“And I’m using up all the hot water,” she called back.
“Should I come scrub your back?” Kane called.
“And I’m giving my be a responsible driver speech when I get out.” She slammed the door.
“Drink up, buddy,” Kane said, raising his bottle. “She’s really worked up.”
James leaned back into the corner of the sofa and eyed him shrewdly. “Do you really want to scrub her back?”
Kane took a sip of beer before answering. “Maybe.”
“Hell, there isn’t any maybe about it. Something’s going on with you two.”
Kane leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess there is.”
“Man, you know I think Lexie is the best, but you’ve got a banquet of chicks lined up. You really want to give that up?”
“I don’t know.” Though a banquet of women sounded much less appealing than getting Lexie to agree to their one night. After that night, he could consider variety again, but admitting that to James didn’t hold a lot of appeal.
“It might be awkward for the team.”
“So everybody keeps telling me.”
“You’ve worked really hard to get to this point in your career. You need to think about that.”
“I have been. It isn’t helping.”
James glanced toward the hall, then back to him. “What if you just…give it one night? Get it out of your system?”
“You’re reading my mind, man.”
“Lexie isn’t goin’ for it?”
“Nope.”
James sighed. “Some win. We’re supposed to be hoisting beers with the boys, not talking about relationships.”
“No kidding.”
James took a long pull of beer. “Forget Lexie. When we get back home we’re going out. Just you and me. We’ll hit the clubs in Charlotte and celebrate your win in style.”
“Sounds great.” He needed a distraction. Would a voluptuous female work where racing hadn’t? Could it be that simple?
“It’s just what you need.”
Kane almost believed it.
When Lexie returned, freshly scrubbed, dressed in cotton pj’s with checkered flags all over them and smelling like coconuts—that damnable lotion again—Kane had to swallow hard and breathe carefully through his mouth.
Could another woman smell so tempting and fantastic? Could another woman—voluptuous, draped in sexy lingerie, less complicated, more amenable—really keep him from thinking about Lexie?
She didn’t seem inclined toward speeches, either. In fact, she looked exhausted.
Kane rose. “James, why don’t you use the shower next?”
“Sure.”
As he left, Kane cupped Lexie’s elbow and urged her to the sofa. “After we have showers, you can get in the bed and sleep.”
Eyes soft, she lifted her gaze to his. “I’m fine on the sofa.”
“You’re sleeping in the bed.” He avoided thinking—much less saying—my bed. “James and I can bunk out here.”
“I couldn’t—”
“My coach, my decision.”
“Okay.”
“You want some tea?”
She started to rise. “That would be—”
“I’ll get it.” Kane headed to the kitchen. He always kept a box of her favorite honey-vanilla tea in the cabinet, because he knew how it relaxed her after a long day and night in the garage. He retrieved a mug and brewed the tea, adding a bit of honey at the end.
When he handed her the cup, she said, “I should be taking care of you. You ran the race.”
He smiled. “So did you.”
As she tucked her legs beneath her and sipped the tea, Kane’s mind flashed back to the raucous, confetti-strewn celebration in Victory Lane, then forward to tomorrow when James would make sure they were in a hot club surrounded by hot chicks and hot music.
All in all, he preferred this quiet moment with Lexie.
He dropped onto the sofa next to her. Close, but not close enough to touch. They didn’t talk, but he was comforted by her presence and grateful he had her by his side—professionally, anyway. And personally, they were still friends.
But could that friendship survive the tension between them? Would the attraction fade and the friendship strengthen? Would taking their relationship beyond friendship destroy everything, or make them better than ever?
It certainly hadn’t worked out the last time they’d tried. They were older now but were they wiser?
Lexie wanted—and certainly deserved—more than a guy who spent every moment of his life figuring out how to get his car across the finish line first. He wasn’t sure if he was the man to give her that any more today than he had been twelve years ago. His offer of one night no doubt insulted her, not tempted her. He was thinking impulsively, selfishly, of his needs. Wasn’t tamping down his rash impulses what the anger management classes had all been about? Wasn’t that what his father preached continually? Think before you act. The great ones are conscious of their image at all times.
So why were his instincts screaming everything but restraint? Was passion a flaw or a strength?
When James returned a few moments later, Kane retreated to the back for a shower. The pulsing water felt good on his sore, tired body, but his mind was as cloudy as ever. He knew if Lexie so much as glanced at him in an interested way, he’d forget whatever he was doing, or toss out what he was “supposed to” do. He couldn’t let go of the idea that giving in to their attraction would solve personal things—one way or the other. But would he lose his potentially championship-winning car chief in the process? And was it a good long-term solution for anybody?
You weren’t ever thinking long-term anyway, right?
Right. Maybe that was the problem.
LEXIE LEANED next to her father under the hood of their race car for Saturday night. “I checked the spark plugs three times,” she said, annoyed that he appeared to be doing so again.
“Doesn’t hurt to check again.”
At her father’s calm response, Lexie stuffed her aggravation. She was tired and on edge. Everybody was tired and on edge. Except the unflappable Harry Mercer, of course. He’d been under the gun too long a time and too often to let a little thing like a NASCAR NEXTEL Championship get to him.
That was what the media said, anyway. Lexie knew better. She knew her father was worried and exhausted. He’d just learned how to hide it better than everybody else.
After making a delicious cholesterol cocktail of eggs, sausage, grits and hash browns, she, Kane and James had driven the motor coach home themselves on Sunday morning after winning Bristol. They’d sung goofy camp songs such as “100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” then pulled the bus-chassis coach into the driveway at Kane’s house on Lake Norman and proceeded to drink a few beers themselves. Just like old times.
August had come to a close. They’d raced in California and finished third. Richmond—the last race available for making the top ten in championship points—was four days away. They hung in limbo in eleventh place, with the twelfth- and thirteenth-place drivers only twenty and twenty-five points, respectively, behind them.
Bob Hollister had made it very clear at the team meeting yesterday that he wanted the fifty-three car in The Chase. If it didn’t happen, he intended to make “some key staff changes.” It wasn’t just their ambitions or their pride on the line at Richmond. It was their jobs.
If that wasn’t enough—and it seemed to her that it was—she was also on edge for another, far more personal reason. She happened to be walking through the lobby that morning when a stunning, buxom blonde had asked the receptionist for Kane. Since that happened several times per week, she’d initially dismissed the incident.
Unfortunately, she’d walked by the conference room at lunchtime, where the same blonde and Kane had been cozily enjoying pasta and salad.
Lexie’s mood had gone south immediately afterward.
She should be happy. She and Kane had kept their distance over the past week and a half. They’d managed to work amicably. The Chase was within reach. Teamwork. Success. Peace.
He hadn’t mentioned them again. He hadn’t flirted with her, touched her or really looked at her. It was what she’d wanted and needed. It was what the team needed even more, though it was clear nobody but James had a clue how fortunate they all were.
Is he dating the blonde? Is he, even now, flirting with her, touching her?
The very idea made her blood boil hotter than brake fluid at Richmond. And how ridiculous was that?
“Something going on with you and Kane?” her father asked, jerking her from her thoughts.
“Going on?” she echoed stupidly.
Still tinkering under the hood, he said, “You act different.”
“I do?”
“You’ve been tense. Jumpy.”
Could she really fool her father? The man was more astute than Donald Trump in the middle of a real estate negotiation. “Nope. Not tense at all.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m ready for Richmond. I’m pumped and excited about The Chase.”
“You’re only tense when Kane is around.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
Her father straightened. He glanced around the race shop full of crew members—who were, thankfully, busy elsewhere—before directing his sharp, hazel gaze at hers. “I saw you through puberty, Lexie. Plus the first round with that boy. Now’s not the time for round two.”