Revved (7 page)

“So, are we staying here all night or moving on?” Carrick asks.

“Moving on!” says Petra and Ben at the same time.

We’ve worked our way down a few of the bars, and I’m starting to feel a little tipsy and tired and ready for my bed.

Petra looks nowhere near done. She and Ben are at the bar, getting some more drinks.

I wait for her to come back to our table, and then she takes her seat next to me.

“Petra, I’m gonna head back to the hotel. I’m knackered. You don’t have to come,” I say at the disappointed look in her eyes.

“Nah, I’ll come. I don’t want you walking back on your own.”

“I’m ready to go, so I’ll walk you back.” That’s Carrick.

I see Petra’s eyes swing to him.

“Um…okay. As long as you don’t mind,” I say to him.

“We are staying in the same hotel, so it’s not a massive chore.” He grins.

“Of course. Yeah,” I reply, feeling a little stupid.

He gets up from his chair. Getting his phone from the table, he slips it into his pocket. I grab my handbag from the floor before hanging it on my shoulder.

“I’ll see you back at the hotel,” I say to Petra.

“You sure you’re okay with going back with Carrick?” she says quietly.

“I’m fine.” I laugh a little awkwardly, knowing what she’s thinking. “I’ll catch you later.”

I give a wave to the table and walk around to Carrick.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I follow him out of the pub and onto the street.

It’s late, but the temperature is still high, not that I’m not used to it. Living in Brazil, the weather can get a little heated.

For a while, we walk side by side in silence until Carrick breaks it. “Whereabouts in Brazil do you live? Or
did
live until you moved to the UK.”

“Santos. It’s in São Paulo, on the coast.”

“Yeah, I know Santos. Beautiful beaches.”

“I spent a lot of time on those beaches.” I smile fondly at the memory of spending time at the beach with my mum. “I lived in central São Paulo for a while, too.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I went to the university, lived on campus, saved traveling back and forth. My mum wasn’t so keen on me living away from home though.” I laugh lightly, remembering how stressed she was about me moving out that first time.

“You ever go to watch the Prix back home?”

“A few times. Uncle John got me tickets.”

“You saw me race?”

“I did.” I smile. “And you were awesome, especially that year when you beat Leandro Silva taking that corner on the Bico de Pato. It was outstanding.”

Staring at me, he blinks. “How did I never meet you before a few weeks ago?”

“Because Uncle John probably didn’t trust you around me.” I give him a knowing grin.

“Yeah, good point—not that I can be trusted much nowadays either. Kidding.” He holds his hands up, laughing. “We’re best friends, and I don’t shag my best friend.”

“You really need to stop saying that.”

“What? That we’re best friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes you sound weird, like you’re a five-year-old boy.”

“I’m definitely no boy. And I was going more for charming than weird. Clearly, that’s not working.”

I laugh at the mirth in his eyes.

“So, John’s not your real uncle, right? But you call him Uncle John?”

I instantly tense at the question, worried about the direction it might take. “Yeah.” I swallow down. “He’s a close family friend. He’s known me since I was a baby. He’s my godfather.”

I think Carrick senses my discomfort because he changes course. “So, what did you study at university?”

“Mechanical engineering.”

“Figures.” He smiles warmly. “I never went to university.”

“Too busy racing?”

“Yeah. I think I would have liked it though.”

“Hmm…yeah, the student life would definitely have suited you,” I tease. “Parties, women, and booze.”

He laughs lightly. “I’m not as bad as the press makes me out to be, you know.”

“But you’re not far off…”

He gives me a sobering look. “Not too far, no.”

Looking up, I see that we’ve reached the hotel.

Carrick holds the door open for me, letting me in first. We walk through the lobby and get into a waiting elevator. I press the button for my floor, noticing that Carrick doesn’t press the button to his floor.

“Which floor?” I ask him.

“Penthouse.”

Figures.

I press the button for the penthouse and then move back to stand beside him.

We’re silent as the lift starts to ascend, the tinny elevator music playing in the background.

Carrick shifts his stance and pushes his hands in his pockets, his arm knocking against mine. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s okay,” I reply. God knows how I managed to get the words out because I’m feeling all kinds of weird and wired due to this intense blaze of heat now licking its way across my skin from where his arm just touched mine.

The space in here suddenly feels a hell of a lot smaller.

I take a deep breath, trying to be unaffected, but it doesn’t work.

I’m totally aware of him next to me. All I can smell is his sexy-as-sin aftershave, and it’s making my head feel dizzy. I’m starting to burn up.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I fix my eyes on the digits, watching the numbers climb. I need to get out of this elevator and soon, but the counter seems to be slowing down to a snail’s pace.

Goddamn it!

Carrick exhales. It’s a soft sound, but I feel like he’s blowing in my ear.

I shudder. I actually fucking shudder.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to take control of my raging hormones, but I somehow manage to knock my arm with his this time.

Well done, Andi.

Now, all I’ve succeeded in doing is to set off the lick of heat again, and it’s quickly heading south.

I can
feel
Carrick’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare look at him. And I definitely don’t dare to speak, for fear of saying something stupid, so I pretend not to notice that I just touched his arm.

Instead, I press my thighs together and beg to the gods to get me out of this elevator fast.

What the hell is going on with me? And is this elevator ever going to reach my fucking floor?

Come on…come on…

Finally!

It reaches my floor with a ping, like the timer on an oven, and like the chicken, I’m done.

“This is me.” My voice sounds unnaturally high. I slip out the door before it even has a chance to fully open. “Thanks for walking with me,” I say, backing away.

He steps outside the elevator, hand holding the door. “Anytime. Good night, Andressa.” His voice sounds different—deeper, husky.

“Good night, Carrick.” I turn on the spot and walk as fast as I can to my room. My heart is beating up a storm in my chest while my head is wondering what the hell that was all about.

TODAY IS RACE DAY
. The garage is a hub of activity. And I’m beyond excited. I’ve been on countless tracks for races, especially when I was working in stock cars back home. But being here, being part of the Prix, is amazing.

The noise of the engines revving, the smell of the cars, and people all around prepping for the race, it carries like a buzz of energy in the air. There’s nothing quite like race day.

It’s electric, and I feel privileged to be a part of it.

I’m slingshotted back to when I was a kid, and I would come to watch my dad race.

I did wonder if this first race would feel strange for me. I guess it does a little, but I’m more focused on the excitement of Carrick’s upcoming race, and all the work that needs to be done beforehand is keeping me busy. And it’s not like I haven’t been to the Prix since my dad died.

But being here in the midst of it all…totally different feeling from standing on the sidelines watching. It’s amazing.

I spy Nico Tresler coming into the garage. I haven’t seen him at all during practice sessions. If he’s been here, it’s when I haven’t been.

Right, this is it. I’m going to stop being a wimp, and I’m going to go over and introduce myself.

I cross the small distance over to Nico’s side of the garage. Coming up behind him, I shift to the side, so he can see me in his peripheral.

He’s currently talking to Damon, his chief mechanic. When Nico notices me, he stops his conversation and turns his head to me. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, Mr. Tresler. Sorry to interrupt. My name is Andi Amaro. I’m Carrick’s new mechanic, and I just wanted to come over and introduce myself. I’m a huge fan.” It’s not a total lie. I prefer other drivers over Tresler, but buttering up a driver is always the best way to go.

He turns to face me, so he’s giving me his full attention. “Oh, yes. Ryan’s new mechanic. I’ve heard all about you.” His eyes rake over me in a less than comfortable way.

I shift on the spot.

“Not surprising that he gave
you
the job.”

He didn’t actually.
“I was hired by John, not Carrick.” I keep my tone even, professional, and definitely nonconfrontational.

Drivers can be difficult at times, especially on race day. They’re tense and stressed, so it’s best not to stoke the fire.
Keep it courteous.
He might be acting like a bit of a tool, but he’s a driver, and I need to respect that.

“Of course you were,” he says dismissively. Then, he leans in close. “You might be naive enough to think that Ryan hired you based on your skill set. He didn’t. He hired you because of your bra size. The guy has no class and treats this profession like a joke. He’s a selfish bastard who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself.”

Wow. Okay.

I flicker a glance at Damon, who gives me a look of sympathy before turning away.

“I wouldn’t say that—” I start to defend Carrick.

“Everything okay here?” Carrick cuts me off.

I spin around to him. His stare is on Nico. Carrick’s face is perfectly blank, but in his eyes is a world of anger.

“Everything’s fine.” Nico smiles, baring teeth at Carrick. “I was just letting Andi know what she’s gotten herself into, working for you.”

Carrick lets out a sardonic laugh. “I’m sure you were. Andressa, do you have a minute?” His fingers press against my upper arm.

Even through my coveralls, I feel his touch, like it was on my bare skin.

“Yes, of course.” Feeling a little deflated, I follow Carrick as Nico turns away from us.

When we’ve reached Carrick’s side of the garage, I stop and ask, “So, what do you need me for?”

“Nothing. Just getting you away from Nico. He’s a pompous prick with a massive chip on his shoulder.”

I cover a laugh.

I want to agree, but I don’t want to be seen dissing a driver, especially of Nico’s caliber. It would be unprofessional of me.

“He’s definitely interesting,” I say, choosing my words carefully.

“He’s a twat. And I can guarantee whatever he said about me was probably only about sixty percent true. He just hates me because I won more races in my first two years than he has in his whole career. Fucking tosser.”

I laugh. I can’t stop this one.

I’ve noticed that Carrick does that a lot—makes me laugh.