Changing Lanes (The Lone Stars Book 3) (17 page)

“Same as you. We lost touch.” And he’d been looking for her ever since.

“That’s too bad—well not for me—because if you’d kept in touch I wouldn’t have known you.” She thought about what she’d just said. “That was very self–centered. Sorry.”

“No worries.” He nodded.

She had loved him, it was a start. He was willing to slow down as long as he knew that they were going in the same direction. She had loved him. It was a balm to his soul.

Chapter 12

When Laney had agreed to let Devon shop for her, she’d thought he’d come up with a sexy dress or something short and silky, but the reality was more flame retardant and resembled a jumpsuit. A white Formula One jumpsuit with a red stripe down both sides and driver booties to be precise. To give him credit, he’d wrapped them all in a huge box complete with big red bow and left it on her desk. The card on top said that he’d pick her up out front at six.

She checked her wristwatch. It was five minutes to six now. She slammed the door to her office shut, and quickly changed clothes. She pulled on the booties and finally figured out how to tie them. For clothing that was completely fire proof, it was surprisingly light and comfortable. She hit the stairs running and made it out the front door and into the parking lot at five after six.

Devon leaned against the Mustang, arms crossed, and grinning. He was wearing a matching red jumpsuit with a white stripe down the sides.

“Sorry, I’m late.” She pulled at the elastic at her waist. “Not what I was expecting.”

“But cool right?” He tossed her the keys. “You drive. It will get you warmed up for our date.”

“I take it we’re not going to the symphony.” She smiled. “Thank God.”

“We’re picnicking at Circuit of the Americas and then we’re racing Formula One cars.” Devon opened the driver’s side door for her.

She couldn’t say no, it would have been rude. She slid behind the wheel, used the buttons on the side of the seat to change it to her liking, and shoved the key in the ignition. “You found a way to get me behind the wheel.”

“I’m good.” He nodded. “Really good.”

“And modesty absolutely pours out of you.” She watched as he lowered himself into the passenger’s seat. For such a big man, he was so graceful—it still shouldn’t amaze her but it did.

“Just wait and see what I can get you to do later—I’m very talented.” He winked.

“Good God, I hope its sex.” She shook her head. “Crap, I said that out loud didn’t I?”

She wanted to slap herself on the forehead, but that was never a good idea in public.

“I didn’t hear a thing.” His shoulders shook with laughter, and he leaned over and kissed her gently.

His lips were soft and undemanding. Trouble was, she kind of wanted demanding. She may not know exactly what her feelings were toward him, but she knew exactly what her body wanted from him. It occurred to her that was very shallow and she’d never been shallow in her whole life. So he brought out the shallow in her, what did she bring out in him?

“Stop picturing me naked, it makes it hard to concentrate.” He shot her a look.

“Are you picturing me naked?” It was out before she had time to sensor it.

“I am now.” He shook his head. “Drive before I yank that zipper down just to see what you have on underneath.”

The temptress that she’d always wanted to be finally came out, and she pulled the zipper down past her chest almost to her navel. The fabric slipped open about three inches.

Devon’s eyes fastened on the lacy blue demi bra and stayed there. After a good minute, he licked his lips, and closed his eyes. He turned away. “Do you realize that we’re in the parking lot of your workplace and my mother is watching us from Lara’s window?”

Laney froze and then looked up. Sure enough two figures, one small and the other adult–sized, waved from Lara’s hospital room window. Kisses sat at Lara’s foot. In no time flat, she whipped the zipper up, threw the car in reverse, checked the backup camera, and zoomed out of the parking space. “Oh my God. The one time I decide to do something risqué, is in the parking lot at work. Maybe in a few years I’ll be able to look back on this and laugh, but right now, it’s not that funny.”

“I think it’s hilarious as hell.” He was laughing so hard his eyes were watering.

She punched him on the arm. “Shut up.”

“Ouch.” Devon gingerly patted his arm. He wasn’t faking, something was wrong.

She pulled out onto the feeder road to Interstate Thirty–Five, went under the bridge, and onto the on–ramp for Highway Thirty–Five South.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Laney shot short glances his way.

“Just took a pretty bad hit yesterday in practice.” He raised his arm and winced.

“Let me see.” For the most part, she kept her eyes on the road, but glanced over at him.

He unzipped his jumpsuit to the waist and gently wriggled his arm out. “Wait a minute, this isn’t some ploy to get me to take off my clothes, is it?”

“We’re in the middle of the highway, if I wanted you to take off your clothes, it would be a little more private.” She glanced over and winced too. A bruise the size of a softball mottled his arm black and blue. But his back was worse. The bruising there covered him from shoulder to shoulder and all the way down to the small of his back. “What happened?”

“I took a hit. Every single game is like being in a car wreck. That’s why this is my last season.” Slowly, he pulled the jumpsuit back up his arm and zipped it up.

“I’m glad. You must be in some serious pain. Why didn’t you say something? We could have stayed home tonight and watched a movie.” She glanced in the rearview and then the side mirror before changing lanes.

“I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.” He put his hand on her thigh. It was more of an unconscious gesture—like he needed to touch her not something sexual.

“You should be in bed icing that back down. It’s a wonder you can move much less spend the day shopping for me.” She took the exit for Circuit of the Americas and followed the signs. There were exactly two cars in the parking lot so she pulled up to the space closest to the front entrance. “I’ve never been here before. It’s really big.”

“It’s huge and since it’s across the street from The Lone Stars’ Stadium, traffic’s a nightmare when we have a home game and they have an event. We’re trying to coordinate with each other’s schedule, but it doesn’t always work out.” Devon was out of his seat and coming around to open the door for her before she had time to open it for herself. “I like that you open doors for me. I know it’s old fashioned, but I still like it.”

“Mom insists. Once when I was ten, she sat in the car a whole ten minutes before I realized why. I was already in the house and ran out to open the door for her. I never forgot after that.”

“In case I forget to tell you later, I had a wonderful time tonight.” Laney leaned up and kissed him lightly.

He deepened the kiss and pulled her gently to him. She put a hand on his arm, and he jerked back reflexively.

“I’m so sorry. I forgot about your arm.” She wanted to get a closer look at it and see if there was anything she could do, but he was adamant that he was okay.

“It’s nothing.” He said through pain–gritted teeth.

“Really, why don’t we just go home? You need to rest.” She turned back to the car, but he caught her hand and gently pulled her toward the front doors.

“I want to see you drive a Formula One racecar. I can’t wait.” There was a smile in his voice. Come to think of it, she wanted to drive one too.

Her stomach rumbled so loudly that he glanced at it.

“Sorry, no lunch—too busy.” She patted her flat stomach. “Food please.”

He just shook his head. “Do I have to bring you food three times a day in order to make sure you eat?”

“That would be helpful.” She lowered her eyes and looked up through her lashes. “I’m not going to lie. I don’t cook. It’s not my thing.”

Devon jumped back in fake astonishment. “No, I don’t believe it. You definitely had me fooled.”

“What gave it away? The fact that I’m always hungry.”

“Nope, it was your kitchen. Do you know that you still have the original tape holding your oven door closed from when they installed it?” One corner of his mouth turned up. “And your espresso maker has the original Styrofoam it was packed in.”

“Wow, you’re very observant.” She eyed him skeptically. “Creepy observant.”

“I notice kitchens because I like to cook. You notice body ailments because you like what you do.” He looked down at her. “So if you don’t like espresso, why do you have an espresso maker?”

“Ex–boyfriend gave it to me for Christmas last year. It’s funny. I dated him for almost a year, and he didn’t know me half as well as you do.” She waited for him to open the door for her and then she stepped inside. The lobby or front gate or whatever was different than she’d expected. It was all glass and a fancy mural that spanned one entire wall. It looked more like an upscale restaurant than a racetrack.

“So what did he do wrong?” Devon whispered close to her ear as he led her down a hallway and then outside.

“Dr. Dick—his real name is Richard Helms, but my teammates call him Dr. Dick—was into feet … really into feet.” She shivered and Devon thinking she was cold put his arm around her.

“Huh?”

“He always wanted to do strange things with my feet.” She could feel her gag reflex coming on but swallowed it down.

“Like what?”

“Well, one of the more tame things he liked to do was have me put on different shoes and then take pictures of my feet. And sometimes, he liked to paint my toenails.” She should have listened to her inner voice and never gone out with him.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re feet aren’t exactly your best feature. Don’t get me wrong, they’re nice feet, but I’ve seen better.”

“Hey, see if I ever let you suck my toes.” She would have punched him again in the arm, but she remembered the bruising.

“Sorry Babe, toes aren’t my thing. There will be no toe sucking … ever.” His tone was final.

“I’m inclined to agree. Toes aren’t my thing either. The first time he did it I almost vomited. We’d been to the rodeo, and I was wearing flip–flops. We’d spent the afternoon walking through all of the show barns and I’d stepped in all sorts of nasty stuff. Later when he kissed his way down my leg to my feet, all I could think of were the germs teaming on my feet. It was disgusting.” She shivered again.

“That is really gross.” He opened the door that lead out to the track for her. “As long as we’re grossing out, I dated this woman once who was into food—not eating it, but wearing it. She liked for me to spread food all over her. Now, I’m okay with chocolate syrup and whipped cream, but baked beans? That’s just nasty.”

“Yuck.” Laney laughed. It was good to know that Devon had dating horror stories too. Thank God it wasn’t just her.

Something white caught her eye and music started up. She shaded her eyes. In the grassy area in the middle of the track, there was a romantic table set for two, a string quartet was set up behind the table, and a large white folding screen was behind them. A waiter in a black tuxedo waited to pull out a chair for her.

“This is the fanciest picnic, I’ve ever had.” Especially in the middle of a Formula One track. This was the second time he’d surprised her with an upscale picnic. How did he get those tables right where he wanted them on such short notice? “Do you have a table rental company on retainer?”

“No, I’m very persuasive.” He led her to the table, the waiter pulled out her chair, and scooted her in. He flipped open her napkin and placed it delicately in her lap.

Devon seated himself and opened his own napkin.

The waiter disappeared behind the screen and came out with a pitcher full of water. First he poured her a glass and then one for Devon.

“Sorry, we can’t have champagne because the track has a strict policy on alcohol before getting behind the wheel, but I’ve arranged for other drinks for us.” Devon covered her hand with his.

“Ma’am we have fresh squeezed lemonade, water, sparkling water, or iced tea.” The waiter said nonchalantly like he always served people sitting in the grassy knoll in the middle of a Formula One racetrack.

“I’ll have an Arnold Palmer—half iced tea and half lemonade.” Laney sat back in her chair. The sun was starting to go down, and it was surprisingly peaceful. The music was subtle and calming.

“That sounds good, I’ll have the same.” Devon said. “And you can bring out the first course when you’re ready.”

There were multi–courses? “When you picnic, you go all out.”

“I like food, and I like feeding you. Let’s see if you are up to the challenge of The Emerald’s four–course chateaubriand dinner. I know linebackers who can’t finish it.” Devon toasted her with his water glass. “I have faith in you.”

“Please, chateaubriand—I can do that in my sleep.” She clinked glasses with him. “I won’t let you down.”

“I’m counting on it.” He set his glass down.

The waiter, hefting a huge tray, made his way to the table. Without missing a beat, he set her Arnold Palmer in front of her and then Devon’s in front of him. Then he set a huge bowl of French onion soup in front of Laney. It smelled delicious. She noticed that the bowl holding the soup was actually an enormous hollowed out onion. With a flourish, the waiter poured something on the top of the soup, struck a match, and the soup erupted in a blue flame.

“Feel free to blow it out.” The waiter’s bored tone almost made her laugh. She blew out the flames. The waiter set Devon’s soup in front of him, lit it on fire, and then disappeared behind the screen.

Devon blew his flaming soup out and picked up the large soupspoon next to his plate. Laney followed suit. She broke through the crusty–melty cheese and scooped up a spoonful. As soon as the soup hit her tongue, she sighed. It was delicious—truly the best French onion soup she’d ever tasted.

“This is fantastic.” She scooped up another bite and pretty soon all of her soup was gone. It was funny. Having the soup only made her hungrier. She drank her Arnold Palmer, and as soon as the empty glass hit the table, the waiter set a fresh one down. He was good.