Magnetic Shift (7 page)

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable in the presence of these rich people. “Yes, of course. You must be pleased to see the Angel Car starting first today.”

“More than pleased. Proves we chose the right team to sponsor. He’s going to give us a good name on and off the track, I think. We just need to convince the board of the same.” He lifted his headset into place.

Gwen glared my way, her heavy-on-the-ruby-red-lipstick lips set in a frown. She mumbled something and then turned back to the railing, letting her pink pleated miniskirt twirl with her. Talk about inappropriate attire for a race. Even her tiny white halter top accentuated way too many body parts. She might as well have joined the models down on pit road taking pictures with some of the crews for publicity. I leaned closer to Dean. “What’s her problem?”

Dean coughed out a laugh. “She’s pissed.”

“About what?”

“All the attention Colton’s getting. You should have seen the herd of girls here earlier, asking for autographs. She complained about how insulted she was that Colt didn’t pay any special attention to her.” A suppressed laugh screeched in my throat. “She’s been pouting ever since.”

“Aww … muffin.”

Dean whispered a laugh. “Shh, we mustn’t piss off the sponsors.” But the amusement on his face told me he couldn’t help it, either.

I began to fasten my gear to my waistband and noticed the mic on my headset. “Hey, Dean, you got me the wrong headset.”

“No, I wanted you to try this one on for size.” He turned and helped me place it. “This is where you cue the mic.” He placed my hand over one of my earphones and guided my finger to the button on the top. “And this is how you move it around.” He swiveled the mic up and down.

I wasn’t sure why I’d need a mic, but I went along with it. “Got it, thanks.”

Within minutes, the anthem blared from every speaker and all the drivers and crew members stood on pit road next to their cars. The jets flew overhead, growling loud enough to rattle the inside of my chest. Adrenaline rushed through my veins as we all waited. This was it.

Drivers jumped into their cars, secured their steering wheels, and patiently waited along with the rest of us for the most famous four words in automotive racing.

Dean glanced back at me just as Colton cued his mic. “Let’s go do this thing, boys.” His excitement rang through in his voice. “Whooee!”

The sound system blared on, the crowd quieted, and the
celebrity guest gave her speech.

“Here it comes,” Lenny said.

And sure enough, the Grand Marshal of the race went silent then called out, “Drivers. Start. Your. Engines!”

“Fire in the hole,” Lenny said over the airwaves to relay the message to Colton that it was time to start her up.

All forty-three cars roared to life. Goosebumps rose on my arms. The hauler trembled under my feet, and the rumble of the idling cars vibrated through me like nothing I’d ever felt before. My temples pulsed in warning, but I locked it tight before anything noticeable happened. I didn’t have many memorable moments growing up, but I was definitely going to add this one to my small collection.

One by one, the cars took to the track. Colton picked the inside spot behind the pace car, and Mitch Benson moved up next to him. The others fell in line behind them.

“We’re green in five,” Lenny said.

“Roger that,” Colton acknowledged.

The cars lapped around the track, weaving side to side, warming up their tires and testing their suspensions. The strong, tangy smell of racing fuel filled the air.

“One lap to go, Colt,” Lenny said. “Get ’er ready.”

Colton kept himself low in turns three and four, maintaining the inside position while the cars behind him tightened up into a perfect side-by-side formation heading toward the start/finish line as the pace car ducked down. “Green, green, green!” Jimmy’s cries came through loud and clear. The cars’ rumbles grew louder as they charged the green flag and officially began the five-hundred-mile, two-hundred-lap race.

After a few laps, the four of us settled into our lawn chairs for the long haul as the cars circled the track. Colton lost the lead, but hovered in the fifth position on and off, keeping a decent pace. The radios went quiet except for the occasional repetitious “inside” or “outside” from the spotter telling Colton where the cars were around him. My nerves, on the other hand, weren’t taking a break. They were as tight as when the race had first begun. I could almost swear I was the one sitting in the driver’s seat out on that track.

The afternoon hours breezed by with no major accidents. The pits re-opened during a minor caution with fifty laps left to go. Air ratchets whined, large red canisters came out to top off fuel tanks, and tires were changed. Some teams opted to forgo the stop and risk it in a final attempt at making the front of the line.

Colton pitted, then took off again within seconds. “Great job, guys,” he said.

“Forty-nine to go,” his spotter called out.

When the green came out again, Colton pushed himself from seventh position to right behind the leader, Mitch Benson, and by the hundredth and sixtieth lap, it had turned into a full-blown battle for first.

Colton stayed glued to his ass, blocking some of the airflow to his radiator.

“Careful, Colt. Don’t let her overheat,” Lenny said.

“No worries, I’m keeping an eye on the temp gauge.”

“Ten-four.”

I stood and gripped the railing in front of me. With ten laps to go, my heart raced as fast as the car flying down through the turns. Colton dipped low going into turn one, trying to pass
Mitch.

Mitch’s back bumper clipped Colton’s front end. I hissed. The car wobbled, but he recovered nicely.

“Ease off, rookie. He’s not going to let you pass,” Lenny said. “Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

Colton pushed him in the backstretch then rounded high in turn three, but Mitch blocked him again.

“Four laps to go,” Jimmy announced.

My palms clammed, and my knuckles ached from my death grip. Luckily, this particular railing was made of aluminum, or I would have magnetized the whole thing.

“Two laps,” said Jimmy. “Up high.”

Another car was attempting to bump Colton into third.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Colton said, swerving his car up in front of him as he rounded turn four.

“White flag’s out. One lap to go.”

My mouth went dry. The hauler shook under my feet. I gasped. Had that been my doing? No! Gwen was jumping up and down, cheering as the checkered came out.

“This is it, kid,” Lenny said.

Colton crawled up beside Mitch in turn three and rounded out of turn four, neck and neck with Mitch as they charged the finish line. So close, so close. The flagman waved the flag over the line.

“Good try, Colt. Second place in your first Cup race is a good place to be. And a great start to the season.”

My body relaxed as the excitement evaporated, but Lenny was right. For a rookie, a second place finish in the Daytona 500 was nothing to frown upon.

“Good job, everyone,” Colton said. “Oh, and Lexi …”

My heart stopped. Was he actually talking to me? Dean gestured to the button on top of my left earphone, reminding me how to cue my mic. “Um … yeah?”

Gwen whirled around, her mouth wide open.

“Time’s up, little girl. Don’t keep Dean in suspense.”

Dean’s lips curled into a slight smile, waiting for my answer. It was D-day, even though I’d already made up my mind days ago. My heart still pumped from the adrenaline of watching the race and the fact that Colton was talking to me when he should be celebrating his almost victory. This was my chance to experience what a normal life could be like.

This could
be
my life.

“Well?” Colton asked, impatient.

I swallowed hard and cued my mic. “Remind me later to kill you for putting me on the spot like this, Colt.” I looked Dean square in the face and took a deep breath.
Here goes
. “I’ve decided to stay.”

Dean’s slight smile grew into a full grin as he draped an arm around my shoulders. “Welcome aboard, kid. I promise to make you never want to leave.”

Gwen stomped off toward the ladder. Mr. Langdon tried to grab her arm but missed. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see Colt.”

Mr. Langdon sighed, gave Dean an apologetic look, and chased after his daughter.

“Come on,” Dean said, giving me a backhanded tap on the arm. “Let’s go congratulate the kid before the camera crews attack him.”

I paused and gulped. Camera crews? That meant reporters and journalists. My gut clenched.
Oh, God
. I’d almost forgotten
that they’d be part of my new life now.

Despite what Colton and Dean thought, deciding to stay might not prove to be in my best interest.

chapter six

Dean, Colton, and I headed to the airport where the company jet was fueled and ready to take us to Atlanta, the home of DSG Racing and forty-five minutes from where Dean and his family lived. Dean’s home was going to be my home, and although my stomach turned into a ball of nerves every time I let myself think about it, I looked forward to settling in to my new life.

When we boarded, Colton sat next to me on the leather seat backed against the side hull of the plane. His complexion paled as the tips of his fingers clawed into the armrest and the front edge of the seat.

“Hey, are you okay?”

With a snap of his head, he glared at me, keeping his lips pursed in a thin line.

Dean chuckled. “Give him a few minutes.” He bent to grab some papers from his briefcase. “I’m sure he’ll explain once we’re in the air.”

Colton faced straight ahead and shut his eyes. Dean shook
his head and buried himself in his papers.

“Is he going to be sick or something? ’Cause if he is, I don’t want to be sitting here when he barfs.”

“Not helping,” Colton said through clenched teeth.

“He’s not going to be sick.” Dean didn’t seem to be worried, but the purple color settling on Colton’s cheeks wouldn’t let me take my eyes off him. The plane took off down the runway and pulled up off the tarmac. Colton gripped the seat tighter, his knuckles turning from tan to pink to white. He looked like he was either going to explode or pass out.

“Quit staring or I
will
punch you,” he growled.

“I’m sorry.” I glanced at Dean, who still sported half a grin. What was so funny?

The seatbelt light turned off, sounding a loud ding through the cabin. Colton ripped his seatbelt off, and hurried to the back of the aisle. He sat on a floor cushion with his back against the wall and his forearms resting on his propped-up knees. His heated blush faded, and the rise and fall of his chest steadied.

Dean pointed at Colton with the back of his pen. “Go talk to him. It’ll distract him.”

Still confused, I unbuckled my seatbelt and approached him, not sure what to expect. His creased eyes met mine. “Well, don’t just stand there and stare. Sit down or go back to your seat.”

I sank down next to him and crossed my legs. “You going to tell me what that was all about?”

His fingers braided and unbraided in front of him, and the blank stare returned to his face. He was really starting to creep me out. “You better not laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

He cocked an eyebrow and glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

“Okay, fine. I promise I won’t laugh.”

Colton’s hands stilled and his chest filled with air. “Heights and I don’t get along very well. Never have.”

Wait, what? Was he serious? “Are you saying you’re afraid of heights?”

He hung his head.

He wasn’t kidding. I didn’t know what to say. I certainly wouldn’t have guessed it on my own. An involuntary smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

“So much for promising,” Colton mumbled.

“I’m not laughing, I swear,” I said, before clamping my mouth shut to prevent the laugh bubbling in my chest from spewing out.

He shoulder-nudged me, curled his lip up slightly, and went on. “That’s why I sit here. If I can’t see out the windows, I can convince myself that I’m on a bus or in a car.”

“Huh.” I swallowed the laugh and forced my cheek muscles to push back the grin trying to spread across my face.

“It’s not funny.”

Apparently, I’d been unsuccessful.

“I’m not laughing.” But I wanted to so bad. Come on. He drove a stock car for a living, going a hundred and ninety miles per hour on a weekly basis, yet the guy would shrivel at the sight of a bungee cord.

Colton rolled his eyes. “Fine. Laugh. Ha ha, I’m a freak.”

“Whoa.” Freak? … wow. If being afraid of heights made you a freak in his weird polka-dotted world, what in the hell did that make me? “I don’t think you’re a freak. Not one bit. Lots
of people are afraid of heights. It just proves that none of us are perfect.”

He peeked at me from under his lashes and revealed a set of dimples I hadn’t noticed before. “You thought I was perfect?”

I blushed furiously, but before I could come up with a clever retort, heavy turbulence suddenly shook the jet. Colton’s eyes widened before shutting tight. He dropped his head between his knees. I touched his rigid arm, wanting to ease him, but the feel of his skin under my fingers sent pins and needle like jolts through my body. I pulled back, embarrassed by my impulsive move and worried about the pulse beginning to pound in my temples. Losing control in a gazillion-ton jet made of sheet metal and steel was not my idea of a fun time.

Colton grabbed my hand, jerked it toward him, and squeezed. My lungs stopped functioning. What was he doing? Emotions swirled in and out of me, and I didn’t quite know how to handle it. Neither did my curse.

The turbulence stopped. Colton opened his eyes and stared down at our hands, looking almost as surprised as I’d been when he’d taken it. He loosened his grip without letting go and grazed his thumb over the back of my hand. I breathed in sharply, quickening the magnetic pulse in my head.

“Colton, did you call your parents?” Dean’s voice broke though the moment.

Startled, Colton jerked his hand away, slowing the currents in my head to a more manageable speed. “Shoot, no. I forgot. I’ll call them when we land.”