#Swag (GearShark #3) (19 page)

Joey

I felt like a real girl.

I mean, I
am
a girl, but I’ve never been one to get that fluttery, anticipatory feeling when a guy was around and I was just waiting to catch sight of him.

Then I did.

My blood pressure spiked. I actually felt it rise like it shot out of a cannon. My pulse began to hammer, and an almost giddy feeling erupted deep in my stomach.

I was totally embarrassed.

I’d never ever felt like this before. Not even in high school with my first crush, my first boyfriend, or even the first time I had sex.

I was usually more cool, more even tempered. Sure, I would get excited to see a guy in the past or someone I really liked. We laughed and had fun together. Sex was always good.

Jace was different.

He made me feel like a woman in ways I’d never felt before, in ways I thought I never would.

I honestly believed growing up under my father’s roof, where it once had been hoped I were a son and not a daughter, influenced me. Sure, my mom would dress me up when I was little and she’d try to teach me to be a lady and take me to where she’d come from and try to mold me in her image.

I never took to it. To her.

Most would describe me as a tomboy. I don’t know what the hell that even meant. I was just me, and that me wasn’t a girly girl. I liked fast cars, ripped-up jeans, action movies, and I didn’t depend on a man for anything.

Yet when I arrived in Colorado (a day before the race), we all went downtown and walked around the shops and had dinner at a restaurant with the
best
homemade fish and chips. Across the street was a place that caught my eye. A place I’d never seen or been to before.

A blow-dry bar.

If you’re anything like me, then you’re sitting there saying, “A what now?”

A blow-dry bar is a place women go to get their hair shampooed and blown out. It’s not a salon. They don’t do cuts; they don’t do color. They simply shampoo, condition, and then blow your hair out into a sleek and gorgeous style that supposedly will hold for several days because, apparently, the blow-dryers are filled with fairy dust.

Okay, they aren’t.

But the way they advertise it, they might as well be.

Naturally, I scoffed at the sight as I sat in the window of the restaurant across the street and chewed my steak. I’d walk in and those women would probably be horrified. They wouldn’t know what to do with a head of hair like mine. Hell, I didn’t even know what to do with it.

The thought amused the hell out of me. Naturally, I then wanted to go there.

I told myself it was because I wanted to show these blow-dryer wielding fairies nothing they did could tame this beast on my head… but really, the lure of perfectly straight, glossy hair, the way it was on the cover of
GearShark,
totally called to me.

Jace had liked it. I saw the way his eyes followed it, and I recalled exactly how it felt to have his hands running through it. Granted, I liked my curls just fine, but this was a chance to sit in a chair and have it tamed without having to get a shoulder cramp trying to do it myself.

FYI: When I “blow-out” my hair, I end up wearing a hat. ‘Cause, you know, I do a shitty job.

So after dinner, I went there (they stayed open ‘til 9:00 p.m. at night! Clearly, the ladies around here were serious about their hair) and walked in, waiting for the shrieks.

“Girl, have a seat. We’ll fix ya,” one of the girls said. She wore an apron that made her look official.

About an hour and half later, I paid a price I never thought I would pay for someone to shampoo and dry my hair while gazing in the huge mirror behind the checkout desk.

They did it. They actually tamed the beast.

It looked even better than it had for the magazine shoot.

I was thinking maybe there
was
some fairy dust in all the products she used… It was long, sleek, but not flat, and it reflected the overhead lights like glass. I couldn’t help but notice how my eyes looked even greener when it was like this. It was almost darker, richer.

So here I stood, in the center of the second NRR race, realizing I had a lot more girl in me than I imagined. My hair. The butterflies courtesy of being somewhere near Jace.

And for once? For once, it didn’t seem like a bad thing. So what if I liked having my hair done, and so what if I totally looked for Jace in the crowd? I felt like I spent my whole life trying to make up for the fact that I was born a girl. I fought against stereotypes and tried to prove my worth.

All this time, I thought I was breaking down barriers. I thought I was strong and kickass. What if I wasn’t? What if all I’d been doing was trying to make other people happy by being who they wanted me to be? By letting them push me down when I was trying to rise.

Why couldn’t I be a driver with really good hair? Why couldn’t I want to date and be treated like a woman even if I worked with a bunch of men?

I could be tough and soft.

I could, but then I’d make it harder on myself. Showing any kind of softness is sometimes like opening a door enough for someone to wedge their foot in to blow it open wide.

I spent all this time giving everyone the theoretical finger, but in some respects, I suppressed some of who I was to please them.

Wow. I felt fucked up.

All because I got my hair blow-dried and locked eyes with Jace.

Strange how sometimes the littlest things brought on the biggest change.

Was I changing? I wasn’t sure.

We were standing there staring at each other when the reporter showed up. Hopper was with them, like he’d been leading the way. I focused on him, trying to dislodge Jace from the forefront of my mind. He was dressed in his standard dark-colored jeans that didn’t look faded or worn like the kind Jace wore. His shirt was black, tight, and long-sleeved. The elbows had patches of leather, and there matching patches at his shoulders.

Hopper was lean, not a huge guy, but he had broad shoulders from which the rest of his body tapered in. The tight material of the shirt molded around those powerful shoulders, shaped biceps, and narrow, tight waist.

He was wearing a hat, a red one (it matched my sponsor logo), pulled low over the piercing lightness of his eyes. The dark-brown mop of hair on his head was covered, but the too-long ends curled up around the base of the hat at his neck, sticking out like he hadn’t even bothered combing it.

His chin was pointed, but not overly so, and it seemed with the hat pulled over his eyes, all the emphasis went to his chin and the full lips currently pulled into concentration as he led the camera crew toward me.

Usually, reporters weren’t allowed down in the pit, especially before the start of a race. But this was the NRR, and lots of things went here that didn’t go in the pros.

“Joey G.?” the man said, a press pass clipped to the breast of his suit jacket. He gripped a mic in his hand and was trailed by a cameraman. The camera was fairly large. You’d think as advanced as we were with technology these days, he wouldn’t be saddled with such a huge piece of equipment.

“Yes,” I said, wondering what the heck he wanted with me.

“I’m John Lennox from KW3. I was wondering if you had a few minutes before the race starts to give us a short interview.”

I glanced down at his badge again. It bore the logo of the national TV station that covered a lot of races. It was the first time any national station had approached me, including after some of the races I’d won that I thought were pretty big deals.

My eyes slid to Hopper, who was standing close by. He nodded encouragingly.

“Sure.” I smiled at the reporter.

“Great!”

I had no idea what to expect. What he would ask, what would come out of my mouth. But this was what I was here for. This was what my father wanted.

And me, too. Didn’t I want more attention? More equality on the track?

Now’s your chance.

“Ready in three…” John said to the cameraman.

“Isn’t it too loud right here?” I worried, glancing behind me where the pit crew was working and yelling to each other. Drew and Trent were beside his bright-yellow racecar as he prepared to strap in and drive onto the track.

“The background noise is authentic,” he explained. “We can tone down the sound in the editing room.”

“Sounds great.” I agreed. “Can you give me a second?”

Hopper peered up from beneath the brim of his hat like I’d lost my damn mind. I grinned at him.

“Sure,” John said, a little surprised.

I jogged over to the bright-yellow car, noting the small French fry decal on the corner of the dash. It had to be something Trent put there.

“Wanted to tell you to rip it up out there,” I called over the noise. The breeze blew through my hair and whipped it around behind me.

“Thanks!” Drew called back, his white teeth flashing. The blond strands of his hair were wild, and there was a spark of excitement in his eyes.

He is totally high.

High on adrenaline, the crowd, and the race.

God, I loved that feeling.

I jumped forward and flung my arms around his neck for a quick hug. “Burn rubber,” I whispered in his year. Okay, more like yelled over the roar.

He laughed. “Will do!”

I left him with Trent and jogged back to the reporter. It wasn’t lost on me the camera was following my movements.

“The news broke in the new issue of
GearShark Magazine
recently that you have confirmed your crossover to the NRR from the pro racing division.”

I nodded and practically heard Hopper shouting at me through his mind. Clearly, nodding was not acceptable for a TV interview. “Yes, that’s right,” I said. “I’ll be finishing my season with the pro circuit this year, and next year, I’ll be entering the NRR.”

“You seem to be pretty close with NRR star Drew Forrester. Is that because you like him or because your father sponsors him?”

“It’s because he’s a damn good driver, which he’s about to prove yet again today.”

John nodded. He seemed a little disappointed he wasn’t able to goad me with that question. I glanced at Hopper and noted the way he was looking at John.

I settled a little more firmly onto the ground and smiled for the camera.

“Will your father, Ron Gamble, also be sponsoring you in the crossover?”

“Yes, along with several other large sponsors.” I had no idea who those were yet… I just prayed I got some.

“Will you still feel as warmly of Drew Forrester when he’s your competition?”

“I don’t think of him as my competition. I don’t think of any other driver that way. They’re my peers, and we all do the same job. I just hope to do it a little better.” I smiled and ran my hand through my hair.

John blinked.

I smiled wider.

“Some people are speculating the reason you’re crossing over is because of a brewing romance with another NRR driver.”

I laughed even as my stomach tightened. “I’m pretty sure you know Drew is off the market.”

“I’m not talking about Drew Forrester. I’m talking about Lorhaven, the man who appeared on the cover with you.”

“I think if anyone read that article, they would know he’s not fond of my crossover,” I replied, short.

Figures everyone was jumping to that conclusion. Why hadn’t I thought about this when we were doing the shoot? Because my hormones had taken over. Ugh.

“According to some of our sources and online reports, some of the pro drivers aren’t too happy with it either.”

That was news to me. I’d been so busy I didn’t even pay attention to people’s reaction to the feature story… Apparently, that hadn’t been too smart.

“Well, considering they weren’t too fond of having me in the division in the first place, I’m surprised they care I’m leaving.”

“Do you think their reluctance to your pro career is because of your father?”

I thought about it for a second, glancing at Hopper. His icy-blue eyes held a warning.