I turn my attention back to Lena. “I have someone flying in Friday.” Her eyebrows raise in question. “Your dad.”
At first, I see shock, followed very quickly by elation. “My Dad? He’s coming here?”
The moment I start to nod, her body slams into mine, her arms wrap around my neck. Her lips are on my cheek a moment later. As I sit there, contemplating on whether or not to move my arms and return the hug, I realize it would only take the slightest turn of my lips to claim hers. I can feel her breath sliding over my face, so very close.
When our eyes meet, she whispers, “Thank you, Mack.”
I shrug, hating the way my body weeps with sadness as she pulls back and sits up straight beside me. I just want her to touch me again. “You’re welcome. So, does that mean you’ll go with me?”
Her eyes dance with excitement. She nods and bites her lower lip. Lucky lip. “I’ll go.”
I’m automatically grinning. “Great. Your dad is going to text me his flight information, and we’ll all buzz over and grab him.”
“Thank you.” Her words are soft, the conviction in them evident. She’s truly grateful. Most likely because her dad is coming, and less because of the gala, but I’ll take that light in her eyes and the happiness in her smile anytime, despite the reason.
“You’re welcome, Lean,” I reply, bumping her shoulder with my own.
We sit in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts. Mine are about her, anticipating what she’ll wear to the gala. For the first time, I’m actually excited to attend one of these formal dinners. Usually, I’m all about ducking out at the first opportunity, but this time, I might actually stay and enjoy. Dance and hold her close.
If only convincing her to stay was as easy as being my date to the gala.
***
“Take it easy in turn four, Cruz,” Coop instructs into my earpiece.
My team is back at Fontana, testing tires. We’re one of three West Coast teams at the track on this sunny Thursday afternoon. Colton is even here, overseeing some of the testing for the brand who is the major tire sponsor for the league. If testing goes well today, they could incorporate better options for short track tires in the future.
“I’m sliding all over the place,” I tell him, struggling to hold my line with the car.
“You’re four-tenths of a second off last lap. Daniels had the same problem during his laps,” Coop says. “You’ve got four to go on these tires, and then we’ll come in for a change.”
“Roger,” I reply, putting all of my focus into the car and track. Unfortunately, the tires just aren’t cooperating with what I’m trying to do.
After I complete my next four laps, Coop brings me into the pit. My team removes the test tires and puts the standard tires for this track on my car. As soon as I’m lowered to the ground, I take off like a bat out of hell, ignoring any race speed limit. There are no speed limits during testing.
“Much better laps,” Coop tells me as I complete my second lap on these tires.
“Handles like a dream. The grip is fucking sweet,” I tell my guys and anyone else listening on our frequency.
“Keep it up. These lap times are way better than the first set,” Coop informs me before cutting off his mic and just letting me drive. This is where I thrive, where I find my peace. Flying around a racetrack at speeds upward of two hundred ten miles per hour.
When Coop brings me in this time, I exit the vehicle. The third and final driver in today’s test runs will take the track, while the engineers from the tire company take our tires for data collection.
“Not bad,” Coop says after I get my helmet off.
“Ehh, not good either. Felt like there was no grip with those tires,” I reply, running a hand through my hair before sliding on my ball cap.
“They’ll test better on the East Coast where the temperatures are a little milder,” he says, leading me over to where we set up a temporary tent for today.
Colton is there, handing me a printout of today’s lap times. We spend the next ten minutes going over the data and discussing how we’d work to improve the car, if today were an actual race. That’s another reason test runs for tires are so important. We can cuss and discuss different options for car handling, and how our team could fix the problems. It’s valuable information for our team, as much as it is for the tire makers.
I slip out of my suit and chug a Gatorade while Colton and Coop continue to pore over the data. “I heard that trailer was a rocking Friday night,” Cookie says, a wide grin on his face.
I snort as I toss my empty drink bottle in the trash. “You outside listening, Cook?” I ask, knowing damn well he couldn’t hear what happened in my motorhome after that race.
Or at least I hope he couldn’t hear.
“Damn right I was. Only way I get any action on the road. The only tail running around here is usually slipping out of your trailer in the middle of the night,” he says, making the guys around him laugh.
My eyes connect with Fish, who just shrugs. We all know he’s completely full of shit, yet I can’t stop myself from engaging. “As opposed to you? How many did you have sneaking out in the middle of the night?”
Cookie laughs. “We’ve already covered I don’t get any road tail, man. Kinda hard when you’re surrounded by eight ugly mugs like them,” he adds, pointing to whoever is standing behind him.
“And we all know Cookie’s the last one of us getting laid,” Chief hollers, and we’re once again surrounded by laughter.
“True that,” I tease, adjusting my hat under the hot sun.
“Speaking of getting lucky, you morons have dates
