Huh. "Fiction is a story; nonfiction is based on facts."
"Then I guess this is nonfiction. I think." Nikki held up the book for Imogen to see the cover.
The title was How to Marry a Race Car Driver in Six Easy Steps . On the cover was a photograph of a woman kissing a man in a racing uniform with a pair of wedding rings surrounding them.
"Wow, uh, I don't know if that is fiction or nonfiction either." Imogen wasn't sure if the book was intended to be tongue-in-cheek or if someone really thought there was a formula to garner a proposal from a driver. Or if the publisher and author didn't necessarily think so, but knew women like Nikki would buy the book to learn the secret. "What does it say?"
"There are all kinds of tips and rules, plus profiles of the single drivers."
"Are you serious?" That completely piqued the interest of the sociologist in Imogen.
"Yeah. And I broke Rule Seventeen of Step Two by accident. I wasn't supposed to wear high heels to the track, only I didn't read that part until after I was here." Nikki rolled the top of her lettuce bag closed and stuffed it back in her purse. "I hope Ty doesn't notice." Considering the man was in a car on the track driving at approximately one hundred and eighty-five miles an hour and attempting to pass other cars going an equal speed with only inches of clearance, Imogen highly doubted Ty was concerning himself with Nikki's trackside footwear. "I'm sure it's fine. I don't really see why a driver would care what his girlfriend or wife wears at a race anyway." Nikki looked horrified. "That kind of attitude will never land you a driver. It's all about image."
"Really?" Imogen glanced over at Tamara and Suzanne. They were both normal, attractive women in their early thirties. Tamara was married to a driver; Suzanne was divorced from a driver. Somehow Imogen doubted either one of them had followed a manual to land her husband. In fact, she would bet her trust fund on it. "Can I look at the book?" she asked.
Nikki clutched the book to her chest for a second, clearly suspicious.
"Don't worry," Imogen said. "I have no interest in following the steps. A stock car driver isn't really my type." Which she would do well to remember. Just because she had a strange and mysterious physical attraction to Ty didn't mean it was anything other than foolish to pursue that. A driver wasn't her type, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she wasn't a driver's type. She was the total antithesis of Nikki.
"Okay." Nikki handed the book over begrudgingly.
Imogen almost laughed. It wasn't like what was in those pages wasn't available to anyone who had twenty bucks and a bookstore at their disposal. She opened the book, and it flipped automatically to the section on your first date with a driver. The "Don'ts for First Date Night" included drinking any alcohol, even a single glass of wine, an explanation of why beer-drinking women weren't at all the thing, and how while a chaste kiss at the door might be deemed acceptable, anything beyond that was wrong, wrong, wrong. Girls men wanted to marry did not, repeat did not, have sex with men on the first date.
Feeling like she just might have slid back into 1957 when she wasn't looking, Imogen flipped to a new chapter. It was a list of places to meet drivers, including the stores they might shop at in Charlotte, the bars and restaurants they were known to frequent, and the gym several worked out at.
The wheels in her head started to turn faster and faster as she scanned through half a dozen more pages.
"What are you looking at?" Tamara asked her, leaning toward Imogen to read over her shoulder.
Imogen looked at her friend and sociology professor in satisfaction. "My thesis. I'm looking at my thesis."
The book declared itself an instructional manual on how to marry a race car driver. Which led Imogen to the question that would be the basis of her thesis-did dating rules result in success when altered for a specific occupation?
Imogen was going to follow them and find out.
TY McCordle ducked out of Tammy and Elec's front door and quickly moved to the left on the porch, away from the view of the picture window. He desperately needed a bit of fresh air and a breather from Nikki's constant chattering. It was obvious to him that he had been dating Nikki way past the point of novelty. She got on his nerves just about every minute that he was with her, and had actually brought up the M word- marriage. Good God, the thought made him want to chew off his own foot to escape that trap. So he had reached the moment he hated in dating. He had to break things off with Nikki, and that was bound to result in a couple of things from her he had a hard time dealing with-tears and anger.
Truth was, he shouldn't have let things go on nearly as long as they had. He'd known from jump that she wasn't even remotely close to his type for a long-term relationship, but he had been lonely and bored and she had been more than willing to hop into bed with him. But after a time, not even her enthusiasm could make up for the fact that the sound of her voice made every muscle in his body tense with irritation, and now he was dodging her at a damn dinner party.
It was ridiculous, and it made him feel like a pansy-ass wimp. Yet he wasn't going back in there, was he?
It was pouring down rain outside, a nice little fall thunderstorm, and the air was clear and crisp, the temperature still balmy. Ty loved the sound of the rain hitting the roof and the ground, and he leaned forward to feel the mist settle over his forearms and hands. Even if she figured out where he was, the rain would keep Nikki in the house. She wasn't big on nature or anything that might ruin her hair, her makeup, or her shoes.
So Ty was going to stand there on the porch and take a breather, then go back into the party, say his good-byes to his friends, collect Nikki, take her home, and break things off with her. In a minute. Or two.
A light appeared in the driveway and Ty glanced over to see what it was. A car door slammed shut and the light went back out. Through the rain Ty saw someone running toward the porch, hands over her head. A thin woman with dark hair and glasses pounded up the steps, then stopped when she achieved shelter, her arms falling to her sides, her breathing heavy.
It was the woman who was some kind of assistant to Tammy at the university, the one who had the name Ty couldn't remember or pronounce. He had seen her inside the house since there were only twenty or so people at the party, but he had avoided her. Something about her intrigued him, made him want to see if the shy and serious woman could open up and laugh, or better still, moan in pleasure, but at the same time, she made him feel stupid with her fancy education, expensive clothes, and complicated name.
At the moment he just felt sorry for her. She was taking deep breaths and almost wheezing, like the shock of having a boat-load full of rain dump on her had just caught up with her. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks and forehead, her jeans were wet clear to the knees, and her black sweater was molded to her chest. For some reason she reminded him of a puppy, startled and forlorn, and he no longer felt so intimidated by her.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"It's raining harder than I thought," she said, pulling her clinging sweater forward off her stomach. "I think I should have waited a few more minutes. But I had to go put up my car windows, and I got trapped inside the car. I waited, and debated just leaving and going home, but not saying good-bye to anyone would be phenomenally rude, and the rain wasn't letting up, so I went for it. I think, it's safe to say, that was a miscalculation."
It was a hell of an explanation that Ty heard only half of because he was so distracted by the fact that her glasses were covered in rain spots. He liked to see a woman's eyes when he talked to her, and he was curious what color whatshername's were. He was also curious as to how he was going to ask her yet again what her name was without sounding like the total jackass that he was. Reaching out, he lifted her frames off her face.
She jerked back with a squeak. "What are you doing?" She wiped the bridge of her nose dry then followed his hand to retrieve her glasses. "I need those."
"I'm drying them off. You can't possibly see anything with them waterlogged." Ty used the bottom of his T-shirt to polish them to his satisfaction.
"Oh, thank you."
He lifted them and guided them onto her nose.