Slow Ride (31 page)
Evan was actually talking to Diesel by the doors, so she managed to kill two birds with one stone. Taking a split second to admire how hot her husband was, Kendall approached them.
“Hey, baby.” Evan kissed her cheek.
Kendall loved being married to him. He was her first and her last love. They may have taken a wrong turn and spent ten years apart, but they were more than making up for it now. Even something like an unexpected pregnant onenight stand hadn’t been able to drive them apart once Kendall had contemplated a future without him. “Hey. So what are you going to buy for me tonight?”
“Anything you want,” he said, sweeping his arm in the direction of all the many beautiful auction items.
Kendall laughed. “Yeah, right. You’ll change your mind when I want you to bid on a twenty-thousand-dollar trip to Bora Bora.”
“Yeah, that might be out. But only because of our schedule, not because I wouldn’t buy you the world if I could.”
Someone really wanted a piece of ass later. Kendall rolled her eyes.
Diesel made a face. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, Monroe?”
Evan grinned. “It’s the truth.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks, babe.” Kendall turned to Diesel and lowered her voice. “Hey, uh, word to the wise, Tuesday’s already on glass of wine number two. You might want to keep an eye on her.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “She’s a grown woman. She can have a glass of wine if she wants one.”
His response surprised Kendall. She would have thought he’d understand what she was saying. She had thought he’d shown a very protective nature toward Tuesday, something she had really appreciated seeing. Her best friend might be independent and snarky, but she needed someone looking out for her just like anyone else did. Kendall thought she’d seen the potential for that person to be Diesel. Tuesday certainly seemed happy with him and they’d been spending a ton of time together.
“I just meant that it would be a good idea if she doesn’t go beyond three glasses and I don’t want to say anything to her mother. This event is going to be hard enough for her.”
Diesel sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got an eye on her, don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks,” Kendall said. But she felt a tinge of concern. Tuesday had been dismissive when she’d mentioned Diesel. Now he looked annoyed at having to watch Tuesday.
Something was not right and Kendall didn’t like it.
TUESDAY
had a nice buzz going. She wasn’t drunk at all, she was just happy and relaxed and making the rounds of all her many guests with aplomb and a big smile. The auction was going well. The items were receiving on-par bids, some going even higher than she had anticipated. The waitstaff was doing their job well circulating with finger foods and champagne, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.
had a nice buzz going. She wasn’t drunk at all, she was just happy and relaxed and making the rounds of all her many guests with aplomb and a big smile. The auction was going well. The items were receiving on-par bids, some going even higher than she had anticipated. The waitstaff was doing their job well circulating with finger foods and champagne, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Diesel’s car was front and center in the middle of the ballroom. It had been getting a great deal of attention from both current and former drivers and stock car enthusiasts. She was so proud of him she wanted to just kiss the snot out of him in front of everyone. Seriously, that was her boyfriend, and he rocked. He’d taken a piece of junk and made it the envy of everyone with a penis in the room. And Kendall. She probably dug it, too.
He was the center of attention by the car, looking smoking hot in his suit, hair in his eyes as usual. Tuesday had teased him about gelling it back but he’d made his opinion on that very clear. He didn’t use hair products past shampoo. End of story. She had found herself the perfect man, really. He was manly, yet sensitive, protective, and not a slob. If he was a little anti-social, hey, there were worse things. And if he refused to talk about his accident with her she wasn’t going to force him to relive something so awful.
Tuesday smiled at a driver’s wife whose name she had forgotten. Which was ridiculous because she never forgot names and she shouldn’t have forgotten this one in particular. It was Jonas’s wife, the blonde with breasts not found in nature.
Whatever her name was, she said to Tuesday, “Gawd, I almost wish I knew how to drive a stock car. I think that antique one is so sexy . . . and every guy here wants it, which makes me want it.”
Where was her wine? Tuesday grabbed a glass off a passing waiter’s tray and blinked at the blonde. She was having trouble following her and she wasn’t about to point out that the car didn’t exactly qualify as an antique. “I know, it’s cool, isn’t it? We’re closing the bids on it in just a few minutes.”
“I guess I’d really rather have the Hermès bag. Besides, I think that old guy really wants it. Which is stupid, because he doesn’t know how to drive it any more than I do.” She pointed toward the car.
Diesel was talking to a guy who was probably all of fifty, which clearly qualified him as old in this woman’s book. But Tuesday knew who he was and the fact that he might be interested thrilled her. He was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and owed a piece of the speedway, which combined to make him filthy, stinkin’, bid-as-high-as-he-wanted rich. It had been a coup just to have him attend. If he bought Diesel’s car, he would more than likely pay top dollar for it.
“Does he? Excuse me,” she told the blonde. “I need to go make some announcements.”
An idea had jumped into her head. It was brilliant, the absolute bestest way to secure a bid from Roger Hanover, Mr. Gazillionaire. She took a monstrous sip of her wine, dribbling a little down her chin. Wiping it off, she straightened her skirt and headed for the podium.
DIESEL
was trapped with Roger Hanover, listening to him go on and on about all his accomplishments and travels. Diesel basically wanted to slit his wrists and go home to Wilma, but he had to stay through the whole damn auction for Tuesday. He wanted to support her. He also wanted to make sure she didn’t pass out in the chocolate fountain.
was trapped with Roger Hanover, listening to him go on and on about all his accomplishments and travels. Diesel basically wanted to slit his wrists and go home to Wilma, but he had to stay through the whole damn auction for Tuesday. He wanted to support her. He also wanted to make sure she didn’t pass out in the chocolate fountain.
Last he had seen her she was talking to Nikki Strickland and snagging yet another glass of wine. Now a quick glance around as he nodded politely to Roger proved her nowhere to be found.
“So as I was saying . . .”
Blah, blah, blah. God, Diesel hated doing the pretty. He wasn’t good at sucking up or being the center of attention, and tonight he’d had to do both. Since he’d walked in the room, there hadn’t been a single second where someone hadn’t wanted to shake his hand, thank him, take his picture, or ask him questions that were none of their damn business.
“Right, right.” He nodded, surreptitiously trying to find his girlfriend. They’d had a shaky week, but tonight he’d wanted to clear the air. He wanted to explain to her why that article bugged him. He wanted to ask her to move in with him.
But he was getting crankier and she was getting drunker and it didn’t look like tonight was going to end with his telling her he loved her in any meaningful way.
He should have known she would reach for a glass of wine tonight. She was nervous, and he should have stuck closer by her side. Except all the exposure she and her PR team had given his car had ensured he was trapped next to it for the last three-plus hours. His knee was killing him and he’d yet to have even one of those damn puff things circulating on serving trays of waiters.
“Excuse me, can I have everyone’s attention?”
Tuesday’s voice can streaming over the microphone, louder than was necessary and full of an exuberance that immediately raised alarms in Diesel. She was at the podium, leaning over it, her dress falling a bit forward, her hair looking a little less polished than it had several hours earlier. There was a wineglass in her hand and no particular reason for her to be up there. She wasn’t scheduled to speak. He knew that. She’d gone over the whole event out loud so many times, he could have run it.
“I hope everyone is having a wonderful time. I’m so grateful to everyone who came tonight, and keep those bids coming in.”
So far, so good. She sounded coherent, appropriate, and she wasn’t slurring her words.
“So we have a very special item here as you all have seen, this wonderful 1963 Chevrolet restored to the condition it was in when it won the championship that year. I have a special treat for whoever is the high bidder on this item.”
Uh-oh. There wasn’t supposed to be a special treat. Diesel took a step forward, knowing he was too far away to stop her, but afraid of what she might say. He did not want her to embarrass herself.
“The man who has restored this stock car treasure will be granting a driving experience to whoever wins the car tonight . . . that’s right, you’ll be in the passenger seat while Diesel Lange takes you around the track.”
The guests started clapping, cheers went up, and Roger made an exclamation of surprise and pleasure, but it was all secondary noise to the buzzing that had just started up in Diesel’s ears. She had ambushed him. Sold him out. Done exactly what he had fucking asked her not to do. He didn’t want to drive. Couldn’t drive.
Why the hell hadn’t she respected that?
He managed to smile and give one last handshake to Roger before excusing himself, his head suddenly throbbing as badly as his knee. He made his way to Tuesday, who was making a wobbly descent from the stage.
“Hi,” she said with a loopy smile, eyes bright. “Wasn’t that an awesome idea?” She leaned in to whisper, “I think whatshis-face will up his bid for that. Brilliant, huh?”
So getting a few extra grand was worth throwing him under the bus? Blatantly disregarding his request?
He was so pissed he took a deep breath before he spoke. Then another one.
She frowned. “Are you okay? Is your knee bothering you?”
Yes, but that was the least of his concerns. “Can I talk to you somewhere private?”
“Just for a minute. I have guests, honey bunny.”
If she were sober, he would appreciate the term of endearment. As it was, it just irritated him further. Diesel took her hand and led her through a door next to the stage, which led to the kitchen eventually. They were in a secluded hallway, no staff in sight. He pushed the door to the ballroom closed behind him.
“Why would you tell the whole damn room I’ll take the winner on the track?”
She just looked at him blankly. “I just told you. I thought it would increase the bid.”
His stupid shaggy hair was in his eyes and he raked it back off his forehead. “I told you straight out when I gave you the car—a twenty-five-thousand-dollar investment on my part—that I would be happy to donate it but I wasn’t driving it. Plain and simple. My one stipulation. And you just ignored that.”
For a minute, she looked horrified and contrite, like she’d just remembered he had said that. Which was very possible. But then her bottom lip jutted out. “Oh, come on, don’t be mad. What’s the big deal?”
“It’s a big deal because I asked you to respect my feelings and you haven’t.” God, this was pointless. She was bombed and he was an idiot.
“Maybe it’s something you just need to do, you know, like getting back on a horse.”
“To what purpose? And that’s my decision, not yours!”
She raised her wineglass to her lips and started to drain the liquid.
Diesel lost it. Without even any thought behind the action, he reached out and yanked it out of her hands. “Lay off the fucking wine.”
“Hey!” Her face contorted into fury and she reached for it. “Give me that back. You can’t just take that away.”
“And you can’t just announce that I’ll drive that race car, but you did. And I most certainly can just take this glass away. I just did.” He held it up over his head, knowing she couldn’t reach it, knowing he was letting his anger force this conversation in a terrible direction, but he was just so hurt, so frustrated. He didn’t understand her sometimes and this was one of them.
“Give me that.” Her voice was steely cold and she reached out and shoved him in the chest.
Diesel was caught off guard. He stumbled and his knee buckled. When embarrassment was added to his anger, the last of his control shattered. Turning toward the wall, he hurled her glass at it, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction when it exploded in a spray of glass shards and deep red liquid. As pieces rained down onto the carpet and the wine trickled at a slower pace through the beige paint, her shriek of shock penetrated his momentary triumph.
Damn, what the hell was he doing?
“I’ll just go get another one,” she told him.
Diesel turned back to her, suddenly weary. “I know. What I don’t know is why.”
Her look was one of belligerence, defiance. “Well, I don’t know why you won’t share any of your feelings with me. Maybe I wouldn’t have offered for you to drive if you had just taken the time to explain it to me. I had to learn about your accident from watching a goddamn YouTube video.”
“You found out enough to call me out in that magazine article.”
“I didn’t call you out! I was reporting from an unbiased angle. People want to know what happened to you, how you’ve moved on. I want to know, and I’m your girlfriend!”
“I don’t recall you ever asking me outright about the accident.” He took her by the elbow and moved her back away from the broken glass, knowing that what he was saying was unfair. She had asked him to talk to her on more than one occasion and he had blown her off, unable to show her any signs of weakness.
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