Hot Laps (8 page)

Here’s the thing, and I learned this fairly quickly that morning, no one with this
company actually accomplished anything at these meetings.

Apparently, and though I completely disagree, the meeting was necessary.

Bailey and Olivia went over schedules with Charlie’s mom, Emma, who’d I’d already
met back in high school. I loved her. She was like my very own fairy princess doll.
On more than one occasion, while drunk, I’ve tried looking for her wings. Emma always
got a laugh out of it.

Alley, who I had yet to meet, but understood was Lane’s mom, yelled at Jameson (who
walked in twenty minutes later) and just about everyone else. She demanded that they
stop fucking around and figure out why the engines had been failing.

Alley seemed to be the type of woman who was in control of every situation and if
things weren’t getting done, she stepped up.

You could tell a lot about this family at that meeting.

Most of the time was spent with Jameson making fun of Alley and mimicking her demanding
motions behind her rousing a laugh out of everyone. Alley wasn’t so impressed by him.

And though it was wildly entertaining, I still had no desire to attend any more meetings.

I wasn’t exactly sure if I was supposed to be writing anything down but it was a good
thing no one looked over at my notepad during the meeting and saw me drawing their
faces while I stabbed my pen through their eyes.

It also would have made it interesting if the engine builders attended this meeting
but no, they didn’t have to. Lucky sons of bitches. The only one who attended was
some guy named Rusty who did their research and development.

After the meeting, I didn’t get much of a break with helping over at JAR Racing. Since
they were all leaving today for California, they had equipment to load and the merchandise
trailers had to get inventoried and then re-stocked.

When I did manage to get a break, I enjoyed my iced coffee until I heard someone sigh.

Peter, the Sales and Marketing Rep for CST Engines, was standing there hovering. I
hated
when people hovered over me.

Unless, of course, we were in bed.

But then how disgusting was that image right then? Peter was not someone I wanted
to
ever
imagine hovering over me.

I wanted to say, “Dude, cool it on the donuts already! You’re going to explode into
a sugary poof of bullshit.” I did not say this though. Which if you knew me at all,
you would realize this was a goddamn miracle.

No seriously, this guy looked as though he was nine months pregnant with twins but
that wasn’t the weirdest part, it was his freakishly long arms. I’m not shitting you.
They hung down past his fucking knees.

Maybe he was a hybrid, mutated version of those Hobbits in
The Lord of the Rings?

For this reason, I referred to him as Long Arm.

I know, not real original, but it worked.

So, Long Arm, came to me about two that day.

His peppered hair is scattered all over the place, his black CST Engines shirt covered
in both dandruff and his donut from this morning.

He asked, “Am I on the list today?”

My list? Buddy you were there the first time you ate a croissant in my cubicle and
didn’t have the goddamn decency to pick up your flakes.

“What list?” I kept my stare on his face and not his arms.

“The list to get my invoices processed,” he said with a particular edge I didn’t like.

I said nothing because honestly, I wasn’t sure what to say to him right then. I wanted
to give him some advice on his diet, but evidently, I wasn’t much of an advocate in
this department with a large mocha on my desk and a half eaten bag of Cool Ranch Doritos
right next to it.

“Did you get the invoice ready for Jameson to sign?” he pressed impatiently as I slurped
my coffee as loud as I could. When I finished it, I shook the ice in the bottom around.

In my not so good peripheral vision, I could see Jameson smirking in his office watching
the interaction. Sometimes, like right now, I didn’t like that my desk was right outside
his office.

Peter pressed on once again. “I need to get those two engines shipped to Indianapolis
by Wednesday.”

“As a matter of fact,
Peter
,” I pronounced his name as though I was suddenly a French descendent. He quirked
a questionable, but totally justifiable, eyebrow at me. “I have those invoices ready.”
My hand reached out to an invoice, and flashed it in front of him quickly so he couldn’t
see that it wasn’t his. “He’ll sign it this afternoon before he leaves.”

Long Arms seemed satisfied and walked away leaving Jameson to stand in front of my
desk. He peered down at the invoice and chuckled, softly. “Since when are those engines
for Brenner Motorsports going to…” he looked closer squinting to interpret my chicken
scratches. “Jacksonville?”

“You get back in your office,” I told him smiling and flicking my computer screen
so it woke the fuck up. If I couldn’t sleep, neither could this lazy piece of technologic
plastic.

He did, but laughed the entire ten feet.

Olivia stopped by after that. God forbid I get a moment to myself today. I didn’t
mind Olivia as much because she had some of the same addictions I had – dick and drinking.
I thought for sure with all the tattoos she sported she was a good time. Anyone that
inked their body the way she did was surely in for a wild night from time-to-time.

“Have you done the supply orders yet?”

“What are supply orders?” I asked concerned.

I knew, from her training, that I was the one to order all the supplies. Along with
being their grunt and performing every task they didn’t want to. I wondered if I had
to clean the bathrooms, too.

Please, God, don’t say that. Bathroom toilets freaked me out. Even when I had to vomit,
I would prefer to do so in a garbage can.

“Well, we have a list of office supplies we need. Things like toner, pens, tape…that
sort of thing. And then the engine builders have their own. Casten prepares the list
but you need to get it from him and then see if they need anything else. Usually they’ll
need parts, of course, and then you’ll need to order oil, transmission fluid, filters,
towels … those types of things.” She tossed a thick black binder on my desk that was
filled with manufacturers’ ordering catalogs. “It’ll take some time. Casten is usually
too busy to actually get the ordering done so I suggest you start soon.” Olivia rolled
her eyes. “It won’t get done and Jameson gets pissed off when that happens. First
rule, don’t piss off Jameson.”

“Noted,” I looked up at her. “What do you mean Casten’s too busy?”

I was suddenly
very
interested in his schedule.

“He’s the lead engine builder. He comes in at like four in the morning sometimes and
usually doesn’t leave until after eight at night, except for Tuesdays. In between
that time he’s either building engines or on the phone with manufacturers and suppliers.
He barely has time to sleep, let alone order parts.”

“Why don’t they have someone do that for him?” The thought seemed logical to me.

“They do,” Olivia laughed pushing the binder at me again, “that’s you.”

Just one person I’m shackled to.
Oh great, bring back the pornographic images.

Damn, I should have brought extra panties today.

“So I should go down there now?” I drew in a deep breath trying to calm my nerves.

Olivia winked. “Yes, go
down
there.”

I didn’t like the way she said
down
. It was as though she knew I wanted to go
down
on Casten.

Christ Almighty, it’s hot in here.

After a pep talk, a trip to the bathroom to make sure I didn’t have anything in my
teeth, I made my way down under. With my note pad tucked under my arm, Jameson smirked
as I stood and walked toward the door. I swear all he did was smirk. I glared at him,
his smile just got wider.

What professional gesture did I offer this racing legend?

I flipped him off.

How many people can honestly say they’ve flipped their boss off during their first
week of work?

Well, now I can mark that off my bucket list.

As I walked downstairs, my steps were
not
steady, I may have tripped and smacked my knee on the railing but eventually I made
my way down to take orders.

The music was blaring what I knew was The Beastie Boys and “Brass Monkey.”

“Great song,” I said to myself, mostly.

Charlie was the first bay. I dumped my coffee in his stall as I walked by. He didn’t
really notice me but did shake his head, not entirely surprised I did that but kept
his focus on the engine bobbing his head to whatever beat was blaring through his
iPod. More than likely Britney Spears or Justin Bieber.

Noah had his back turned focused on whatever he was doing to the engine on the table
in front of him.

I didn’t see Casten so I asked Lane, who was near the shop doors loading an engine
into the JAR Racing hauler backed up to the doors.

Lane grinned with those sparkly bright blue eyes and pointed to the opposite end of
the shop towards the last stall near three large windows that looked out to the parking
lot.

So that’s where I went, notepad in hand while the guys smiled. Why they were smiling
wasn’t really a concern but had me a tad nervous. Sometimes, okay, most of the time
I felt like these guys had some kind of secret they weren’t sharing.

Regardless, I kept walking to find Casten.

Though I’d been down here a couple times now, I hadn’t taken in the full view. The
shop they all worked in was huge. Around eight thousand square feet, white and gray
walls, red trim with black checkered flags in the middle of the concrete floor.

I wondered what my ass would look like sitting on those very flags with Casten between
my legs.

Sick. Get your mind out of the gutter, you little tramp
.

I walked right past Casten’s stall and nearly into the wall before I heard his velvet
smooth voice on the phone. “Fine, don’t believe me, Rager,” he chuckled, just like
his dad had done a few minutes ago. “But I’m telling you right now, if we don’t rebuild
it the same thing is going to happen in Chico. You’ve got at least thirty races on
it already.”

Oh, sweet Jesus! Look at that ass.

He turned sharply when he heard my heels clicking against the concrete floor.

My eyes caught his and he smiled shifting his position against his toolbox to face
me. The phone rested against his shoulder as he scribbled some notes across a notepad
on top of the stainless steel surface I was imagining my ass on. I really wanted to
see what my ass prints would look like on that nicely polished stainless steel surface.

Casten leaned against the side giving me a full view of him.

Wearing dark jeans and a black polo shirt like Jameson was wearing, he had a white
hat with the black embroidered words of CST Engines across the front.

I couldn’t stop staring at him wishing I brought those extra panties.

I waited patiently for him to get off the phone, it’s not like just standing there
staring at him wasn’t a turn on…oh, it was. When I wasn’t sure how much more I could
take of this, he then added to the display by running his free hand over his abdomen
causing his shirt to creep up ever so slightly on the side. I got an amazing view
of his sculpted stomach and hips.

“Well, usually we replace the pistons, bearings, rings, valve springs and gaskets.”
His eyebrows raised at me, teasing, and knowing I was listening to everything he was
saying even though it wasn’t directed at me. “The rods and crankshaft need to be checked
for cracks, too, and then the fuel pump needs to be flow tested.”

Flow tested?

I want to be flow tested. Oh yes I do. Jesus. It’s so fucking hot down here.

I lost track of what they were saying because frankly I was a little distracted by
him and burning up from the inside out. And though he was obviously talking to someone—his
eyes never left mine, which made me even hotter.

Laughing at something Rager said, I was assuming that was him, he shook his head.
“What, you got some sort of attachment to that engine, man?”

They talked for another few minutes, about what, I don’t know. I lost interest when
he kept staring at me.

When he hung up, I cleared my throat, trying to speak, though it was an effort.

“I’m here to take you.”

His eyes flashed with humor as a smile lit up his face.

“Is that so?” he asked with a certain sparkle to his beautiful green eyes.

Shit. Came out wrong.

“I’m here to take
your
order. Your supply order?”

Amused, he gave a nod moving from his position against the tool box to stand over
an engine block that was open. Below him, various parts were scattered around the
hoist it was perched on. Somehow my feet were moving on their own and I wound up standing
a foot from him as he put on a pair of black plastic gloves.

While I was noticeably altered by his presence, with the wet panties, sweating and
my colorful complexion, he seemed completely comfortable around me.

Stupid jerk. Just like the other night when I saw him at the restaurant and he acted
all cool and collected and I choked on my own breath and fell on my face.

Casten’s eyes moved up and down my body. The action got to me and I shifted uncomfortably
under his heated gaze.

“I have to get this crank magnafluxed,” he said, looking at me like he was waiting
for me to ask why. He was playing a game. A game I wanted to play, too.
Oh yeah,
I wanted to play.

“What does that mean?”

Please be something dirty.

Cool and collected again, I saw a smile tug at his beautiful full lips. “Well, it
means I need to put it in this machine here and check for cracks.”

Screw the panties. I should have just went without.