A few weeks ago, during our first demolition derby, she'd told me with obvious pride that her dad had won a tractor pull – whatever the hell that was – when he'd been only eighteen.
And then, she'd gone on to tell me that she loved seeing local guys – or in some cases, gals – have their moment of glory.
Moment of glory – that's what she'd called it. And it fit, just like Mina fit perfectly into the crook of my arm as we slept.
This, too, was new.
Normally, when the deed was done, I wasn't big on sleepovers – except now I was. And that wasn't the only thing that was different. With Mina, the time outside the bedroom was just as much fun as our time alone.
I gave her hand another squeeze. "You're something, alright."
"Oh yeah? What's that?"
I winked. "The girl of my dreams."
She laughed. "Yeah, right."
She thought I was joking. I wasn't.
Mina filled an empty spot that I hadn't even known existed. On impulse, I pulled her into my arms and brushed my lips against her cheek.
I wanted to press my lips to hers and kiss her like I meant it, but I knew Mina well enough to think better of it. She'd care not only about the cameras, but also about the family of five sitting directly behind us.
Still, I smiled. Later, I'd have her all to myself. And then, I could take my sweet time doing everything I was thinking about now.
We were still gazing into each other's eyes when the engines grew quiet, and the crowd roared at the announcement of a winner. I turned toward the field just in time to see a young guy, maybe nineteen years old, climb out of the Ford. He lifted both hands in triumph as the crowd cheered him on.
Mina said, "I guess that's our winner."
"Nah," I said. "I'm the winner."
She laughed. "Oh yeah. How so?"
"I'm here with you, aren't I?"
She rolled her eyes, thinking I was teasing her. I wasn't. But it was probably just as well.
I had no plans to fall in love, much less settle down. Whatever we had, it was working here and now.
No need to think beyond that, right?
Chapter 60
Mina
From the stands, I watched in silent wonder as Chase strode onto the dirt field and presented the driver with a trophy along with an oversized check to represent the prize money he'd get for winning the derby.
Tonight, Chase was wearing jeans and work boots, along with a gray T-shirt sporting the familiar orange logo of Blast Tools. His clothes were very similar to what he might wear on an episode of Blast, and this was surely no accident, considering that the crowd wanted to see the guy they thought they knew from watching the TV show.
But they didn't truly know him. Or at least, they didn't know him as well as I did, thank goodness.
By now, the crowd was going absolutely nuts as Chase encouraged another round of applause, first for the winner and then for all of the drivers with enough guts to mix it up in the derby.
Afterward, he made a point to shake every driver's hand and pose for countless selfies. As the minutes passed, I couldn’t help but smile. He was really good at this sort of thing, and I loved watching him work.
The funniest thing was, the way he did it, it didn't look like work at all. It looked like he was having the time of his life.
Watching him, I felt warm and wonderful all over. It was a beautiful June night, and a cool breeze was drifting through the stands. And there he was – my guy, making all of those local guys, along with their families and team members, feel like they were the real stars of the show.
By the time Chase made his way back to me, there wasn't a guy on the field who didn't feel like a million bucks, even those who'd crashed out early.
The stands were mostly empty now, and the book in my bag faded further from my thoughts as Chase reached out and pulled me into his arms just the way I liked.
Into my hair, he said, "You should've come with me."
He always said that – not as a boss, but as a boyfriend, because surely he knew just as well as I did that Chase Blastoviak was the one they truly wanted to see – not some farmer's daughter from Hazelton.
I'd only be a distraction, and I'd told him so repeatedly.
Now I pulled back to say, "If there's ever a cakewalk, count me in."
"Yeah," he laughed. "And count me out."
It was an ongoing joke, because Chase had made it perfectly clear that there'd be no cakewalks, not on his watch.
I said, "And besides, I'm just dealing with the media, remember?"
"Wrong," he said. "You're dealing with me, too. And I'm a tough customer." He smiled. "Remember?"
By now, I remembered plenty – all of the nights cradled in his arms, all of the teasing and laughter, and the way he looked at me sometimes, like I was the only girl in the world.
As far as him being a tough customer, there was a time when I would've agreed. But somewhere along the way, my opinion of Chase had softened considerably. Or maybe I was having too much fun to give our relationship as much thought as it deserved.
"Speaking of tough," I said, "I meant to ask you something."
"Yeah?"
"Back in the beginning, you said you might enter one of the derbies. But you haven't. Are you still thinking about it?"
He grinned. "Hell yeah."
"So, you're gonna do it?"
"Nope."
"But you just said—"
"Yeah, I think about it," he said. "It would be fun as hell."
"But…?"
"But it would be a dick move, don't you think?"
I did think. But I was kind of surprised that he did. "You mean because you're the sponsor?"
"Yeah. And because I can't win."
"Oh." I paused. "You mean because you're the sponsor? Or because you don't think you'd do
