Copyright 2021 Claire Wilder
As it turned out, work kept me busy enough all day that I didn’t have time to think much about Dean at all.
Or at least, not much. I still felt the littlest fluttering in my stomach when I thought about tonight—he was going to come by the motel at seven-thirty and take me on a little tour of his hometown.
It almost felt like a date.
Except that it was my buddy, Dean.
But those thoughts only happened a few times that day. Most of the time, I concentrated on working my ass off.
By the time the closing time rolled around, I was shocked at where the day had gone. John gave me a begrudging nod as he left. He’d nitpicked my work all day, but before clocking out, he actually said, “You’re better than the last kid by a mile,” which I took to be the highest compliment.
Freddie showed me how to lock up, which I’d be doing on my own a couple days a week, and then, mercifully, I was on my own. Throughout the day, a couple of drivers had come by to practice on the oval, and each time, I’d looked up longingly at the sound of them but turned quickly back to whatever engine I was working on. It was imperative I showed Colin what I could do.
Now, with the track silent, I stood next to one of the nicer cars parked outside in the lot. I looked around. The place was completely deserted, and I happened to have the keys Freddie had handed me.
The keyring in my hand, I knew, contained the key for this particular car. I’d seen Freddie drive it around front earlier.
Colin had said I wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near the oval.
But he didn’t say anything about not test driving any of the cars.
I knew I was interpreting his words more liberally than his intention, but I was a grown adult, damn it. And what harm would there be in taking it in a circle around the lot?
Just slipping behind the wheel made adrenaline shoot through my stomach. When I turned it on, I was nearly sick. For a moment, the adrenaline running through me went cold and slick. What the hell was I doing? I’d never actually gotten this close to my dream of racing cars before. I’d driven nice cars in my career, sure. I’d topped the speed limit on the highway a hundred times over. But actually sitting in a street stock car with my hands wrapped around the wheel, my foot on the gas, the stick in neutral… I wondered for the first time if this dream of mine was really mine or something I’d cooked up to show everyone how tough I was.
No. This was mine. It had to be. Checking to make sure the car was in neutral, I revved the engine.
It roared under me, making me laugh with the thrill of it. I did it again.
Man, this felt better than sex.
Not quite, but in the moment, it felt close.
Then I chickened out. I cut the engine and got out, slamming the car door behind me. Then I raised my fists in mock triumph, imagining the crowd screaming around me. I even made the sound I used to make as a kid playing with my brothers. Then someone clapped behind me.
I couldn’t help it, I yelped.
Whirling around, my ponytail hit me in the eye just like it had the last time I was caught out here.
“Shit!” I swore, both at the sting in my eye and the mortification at getting caught by the boss playing make-believe.
But when I blinked, I saw it wasn’t Colin. The figure before me was tall. Broad across the shoulders. Covered in tattoos.
Looking at me with a grin that made my insides melt into taffy.
Dean.
About Claire Wilder
About The Blue Collar Romance Series
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