across the front stretch.

As Ryan crosses the start/finish line, Bobby lets out a throaty and exaggerated, “Yeeeaaahhh, baby! That’s what I am talking about!”

Bobby fist pumps the air and sets off. I look back at the monitor, and Ryan has posted the fastest time trial so far, but there are still many more to go. It will be late afternoon before the final pole position is determined. So far, it looks good for Ryan. I turn to retreat back to the hauler, when a firm arm snakes around my waist. I step back, stunned by the touch, and am pulled into the arms of Colton Johnson.

My eyes are wide with surprise, which he laughs off. I try in vain to wriggle from his grasp, but he holds me tighter.

“You never texted me back last week,” Colton says softly in my neck. He is very calm, but something about his statement is very menacing.

“I…I turned my phone off when I left Kentucky and didn’t receive your message until the next day.” I mumble the lie very unconvincingly. In the distance, I can hear a car making its way to the garage, and I fear its Ryan.

Colton’s embrace makes my stomach roll with nausea. I fight off the urge to convulse because Ryan now owns my body, and any touch other than his is just repulsive. I try to pull away from Colton again, but he tightens his grip on me once more. This time it starts to hurt.

My pulse quickens as Colton leans over and whispers into my ear, “I don’t take well to being ignored, and I have been waiting a long time, Whitney.” I can feel his lips move against my skin, and his breath is hot on my face. Colton’s words and his manner send fear radiating across my body.

I gasp, not knowing what to say, and the inevitable happens. Ryan pulls his car into the garage. I look away from Colton and meet Ryan’s cold gaze. I can tell he is very angry from witnessing Colton’s grip on me. I try again to step out of his reach, failing again.

“Colton, now is just not the right time,” I say softly, looking at him and watching from the corner of my eye as Ryan climbs out of his car.

Colton plants a chaste kiss on my cheek, then releases me with such force it causes me to stumble backward. He smiles a curt smile, slightly turns his head to acknowledge Ryan, nods, then walks away just as Ryan reaches my side.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Ryan’s tone stuns me. “I…I…” I fumble for the words, still in shock about the encounter with Colton. “It was nothing,” I say, trying to defuse the situation.

“It sure as hell didn’t look like nothing,” Ryan snaps and walks away.

I can’t breathe.
What just happened here?
Colton completely flipped the switch on me. What a terrible misjudgment of character on my part! I gasp in desperation from this exchange with Colton and now a very angry Ryan Carter. Here we go again…

* * *

I step back into the hauler. It is empty except for Ryan, who is perched on a stool with his head leaning back against the wall. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

I wait for a few minutes, then say, “It’s time for the meet and greet.”

Ryan abruptly opens his eyes, and his expression tells me that he is still radiating anger. He jumps down from the stool and walks past me in a huff. I follow suit behind him silent but frustrated.

After we take a few hundred steps in silence to the Sprint Fan Zone, I finally say, “He was angry with me because I didn’t text him back last week.”

Ryan stops cold in his tracks. “I don’t give a damn what it was about, but I don’t like it. I don’t want him near you, much less have his hands all over you. Do you understand me?”

I step back, shocked by his sudden outburst.
Whoa. Jealous much?

Before I can respond, Ryan explodes again. “You know, I don’t even care right now! I have too much on my plate and way too much at stake for this bullshit.” He waves his hands in the air for effect, then turns and stalks away. My shoulders fall in defeat. He is so unbelievably stubborn, but he is right. I let him go.

There are cars still waiting to qualify as we take the final shots of Ryan with his Fourth of July–themed Chevrolet. I can tell he is still mad even though it has been several hours since the incident with Colton. I have tried to give him some space because I know he is anxious about the qualifying times. So far, he still has pole position.

As soon as the photographer wraps, I leave quietly to go to the hauler and get my clothes to change for the cocktail party at the Daytona 500 Experience. Brooke brought over a beautiful short black cocktail dress for the reception. I am excited to wear it. It is a fit and flare with layers of black ruffles that start at the waist. Oh! And let me not forget about the gorgeous black-and-silver Jimmy Choos that Brooke has let me borrow. I am surprised she didn’t make me sign a waiver to wear them—or that she didn’t
come back to the apartment and take them back after our fight. I laugh to myself.

I take my bags and set off for the ladies’ room in the VIP area to change. It is quiet, and I have the bathroom to myself. It would be so nice to have a shower to wash off the Florida humidity, but it wouldn’t last for long since I am going right back out in it. I spread out my makeup and find a plug-in for my CHI iron. After washing my face, I hoist myself up on the counter, trying hard not to think about how wonderfully this day started and how it has progressed. What a disaster! I hope that I can salvage the evening at the Carter Legacy opening. I completely redo my makeup and try in vain to take the frizz out of my brown locks with not much luck. Reluctantly, I pull it back in a loose, high bun. A few short layers fall in tendrils around my face thanks to the heat. This is the best I can do for now. I step into one of the stalls and strip down. The cool air feels good on my naked body, and I lean against the cool metal stall door to steady myself and my nerves. I have half a mind to just hide in here for the rest of the night. Wouldn’t that be nice? Would anyone even notice?

I slide into the black dress, and it fits me perfectly. I take out my flip-flops for now. I still have to walk back to the hauler, then over to the Experience. While the Jimmy Choos look good, they are hell on the feet, and I wouldn’t dream about ruining Brooke’s shoes. Our friendship is a different story. It seems like I’m doing a great job of jeopardizing it these days. I sigh. I take out my cell phone to send her a quick text.