The Chase (2 page)

“I
bet he’s as bad in bed as he is on the track.”

Kendall Holbrook looked at her friend Tuesday Jones cautiously as they sat on the boards in pit road watching Evan Monroe lapping the track on a test run. This was one particular driver’s sexual prowess she did not want to discuss. “Do you mean bad-good or bad-bad?”

“What?” Tuesday cocked her head and frowned. “There is no bad-good.”

“Yes, there is. You could have meant that he’s a badass. That kind of bad.”

Her friend shook her head, making her dark hair slide forward. “No. No badass. Bad is just bad, as in he sucks. I mean, he can’t drive for shit, and any man who can’t drive certainly can’t f—”

Cutting her friend off, Kendall said, “Okay, I get it!”

“Which is really too bad because he is phenomenally cute. What a butt. That’s not a bad ass. That’s a good ass. A delicious ass.”

“I never noticed.” Liar. She was a huge, jumbo, giant liar. Not only had she noticed Evan’s butt, she’d seen it naked a decade earlier when she’d been young and stupid and had thought dating him made an ounce of sense. It hadn’t.

But she could definitely say that Evan had not been bad-bad in bed. He had opened her eyes sexually, or technically had rolled them back in her head, the first man—boy, really—to have done that.

“You must be talking about his butt, because you can’t deny that you’ve noticed his driving is less than stellar this season.”

Kendall waited until Evan’s car roared around the track in front of them. “Oh, that I’ve noticed. This is the worst season of his career.”

Speaking of which, would it be considered evil if she admitted that a small part of her was just a little gleeful that the man who had broken her heart was down on his luck? Nope, she didn’t believe it would be. Just ask any woman who had been burned by a two-faced man and she’d be on her side. Besides, it’s not like she wanted him to die or anything.

Wait, did she?

No, no, definitely not. She just wanted him to not be the successful golden boy for once.

“I feel sorry for him,” Tuesday said. “It’s like he’s so used to being good, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

“I don’t feel sorry for him.” God’s honest truth there. Kendall had fought and clawed to get where she was, and Evan had just breezed through life, the son of a racing legend, sponsors falling in his lap. “Have you listened to the man? His ego can stand a hit or two.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t mind comforting him.” Tuesday pushed up her sunglasses and gave a naughty grin. “Come here, sweetie, let me comfort you with my hands on your bare butt and your—”

Again, Kendall cut her off because she knew Tuesday had no barriers or concern for the fact that a dozen people were milling all around them. But then again, Tuesday was in the media and didn’t have to answer to the same public relations czars.

Not that image was first and foremost on Kendall’s mind. She just didn’t want to hear Tuesday’s graphic description of fictional sex with Evan. Why, she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore who Evan slept with. It hadn’t for ten years. But still. Just still.

“I thought you said he probably sucks in bed.”

Tuesday dangled her feet, her boots scuffing the wall. “Oh, I would just make him lie there while I took whatever I wanted. My submissive sex slave.”

“Oh, Lord.” Kendall rolled her eyes. “If you think Evan Monroe is down with being a submissive you need to start wearing a helmet.”

“Wearing a helmet when? I’m not a driver.”

“Wearing a helmet when you’re walking because clearly you banged your brains up somehow if you think that man would just lie there and do what you say.”

“And how do you know so much about what Evan Monroe would or wouldn’t do?”

Kendall couldn’t see Tuesday’s eyes behind her sunglasses but she recognized that tone. Her friend was suspicious and tenacious in ferreting out secrets. It’s what made her an amazing racing journalist and gossip blog writer, known online as Tuesday Talladega.

Striving for nonchalance, Kendall fought the urge to tug on the front of her jacket. “Come on, it’s obvious. He’s a walking egomaniac alpha male. Like every other driver in the series.”

“Umm-hmm. If I didn’t know better I’d think there was more to this story.”

God, she was going to blush. Twenty-eight years old and she was going pink in the cheeks. “No story! And don’t you dare write me into your blog speculating about me or I will egg your house. I know where you live, you know.”

Tuesday just laughed. “Please. You would not. And you know I won’t gossip about your personal life. Unless it’s really, really good.”

“That’s reassuring.” Kendall had read Tuesday’s blog many times. Her friend was snarky and biting and raised questions that got people thinking, and not always in a positive way. Kendall did not want to be on the receiving end of that wicked pen. Or keyboard, as the case may be.

Shifting on her feet, Kendall gave in and yanked at the front of her fire retardant jumpsuit. She was starting to sweat. Glancing at the track, she noticed Evan was coming in to pit and talk to his crew. His brother, Elec Monroe, was already pulling onto the track in his number 56 car.

“I’m kidding,” Tuesday said, waving her hand in dismissal. “I do talk about your career, but I have to. Everyone would notice if I omitted discussing the most intriguing bit of news to hit stock car racing in years. A
female
driver in the cup series, hello, it’s a major sound bite. But I’ll never trash you, Scout’s honor. I am a loyal friend.”

Tuesday didn’t sound offended, but Kendall still felt guilty that she had implied she couldn’t trust Tuesday. “I know. You are a good friend, and I’m damn grateful to have you around to keep me sane. But I don’t want to be the biggest news to hit stock car racing just because I have a uterus.”

“I don’t think it’s your uterus most men are concerned with. It’s your vagina. Va-jay-jay. Your man hole.”

Nothing like saying it like it was. Kendall was about to tell Tuesday exactly what she thought of the expression “man hole,” when she heard a strangled laugh from behind her. Great, someone had heard them.

“Is this what happens when we let a woman driver into the cup series? Instead of chassis and boiler plate restrictors, we talk uterus and va-jay-jay?”

Oh, freaking fabulous. That wasn’t just any someone. That was Evan goddamn Monroe. Right behind her. Making her feel stupid and small and furious. It was a curse that of all the people milling around, it would be him that would overhear their conversation. Why, why, why, why?

Whirling, she glared at him. “I don’t believe we were talking to you, so
we
are not talking about anything that is any of your business.”

Evan fought the annoyance that always flared when he was within ten feet of Kendall Holbrook. The woman drove him insane, and not in a good way. Why she always had to be antagonistic was beyond him. If memory served she was the one who had dumped him all those years ago. He’d been a nineteen-year-old idiot rushing into love, on the verge of popping a certain question to her, when she had disappeared, not returning his calls and totally avoiding him. After a few weeks that he would like to erase from his memory banks, involving desperate voice mails and pounding on her front door begging her to talk to him, he had given up and crawled away to lick his wounds.

So where did she get off being hostile when he was the one who had been wronged? And here he was, just trying to be friendly and joke around with her.

“Furthermore,” she said, her finger coming up.

Furthermore? Good Lord. She was about to rant. He could see it brewing in her. For a woman as tiny as she was, she’d always managed to be good at getting worked up. Kendall stood five-two on a tall day, with a petite body and long blond hair. She looked like a high school cheerleader, not a stock car driver.

At the moment her hair was in a ponytail, and it occurred to him that she looked kind of cute in her fury.

“I was remarking on the fact that my gender is all together too much a topic of conversation around the track, which you proved by coming over here and dropping that appallingly sexist comment.”

“I was teasing you,” he said, enunciating carefully to drive his point home. “It was a joke. We do that around here, give each other a hard time.”

“You don’t know me well enough to be tossing off comments about my vagina.”

Evan’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”

It might have been a while, but Evan knew every inch of Kendall’s body, including all her female parts. In fact, if memory served, he had been the first one to explore that particular stretch of highway. Kendall seemed to realize her error, too, because she immediately started to bluster.

“I mean, you know, we’re coworkers, that’s it. Not friends. I highly doubt you talk to the other drivers about their penises.”

Evan went from annoyed to amused. Her cheeks had turned pink when she said “penis.” He felt his face split into a grin. “No, we don’t talk about penises. That would be awkward. But we definitely mention dick now and again. Bragging about our own. Mocking someone else’s. It’s all standard guy talk. You know, dicks. Cocks.”

Her blush deepened to a deep shade of red and her eyes widened. “You’re just trying to unnerve me. It’s not going to work. You can talk about all the . . .” She hesitated then threw back her shoulders and said, “
dick
that you want. Just leave my body out of it.”

“You’re the one who brought up your va–jay-jay, not me.” Feeling more in control because he got the distinct feeling Kendall wasn’t feeling in control, Evan just smiled complacently at her. “Who’s your friend, by the way?”

He stuck his hand out towards the brunette who had been watching their exchange with obvious interest. “I’m Evan Monroe.”

“Tuesday Jones. Nice to meet you.”

“The sports reporter? Bob’s daughter?” Kendall’s friend was attractive, wearing jeans, boots, and a long coat. Her skin was fair, lips vibrant red. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but he would guess they were a deep brown. Attractive, but not his style. He leaned more towards stubborn blondes.

“That’s me.”

“Tuesday is an interesting name. I bet there’s a story behind it.”

“Yes, there is.” She tilted her head, her demeanor very confident and almost remote. “And I’ll tell it to you when you buy me a drink tonight.”

Very smooth. A lady who knew how to play the game.

Unlike Kendall, who gave a snort to his right.

Evan didn’t feel any burning desire to go out with Tuesday, but she was a good-looking, clearly intelligent woman coming on to him, and that had potential. Plus, he couldn’t help but enjoy the fact that this flirtation was going down in front of Kendall. Proof to her that some women found him attractive.

“Sure. How about I meet you at the wine bar at seven?” She looked like a wine bar type.

“Excellent. See you then.”

It was a dismissal. Again, Tuesday was very smooth.

“Looking forward to it. Have a good afternoon.” He gave a smile to Tuesday, then a brief nod to Kendall. “See you around, Holbrook.”

“Yep.”

That was her answer. Yep. Evan fought the urge to “what the hell?” her. But it didn’t matter. The past was the past and Kendall might be in his present, but like she said, they were coworkers. Competitors. Not friends.

So Evan walked away, strolling towards his buddy Ryder Jefferson, who had just recently remarried his ex-wife. Why the hell anyone thought that made sense, Evan couldn’t imagine. He wasn’t even going to get married once, let alone twice.

“What’s up, Jefferson?”

“Not much.” Ryder bent over and pulled his shoe off, frowned at it, then put it back on. “Saw you poking the bear over there.”

“Huh?” Evan didn’t even want to think about poking. It brought to mind all manner of inappropriate images for daylight at the track. Especially since for the first time in years, the star of his mental video was a petite blonde. Good God.

“Kendall Holbrook. Saw you talking to her, which is a brave thing to do. Most of us have tried to be friendly only to have our heads bitten off and rolled down the track.”

“Really?” Evan glanced back at Kendall, who was pulling her helmet on.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. That girl has a major chip on her shoulder.”

“I don’t think about Kendall Holbrook.” Liar.

Ryder gave him a skeptical look. “Really? That’s funny considering she got pulled up out of the truck series to drive for our team, securing a fantastic sponsor and getting media coverage like we haven’t seen the likes of in years. So you’re telling me you haven’t been watching her?”

“I watch her driving, not her. And she can have a boulder on her shoulder for all I care. That’s her problem, not mine.”

“She’s going to need to learn to smile if she wants to make the suits and the fans happy. Doesn’t matter if she doesn’t want to be pals with any of us, but she needs to play the game smarter with her image.”

Evan glanced back at Kendall thoughtfully. She’d only been driving in the series since Daytona and he had been abiding by a policy of trying not to notice she was around. He knew she was getting a lot of media coverage because his sister Eve, his PR rep, was complaining about it, but Evan hadn’t watched any of it. Was Kendall really pulling attitude?

If the way she had spoken to him was any indication, yes. But that was different. They had a history.

“Well, isn’t that what her PR person is for? To tell her to smile pretty for the camera?” And why should he care? It was her career, her life. None of his concern.

“I’m sure. But I have to say, I’m curious how all of this is going to play out.”

“I’m not,” he declared, in a voice he knew was short and clipped and bordering on childish.

But he couldn’t help it. He was already having enough problems getting around the track each week. He didn’t need Kendall Holbrook distracting him, too.