Smokin' & Spinnin' (24 page)

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Can we have dinner next week? I need to talk to you.

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I hesitate over the send button, but only for a moment. Ryan said that I could tell her. I want to tell her. Maybe she can help me sort this all out. I hit send. I gather up my belongings and steal a glance at my phone for the time. I am right on schedule.

I step out of the hauler and take a deep breath. I have a long walk in these heels, but here goes nothing. Before I can take a step, a blue GCR golf cart flies up beside me and screeches to a halt. The driver lets out a long whistle.

“Hey Whitney, you clean up good!”

I laugh. It is Justin, a young, sandy-haired crew member who can’t even be eighteen years old.

“Thank you!” I say politely. “Can you give me a lift?”

“Of course, let’s go!”

I sit down in the golf cart, and Justin takes off with a jolt. I have to hold on to the side to steady myself.

“Sorry!” Justin smiles apologetically. “Can you believe we could possibly have pole position for Saturday?” he says excitedly.

“I know! It is exciting!” I reply as we pull up to the museum. I take a few seconds to gather my senses before I get out of the golf cart.

“Have fun tonight! We didn’t get the invite,” Justin says, referencing some of the other crew members. He is basically a gofer, but I can tell he loves his job. Surely, he is happy to do whatever they tell him to do just to be a part of this race team. I can now relate to what a privilege it is to work for a NASCAR organization.

I smile sweetly at him as I step off the golf cart. “Well, if I had known that, you could have come as my date!”

Justin flushes about twenty shades of red. I wave good-bye, and he gives me a wink as he takes off.

Chapter 25

I
walk into the Daytona 500 Experience a few minutes early. I produce my team credentials and am ushered quickly through the door. I have only taken a few steps into the museum when I am thrust a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Scared to tell the overexuberant server no, I take a glass. I wonder if it would be impolite to take two. I shake my head.
Remember last night, Whitney. We don’t need a repeat
, I chastise myself.

There are a few early partygoers milling around the exhibition hall. I can see the area that holds the Carter Racing Legacy display, but it is covered by a cobalt-blue cape and a huge red ribbon. I take a moment to look at the other displays and am captivated by the rich family history and legacy that NASCAR is enthralled in. It is amazing.

I am distracted from my reverie by the entrance of a large group of people. I look up from the Daytona display to see Garrett and a beautiful brown-haired woman in her midfifties who I assume is Ryan’s mother, Laura. They make their way into the museum, and a throng of people flock to them. Garrett and Laura greet each one of them warmly and fondly. It makes me feel very comfortable. Garrett makes eye contact with me and smiles curtly. Then, he proceeds to lead
Laura over, and my anxiety level is back on the rise. I take a deep breath as he approaches.

“Whitney,” Garrett says formally, “I would like for you to meet my wife, Ryan’s mother, Laura.” He pauses. “Laura, this is Whitney Parker, Ryan’s new public relations manager.”

I smile and offer my hand, which she takes and smiles grandly, making me comfortable in their presence. Laura is beautiful and says kindly, “Whitney! I have heard so much about you and how you are making a huge difference with Ryan.”
Really?

I smile, although I’m confused. “Thank you, though it is more than a full-time job.” Both Garrett and Laura look at one another and laugh out loud at my joke. I am sure they can relate.

Our conversation is interrupted by another beautiful middle-aged woman who steals Laura away into another conversation. I turn back to Garrett, who says, “Speaking of the devil, where is Ryan?”

“I’m not sure,” I say timidly.

Garrett nods. “Whitney, it is your job to know where Ryan is at all times, and I expect you to find him now. He is late!”

I step back, stunned at Garrett’s son-of-a-bitch tone.
Whoa!
I know now where Ryan gets his tendencies. I nod my head to let him know that I understand, then quickly walk to the exit.

I walk past several people as they enter the venue. When I am safely outside, I take my phone out of my clutch to call Ryan. I pace as I ring his cell phone. It rings and rings and rings, then goes into his voice mail.
Damn it!
I turn to walk toward the infield area and walk right into Ryan.

I step back and stumble. Ryan reaches out and grabs my arm gently to keep me from falling. The sight of him takes my breath away, eases my anxiety, and raises my blood pressure all with one look. Ryan is gorgeous. He is dressed in a black tuxedo. His hair is styled and gelled in a way I have never seen. He looks as though he is about to walk the red carpet at the Academy Awards. I smile, relieved. Ryan looks anxious but relieved now too. Our looks seem to mirror each other.

“Is my tie straight? I hate this shit!” he confesses, fiddling with his suit.

He looks flawless, but I touch his tie to add my personal touch. “Your dad is asking for you—no, I should say demanding was more like it!”

“I bet he is. He hates these events too,” Ryan laughs. “Let’s go.” He leads me back into the venue with his hand on the small of my back, which sends shivers down my spine. As we walk through the door, Ryan leans into the back of my neck and says, “You look gorgeous in that dress. I hope I get the chance to take it off of you later.”

I smile. Actually, I grin like a jackass because I know that he can’t see my reaction. I am so relieved that the tension from earlier today has passed.

The moment we walk through the door, Garrett is standing impatiently, waiting for us. I flush scarlet because he has just witnessed our intimate exchange. He eyes us warily but grabs Ryan immediately and steals him away from me. I sigh as I watch him approach his mother and lovingly embrace her. It warms my heart seeing a softer and gentler side to him. I’ve always heard that you can tell a lot about a man by the way he treats his mother. Maybe that’s just a southern thing, but his action gives me hope that it is true.

The event is in full swing with a few hundred people in attendance. I mill around the exhibits and stop to talk to the few people I know who
from our team. After a few short speeches, Garrett, Laura, and Ryan are called to the small stage to cut the ribbon on the Carter Racing Legacy display. It is beautiful. Immediately, I recognize some of the photographs from Garrett’s collection.

After awhile, Garrett steps back up to the microphone. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, folks, but I have a very important announcement to make.” He pauses momentarily and raises his champagne glass. “Despite my best efforts this afternoon on the track, I am pleased to announce that my son, Ryan, has secured pole position for Saturday night’s race here at Daytona International Speedway with a new track record of 45.98 seconds! I am proud of you, Ryan!” Garrett looks around the room and raises his glass higher to salute Ryan, who is nowhere to be found—again!

A round of cheers and applause goes up throughout the crowd. I can even hear Bobby’s loud roar from the back of the room, which causes me to laugh. I scan the room, looking for Ryan, as does everyone else. I am desperate to see his reaction, but I don’t see him. I have lost Ryan again. I meet Garrett’s firm gaze again.
Damn!
He nods at me from across the room, which reiterates his earlier command to find him.

I raise my half-empty glass of champagne at Garrett, signaling that I am on the case of Ryan Carter yet again. I hastily make my way to the door, downing the last of my bubbly in one gulp. I drop the glass on a table as I hit the exit door. The Florida humidity has decreased noticeably since the sun has gone down, but the heat is still thick in the air. It is like walking into a brick wall.

My feet are screaming, but I am going to have to find him on foot nevertheless. Since Justin is nowhere to be found, it would probably be frowned upon to take one of the golf carts parked outside. I lean against the building and take off the beautiful but painful Jimmy
Choos. I hook the straps together and set out in pursuit barefoot. Then it hits me—I have no idea of where to even start looking for Ryan. He could be anywhere at this point.

I reach Ryan’s team hauler first, and it’s empty. I take my iPhone out of my clutch. Then, I throw my purse and the shoes into my duffel bag. Before I walk any further, I call Ryan’s cell phone. It doesn’t even ring. The call immediately rolls into his voice mail, which means he either ignored my call or his phone is turned off. Both are good possibilities. I groan.

I decide to try Ryan’s luxury motor coach next. I knock warily, not sure of what I might find. I wait, but no answer there either. I pull the door handle anxiously. It’s locked.
Damn it!
I stand back.
Think, Whitney. Think!
The garage is locked up. Ryan’s car is locked up. Maybe he left altogether, but with whom? Max and his security team are at the reception. He never leaves the track during race weekend, unless he is breaking into my hotel room, that is. I laugh to myself.

My last resort is our pit box, but those haven’t been set up yet. I walk listlessly down pit road. I walk over to the infield and run my bare feet over the cool grass. It feels heavenly on my swollen and sore feet. I sit down on the edge of pit lane and sink my feet into the grass. I sigh, defeated. The event is almost over by now. Garrett is going to be ticked, but I can’t find Ryan. Maybe we need to install a tracking device on him. I inwardly roll my eyes at myself.

I am broken from my reverie by an incoming text alert on my phone. I swipe the home screen to read the message.

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Looking for someone?

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It’s Ryan. A huge sigh erupts from my lungs. I text him back.

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Yes, namely you. I am in trouble for let
ting you disappear again.

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Where are you?

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As I hit send on the text message, I look around. He must see me. Then, I hear a loud crash that comes from the grandstands. I raise my head quickly to look through the seats, but I don’t see anyone. The overhead lights are blinding, and I have to shield my eyes from their brightness. Another text comes through from Ryan.

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Up!

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I look into the stands again and see nothing. Another text prompts me.

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Higher

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I look higher into the stands and up into the press box. Nothing. Then another loud crash that sounds like glass breaking makes me jump. I look up higher. Then, I see him. I can barely make him out as he waves his beer to me from high atop of the spotter’s perch that overlooks the front straightaway.
Sweet Jesus!
How did he get up there? I hope he doesn’t expect me to come up there because it ain’t happening!

My phone beeps again.

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Coming down

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Thank God. I walk across the grass as I wait for him. I find myself walking across the start/finish line and into turn one. I am surprised at the embankment and the degree of the corner. I can barely walk up it. I had no idea it was so steep.

As I patiently wait on Ryan to come down, I walk back over to pit road and sit on the makeshift barrier wall. I feel him approach me from behind long before he reaches out to caress my bare back. I take a deep breath to stand up and steady myself, but goose bumps run down the length of my spine. Ryan pulls me into an embrace with my back resting on his chest. His breath is hot on my neck, and it’s intoxicating as ever. I close my eyes, very aware of the fact that we are intimately standing together in the middle of this huge super-speedway where anyone could be watching us. And with that thought, the large overhead lights go out on the track. It is completely dark.

I spin around and gasp, “Ryan!” He immediately envelops me in a passionate embrace and kisses me deeply. I lean into his feverous grasp and smell/taste the beer on his breath.

Then suddenly, Ryan pulls back. “I am still pissed about earlier!”

I step back, stunned from the change of tack. I open my mouth, but he puts his hand up to silence me. I am taken aback by his confession and not sure what to say, but Ryan starts to speak again.

“I am not good with this…this feeling.” From his stuttering speech, I can tell Ryan is drunk. “It is something that I am not used to, and I don’t handle it very well.”

“What feeling?” I mutter.

“Jealousy,” Ryan says flat out. “If Colton so much as lays another hand on you, so help me God, I
will
kill him!” he whispers through gritted teeth.

Oh
!

With that statement, Ryan reaches out and pulls me back into a heated embrace. “But…right now…all I can think about is ripping that dress off you!” he mutters against my lips.