Smokin' & Spinnin' (15 page)

I sailed through Sonoma with much more confidence, and to our team’s surprise, Ryan finished in the top ten again, which is a coup for him because not only does he hate road courses but he had to start in the back. I can agree with him on the road course. Sonoma was so boring. With speeds reaching between only eighty and a hundred miles per hour, the one hundred and ten laps were the longest of my life. The track action this weekend was completely opposite from last Sunday in Michigan.

Aside from the Saturday-night riffraff, Ryan and I were able to get through the race without another incident, thankfully. He was all business, but much more receptive of me. Well…he did completely ignore me the entire time, that is fine too. He wasn’t rude, then again, I didn’t give him any reason to humiliate me either. And there was no mention of our dinner and subsequent morning after, but I’d ruined that all-too-brief interlude with my Saturday-night stunt, which I
am still surprised about. Brooke and I talked it to death when I got back to my hotel, but still couldn’t make heads or tails about what Annalise was up to. I bet Ryan gets to the bottom of it, though. I laugh out loud to myself.

All in all, it is a step in the right direction, but one fact remained the same at both races—new track, new girl, or should I say girls! Ryan stalked off with one on each arm after his post-race interviews yesterday. I shake my head at that memory and groan.
Bastard!

The captain says his farewells over the airplane speaker, and we are given permission to exit the cabin. I reach up and take my carry-on bag from the overhead compartment. I realize that his dismissal is more than clearance to depart; it is also a wrap-up for my insane weekend. But now that Sonoma is over, next up is Kentucky. There is no time to recuperate or recover. I have to keep moving!

Chapter 16

A
nother week has gone by in a dazed blur. I am still getting the hang of my job and learning about this sport, which makes my days go by quickly. It seems like there is not enough time in the day for what I need to get accomplished. I double check my itinerary and forward a copy to Jerri via email and hit my office door buzzing at five o’clock on the dot. I have to get home to pack for the track. I leave early tomorrow traveling by plane to Kentucky. Ever since I have been given the title of PR manager, I have been on a traveling whirlwind. In twenty-eight years, I have never been out of my home state of Georgia, and in the last few weeks, I have flown to Michigan, California, and now Kentucky. It’s exciting.

I get to my apartment in record time to set out on the task at hand. I make a hasty to-do list to double-check that all my shit is in order. I laugh at myself. This weekend, Jerri has allowed me to travel on Friday so I can attend qualifying and other events that are scheduled throughout the weekend. I am super excited that she has trusted me to attend all of these events. I must be doing something right.

Aside from the track, I have not seen nor heard from Ryan in over two weeks, since I was at his home. He has been all business at the track and has made no mention of our dinner. This is good, I have to admit!
We shouldn’t blur the lines between professional and personal lives. Besides, he was probably just lonely that night anyway. No doubt he has a new girl shacked up in his bed every night.
Bastard!

I take a quick shower to wash my body and my long brown locks. I know I won’t have time to maintain my hair over the weekend, so I take extra time with it tonight and then use my hair dryer to blow it out. Once that task is complete, I snap on my straightening iron for later. I shuffle to my closet to find a shirt to wear around the apartment, and the first thing I spy is Ryan’s shirt hanging amongst my clothes. I flush at the memory, and a delicious heat spreads throughout my body.

I pull it off the hanger and shrug it on. After two weeks, it still smells like him. His scent, it’s divine. My mind immediately retreats to the night at his home. My blood roars throughout my veins as I recall the way Ryan carried me in his arms through the wooded path and intimately grasped my fingers in his kitchen. I shudder as the heat pulses through my body. I laugh at my reaction before an internal light bulb goes off!
That’s it!
That was the whole purpose of that night. He wanted to get to me, to get under my skin.
Well now!
I have finally figured out his MO. Well, he may have gotten under my skin, but neither he nor anyone else will ever know it, I assure myself. But right now, in the privacy of my own home, he can writhe under my skin all he wants.

Yes, he is hot. I will admit it that. He is arrogant too. But, that night in his home, I saw a different side to Ryan Carter, a side that I liked. He was kind, considerate, and finally somewhat understanding of me. But I still don’t understand him. I know he has a lot riding on his shoulders, but that is no excuse for how he acts. I shake my head. I will probably never understand.

I pull on a pair of cotton boxer shorts under Ryan’s shirt and sashay around the apartment checking off my list. I open a fresh bottle of
white wine, pour myself a tall glass, and set up my iPod in the dock. I shuffle the music, and it begins cranking out some vintage Gloria Estefan. Somehow, I believe my music device has the ability to read my moods. The music is perfect for my frame of mind, not to mention energizing for my body tonight.

“One, two, three, four…Come on, baby, say you love me!” I love this music. “Five, six, seven times!” Singing out loud, I fold the final piece of clothing into my suitcase, zip it up with a flourish, and stand it up by my apartment door.
Check!

I turn back toward my bedroom and am stopped dead in my tracks by a firm knock at my door. Who could that be? Completely bewildered, I rush back to the door and rip it open in haste.

It’s Ryan! Shit!

Suddenly, I am insanely aware of how underdressed I am. I flush with embarrassment and look down. I have on his shirt with no bra, boxer shorts that barely cover my ass, and my brown hair is wild from the blow-dryer. He, of course, is sexy as hell leaning on my doorway with jeans, T-shirt, and that smug look of arrogance on his face.

“I guess I’m not going to get that shirt back,” he says conceitedly.

I laugh nervously like a schoolgirl and cross my arms over my chest.
Whitney, get control!
I scold myself. “Nope,” is all I offer in an attempt to control my giddiness.
What the hell is wrong with me?

Ryan walks past me, into my apartment, uninvited.

“Please come in,” I say with my best sarcasm.

He briefly looks around my apartment, then asks, “What are you doing?”

“I…uh…just got out of the shower, and I’m packing,” I mutter as if he should know. I walk into the kitchen and grab my glass of wine. “I think the real question is what are you doing here! Oh wait…never mind that…How in the hell do you know where I live?” I question firmly, waving my glass for embellishment.

He shrugs ambiguously and sits down on my couch. “A buddy of mine lives in this building,” he says unconvincingly.

“Oh bullshit!” I exclaim. “You’re a terrible liar.” Ryan blinks rapidly at me as a mouth the word “stalker.”

“How do you do that?” he snaps at me.

“Do, what?” I snap back.

“See right through me,” he mutters.

Whoa! Where is he going with this? My iPod turns traitorous on me, and Gloria Estefan’s “Here We Are” starts to play through the speakers. I turn toward the dock and roll my eyes.
Damn it, Gloria! This is not the time!

This conversation has turned majorly uncomfortable. I change tact and use sarcasm as
my
best form of defense. “Well…let’s see. Number one, seeing through people is one of my many God-given talents. And number two, arrogant people like yourself are usually transparent.”

Ryan looks dumbfounded and at a loss for words. Then he regains his composure, shakes his head with a slight smile, and says, “Touché!” and we both laugh nervously.

“Can I get you something to drink? Then, maybe you can tell me why you’re
really
here?” I open my refrigerator. “Let’s see. I have—”

Ryan interrupts. “I’ll take a beer if you have it.”

I turn back to him and frown. “Aren’t you driving?”

“Just one then,” he quips.

As I pull out a bottle of Bud Light, he approaches me from behind, resting his hand on the refrigerator door. “Are you always looking out for me?”

I take a deep breath, conscious of his closeness. “Apparently, babysitting the stock car driver slash part-time movie star, is my job,” I tensely whisper. I hand the beer over to him and walk quickly around the island in the center of my kitchen, which is clearly a defensive move on my part to create some space between us.

Ryan takes a swig of beer and watches me intently as I gracefully leap up and sit on the countertop. I take a sip of my wine, mimicking his move, all the while hoping that it holds some magical powers to calm my nerves. It doesn’t. I try to change the subject instead.

“Look…about Sonoma, I really didn’t mean to make you mad. I was just trying to have a little fun with you since you always seem so uptight. Plus, Brooke aided and abetted.”

“Who’s Brooke?” Ryan asks, cocking his head to one side.

“She is my best friend. This is her apartment. I’m subleasing it from her.”

He nods. “So that’s how you got here.”

I cock my head to one side, mirroring his action again, but I am now confused about his statement. He seems bizarrely interested in my background and has completely sidestepped my Sonoma apology.
Strange!

I sigh, “So, what are you doing here?”

He leans against the other end of the counter and looks despondent. That’s different.
What happened to my arrogant bastard?

“I told you…I have a friend that lives in this building,” he says as he looks at me dead in the eye. But I still know that he is lying. I laugh.

“OK, well…that is your lie, and you can tell it any way you want to,” I say flippantly.

Ryan shakes his head and throws up his hands in defeat. “Jesus Christ, Whitney! I don’t know myself! I have been driving around this building for a solid hour!” he shouts. “I…I just wanted to see you.”

His sudden outburst shocks me, and I mutter, “Why?” in a surprised whisper. I take another sip of wine, which now does seem to have magical powers of courage, so I let it fly before he can respond. “Lemme see if I can help you sort this all out. Were you lonely? No girl to shack up with tonight, or did you think it was finally time to fuck over the new employee?”

He winces as if I slapped him and slams his fist onto the counter. I jump.
Oops! Too harsh? Yes, maybe.

“Damn it, Whitney!” he retorts and runs his hands through his hair. “I liked spending time with you the other night, but I just felt like I needed to create some distance between us. I know how it looks but…but this time it’s different.”
What the hell?

I’m intrigued. I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to snap back, “What is different?”

Then, Ryan harshly cuts me off. “Don’t start with your damned smart mouth!”

I giggle out loud, but Ryan is not amused. “You sound just like Garrett,” I say, recalling our episode in the boardroom.

Ryan shakes his head and rolls his eyes knowingly. I humor him.

“What’s different about this…or me, should I say?”

He throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “I don’t know!” Ryan starts pacing around the kitchen island. “Maybe it was the way you handed my ass to me on a platter that morning in the boardroom, or the fact that I can’t intimidate you because you are not threatened by who I am or what I do because you’re so new to all this,” he rambles and waves his right hand in the air for effect.

Ryan stops his pace in front of me and positions himself between my long, freshly shaven legs.
Oh no!
I pull them up in defense, but he places his hands on my thighs to stop my movement. My body explodes with intense feeling as my breathing stops. I look at him in anticipation.
Damn!

I watch his mouth closely as he says, “Or maybe it’s how I can’t stop thinking about you and wondering why you ran away from Georgia.”

I shake my head and look away from him. Ryan’s ramblings have become a revelation, and suddenly he has gone from arrogant to vulnerable. It’s a lot to take. I force the tears back that begin to well up in my eyes. I don’t know if it’s our close proximity or the wine, but I
am feeling disoriented. I can’t process the events that are unfolding in my apartment.

“So, I am a mystery to be solved? Is that it?” I say quietly.

“No,” Ryan quickly retorts.

I take a deep breath, swallow, and say firmly, “I am not having this conversation with you, Ryan.”

He looks at me warily. I try to get away from him, but he pins my legs to the counter with his firm hands. “Why?” he whispers.

“Why do you even care?” I add in rebuttal.

Ryan stresses the phrase again in frustration. “I don’t know! I-I…just want to know, Whitney! For the life of me, I’ve never given a shit about anything or anybody but racing. So this is all new to me.”