"It's cool. No worries. Now shut up and smile. Camera to the left is zooming in on us."
Elec turned. Damn if Ryder wasn't right. An aggressive photographer was focused right in on them. He smiled and waved to the camera, wondering if he would ever get comfortable or be savvy with this aspect of his career. Especially when he went to leave the stage with the other drivers and saw his PR rep waiting for him, her foot tapping anxiously, arms across her chest.
"You were supposed to be here early," Eve said, her fists curled like she was fighting the urge to smack him. "You said you would autograph that merchandise I have to donate to the children's hospital."
"Oh, crap, I'm sorry. I totally forgot." No lie there. His mind had been seriously elsewhere.
Like on the feel of Tamara Briggs's mouth on his . . . Elec cleared his throat. "I'll do it tonight. I swear."
"You better. Or I'll track you down and beat the everlovin' tar out of you." Tossing her caramel-colored hair over her shoulders, Eve gave him a stern and hateful look.
Elec fought the urge to roll his eyes at his sister and full-time PR rep. But he did say, "Is that any way to speak to your employer? I should fire you."
"Dad would never let you fire me." Eve's point made, she had eased up on the frown and the crossed arms, and fell into step beside him. "And I'm the only thing keeping you afloat on the business side of driving, admit it."
"That was never in question, darlin'. I wouldn't last a day without you, but you could be a little less hostile, you know. It was an accident, one that's easily fixed after the race." Elec knew his refusal to engage in a confrontation infuriated both his sister Eve and his brother Evan. But he had never seen any point in yelling about something that could just as easily be fixed by talking about it.
Eve sighed. "Damn it, you make it hard to be ticked off at you. Just be warned now-I don't care how tired you are after the race, you're signing these T-shirts tonight. They're for sick kids and you need to-"
"I'll be there," he told her easily.
"Argh," she said. "It is so not fun to boss you around because you just go with it. Where's Evan when I need him? He'll fight back with me."
"Why do you want to fight?" It was a question Elec had been asking for twenty-some years.
He'd never understood the pleasure Eve and Evan took from sparing.
"Because it's fun," she told him with a grin. "Now get in your car, moron."
"Just let that love for me flow, Eve." But Elec wasn't actually the least bit offended. That was just Eve, and this was their relationship. Always had been, always would be, but at the same time he knew she'd throw herself in front of a bus to save him. And navigate his sorry carcass through the media frenzy of race car driving.
"And what happened to your hair this morning? It looks like you took a bushwhack to it."
Elec automatically put his hand on his head to smooth his hair down. It was sticking up. He couldn't help but grin thinking that it was Tamara's fingers gripping his hair like her life depended on it that had him looking a little rough around the edges. "Had a late start this morning."
Eve glanced over at him sharply. "Why do I think that means your morning involved a blonde?"
"Nope. Not a blonde." Tamara's hair was a soft, rich brown, like the color of syrup with the sun shining through the bottle, and he was clearly way far gone if he was giving it that much thought.
"A brunette then?"
They had arrived at Elec's spot in pit row and his crew was waiting for him, busy making last-minute checks. "Got to go, big sister. See you at the finish line."
"Drive safely," Eve said, squeezing his arm.
"Duh," he told her with another grin. Then Elec went to talk to his crew chief.
He was feeling fine, and he was ready to win himself a race.
TAMARA didn't think she was going to have any fingernails left by the end of the race.
She had bitten the entire right hand down to the quick, ruining a costly French manicure.
Beth glanced at her curiously from her seat next to Tamara and said, "You have nail polish flakes on your lip, Tammy. Are you alright? I've never seen you bite your nails."
Swiping at her lip, Tamara tried to remember what it felt like to behave normally so she could emulate it. Her kids were sitting on the other side of Johnny, and Hunter was glued to the edge of her seat watching the race. Petey was working his way through a bag of cotton candy. "I didn't sleep much last night. Dating is really difficult and I felt guilty about bringing Geoffrey down here only to break up with him."
Beth glanced out at the track, then over at her again. "But you said he was unpleasant about the whole thing, which shows his true colors. You should feel good that you didn't invest any more time into someone who clearly isn't worth it."
"I know. But you know how we are as women. We want to fix everything." She did feel bad about Geoffrey, though she wasn't really sure why. Maybe it was just guilt that she had dumped him, then jumped into bed with another man about a minute later.
"Lord, that's the truth."
But the true reason for her stress was the number 56 car out on the track, and the man who was driving it. Elec was having an amazing race, sitting in eighth place out of forty-three cars at three hundred and fifty-three laps, which had him on the radar of the announcers, who kept referring to him over and over as the up-and-coming rookie. It was unnerving to be sitting there, watching, worrying, wanting him to do well, wanting him to be safe, yet feeling an undeniable anxiety that she was just another notch on the bedpost of Elec Monroe. Which shouldn't matter. The whole thing was ludicrous and she didn't like any of the feelings swirling around inside of her.
What the hell was the matter with her?
The announcer's voice came from the TV in the suite behind them. "What a great race so far for Hinder Motors. In the top ten, they have four cars right now. Ryder Jefferson in the lead, Ty McCordle right on his tail in second, Foster Davis in seventh, and the rookie Elec Monroe running in a very respectable eighth right now."
Both announcers were retired drivers and the second one said, "Very impressive. Hinder Motors must be very pleased with these performances, and I'm telling you, while Elec Monroe in the fifty-six car has shown a lot of promise and was always assumed to be a real contender in the near future, this kid is on fire today."
Kid. Tamara winced.
Beth turned to her. "Do you remember Elec Monroe? I think you met him a few times."
As if she could feel any more uncomfortable. "I met him a few times when Pete and I were first married. Then I actually met him again last night at the fund-raiser." Tamara took a sip of her diet soda. She seemed to have lost all the spit in her mouth.
"What did you think of him?"
Tamara swallowed hard and almost choked. Eyes watering, she gave a little cough. "He seems nice enough. Quiet. Not comfortable mingling." But very, very comfortable one-on-one. The mere thought made her want to crawl under the seat and die. After she had an orgasm.
She just wasn't cut out for this.
"Well, you know his father stabbed Johnny in the back."
"I knew there was some animosity, but I don't really know what happened."
Beth lowered her voice. "I can't tell you right now because it sends Johnny's blood pressure through the roof, but let's just say it wasn't pretty and it's not the kind of thing that these men will ever let go."
Great. "I'm sorry to hear that. I thought they were pretty good friends at one time."
"They were, which makes it all the worse," Beth said.
Tamara caught herself tearing off her pinky nail with her teeth and stopped. She picked at her-Elec's-golf shirt in the warm sun and tried to ignore her aching feet in her stupid heels. Fortunately, Elec's jeans were too long and they covered the bulk of her shoes so no one had noticed and commented on her strange choice in footwear. She was tempted to dig through her overnight bag and pull out her gym shoes, but that would just draw attention to her.
Sitting in the hard seat watching the cars loop around lap after lap for two more hours, Tamara ran through three diet sodas and the rest of her fingernails. By the time they were entering the final three laps under the lights after one of the longest days of her life, she knew this wasn't going to work.
She knew it. Hated it. But knew it.