Slow Ride (29 page)
“Nope.”
“Cool. Because I do. Love you.”
“So we’re on the same page then.”
“Yes.”
“Perfect.” He kissed her forehead and closed his eyes. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“’Nite, Daniel.”
He was in love with her. She was in love with him.
Tuesday lay there, her body pleasantly sore from their powerful lovemaking, and marveled at that.
They were in love.
How awesome was that?
DIESEL
stood there, dressed and staring down at Tuesday as she slept. At some point during the night, she had pulled up the comforter they’d fallen asleep on and had wrapped the right side over her so it looked like a bun holding a hot dog. Her one shoulder was peeking out, her breath steady and even.
stood there, dressed and staring down at Tuesday as she slept. At some point during the night, she had pulled up the comforter they’d fallen asleep on and had wrapped the right side over her so it looked like a bun holding a hot dog. Her one shoulder was peeking out, her breath steady and even.
He needed to leave and let the dog out, but was stuck there, staring at her, feeling amazingly happy. She’d said she loved him.
Women had said that to him before and sometimes it had exasperated him, sometimes it had pleased him.
Never had it made him feel like this.
This was something different.
Better.
Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. “Tuesday.”
Her eyes popped open. “Hmm? What?” She blinked at him, startled.
“I need to go. I’ll call you later.”
The shock of being woken receded and her eyes started to flutter back shut. “Okay,” she said, voice full of sleep. “You’re not going to get a haircut, are you?”
He laughed at the randomness of her question. “No.”
“Good.” She yawned. “Bye, sexy.”
When Diesel stopped to linger in the doorway and stare at her yet again, she was already back asleep.
There was something overwhelming about understanding you loved someone.
He wasn’t sure what to do with it.
But it occurred to him as he left to go take care of his dog, that if he lived with Tuesday he’d never have to crawl out of her bed and leave her.
TUESDAY
finished up her blog then glanced at the thumb drive sitting on her desk still. She couldn’t avoid it forever. It wasn’t fair to her boss or her father. The benefit plans were completely under control thanks to Kendall’s assistant, and Tuesday couldn’t believe it was only a week away.
finished up her blog then glanced at the thumb drive sitting on her desk still. She couldn’t avoid it forever. It wasn’t fair to her boss or her father. The benefit plans were completely under control thanks to Kendall’s assistant, and Tuesday couldn’t believe it was only a week away.
It had been almost two months since her father had died.
She hated that.
Yet at the same time, she understood now when people had told her that she would get used to it. She didn’t think about it all the time. She accepted it. But then there were moments where it slapped her in the face and she was overwhelmed by the grief. Hence the reason she’d been avoiding the thumb drive. She hadn’t wanted to read her father’s notes.
But today she felt capable of handling it. She was in love with Diesel. It was the most unexpected, weirdest damn thing, but it was true. She was in love with him, and it made everything else in her life just a little bit better, easier.
He was a good man, and while she never thought of herself as the kind of woman who would enjoy staking a claim, Tuesday felt a bit like announcing that they were together to whoever would listen. She didn’t, obviously, but it was tempting.
Picking the drive up, she inserted it into her computer, taking a deep breath. Hopefully it would be an easy subject, and she could knock out the article in the next few days.
What she saw when she opened the folder made her jaw drop.
Her father’s last article, outlined in front of her, had been about Diesel Lange.
There were notes from an interview, Diesel’s driving stats, and details on his accident.
She should have known. She should have talked to her father more. Diesel should have mentioned it to her. Somehow, even before knowing about his cancer or having met Diesel, she should have known that the two men were communicating. She should have been a part of it, and she felt left out and . . . lonely.
Unsure where to begin, or what to open first and read, Tuesday saw there was also a video of Diesel’s accident. Her heart pounding, she clicked on it.
It had been at Pocono, the Tricky Triangle, as the track was referred to. She recognized it immediately when the camera panned over the track, and the announcers confirmed that as they chattered over the roar of the engines.
Diesel was running in fifth place and Tuesday studied his powerful black car, like somehow she could see him, the man, behind the windshield and the net and the helmet. She’d seen him drive dozens of times in the past, but she had never thought twice about it. She’d never met him. Now he was her boyfriend, as much as that ridiculous word made her want to squirm. Boyfriend sounded so high school, but that’s what he was. He was
hers
.
hers
.
It happened so fast, the camera missed half of it. One minute the sportscaster was commenting on leader laps, the next there were cars spinning out in the infield, smoke, exclamations of concern, and Diesel’s car in the wall.
“That was a hard hit, Rob,” the one announcer said. “Diesel Lange went straight into that wall at almost one hundred and forty miles an hour. Did you see that debris? It went straight up into his windshield. I don’t know what it was, but we heard the spotter, and he tried to avoid the twenty-three car, but the turn was right there, and he had no visibility.”
“Yeah, this is a bad one. I don’t see him climbing out of his car yet, Phil.”
Her stomach flipped and she felt the hot taste of fear in her mouth, even though she knew the outcome. That was two years ago. Yet, still, it made her sick to think that Diesel could have died.
His car was completely crunched in and there was an ambulance streaming across the infield already. The network had obviously cut to a commercial, but whoever had made the video edited in the EMTs taking Diesel off the track on a stretcher. His helmet was off and it was clear he was unconscious.
That was it, all she could take. Tuesday smacked her keyboard to stop the video.
God, she was shaking.
She read the details of his accident, outlined in her father’s notes. Punctured lung, two broken vertebrae, shattered kneecap, dislocated shoulder . . .
No wonder he was in pain. No wonder he didn’t want to drive that vintage car.
She read through the interview her father had conducted with him. As she stared at the words on the screen, she could hear them both, the two men she knew the best. She could hear her father, recognized his phrasings, choice of words. The same with Diesel. They had known each other, met, talked, and laughed, and for some reason tears came to her eyes. Both with relief that they had had the opportunity to meet while her father had still been alive, and shock to realize that in some ways, her father had known Diesel better than she did.
For all she believed that he loved for, he hadn’t told her anything about the accident, about his injuries, about the impact it had had on his life. It was an off subject, not allowed. If she raised it, he changed the subject.
Yet he had reflected on the life-changing event with her father.
It was there in the notes, a direct quote.
“I don’t know, Bob. A lot of people want to believe that everything happens for a reason, because it brings them comfort. But I think down that path lies the torment of trying to interpret what you were supposed to learn from something that was painful and unplanned. But you know, I think sometimes horrible and random things happen, and we just have to deal with the outcome. I had a great career as a driver. Now I don’t. It’s called an accident for a reason . . . yet I’m still the same guy. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Tuesday reread everything in the files again. She watched the video three times, each time her gut twisting into army knots. She made a list of questions she had for the article.
Then she started to write.
DIESEL
was standing in his driveway with Johnny, admiring the car he had restored as they loaded it onto a hauler.
was standing in his driveway with Johnny, admiring the car he had restored as they loaded it onto a hauler.
“That’s one fine-looking car, son. You should be proud.”
He was. It was damn satisfying to be seeing the very obvious results of his labor, time, and money.
“Thank you. I think I just might consider myself an honest-to-goodness grease monkey now.”
“You might just be greasy.” His uncle clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, your girl just pulled up in the front of the house.”
His girl. It was something he still couldn’t get over even a week after their talk in bed. Tuesday was nuts enough to agree to be with him and he was feeling pretty damn happy about it. She got out of her car, a manila envelope in her hand, sunglasses on her face. Wearing narrow jeans and highheeled sandals, with a form-fitting shirt, Diesel thought she was that perfect combination of hot and classy.
“Hey, baby, what’s up?” He leaned over and kissed her, enjoying that he had the right to show her affection in front of his uncle, the haulers, and anyone else who happened to be around.
For the last few weeks, he’d been running on kind of a perpetual high, between all the sex and his growing feelings for Tuesday. Since he didn’t plan on giving up either of those things anytime soon, he was thinking he was in for a very pleasant fall and winter.
“Hi,” she said with a smile. Leaning around him, she waved to his uncle. “Hi, Johnny, how are you?”
“Good, good. How’s that for a beautiful-looking car?”
“I know, it’s amazing.” She beamed up at Diesel. “I think it’s amazing that you restored this car all by yourself.”
He had a bit of an “aw, shucks” moment. “It wasn’t that hard.” Just four months of his life and twenty-five grand of his cash, but who was counting?
“I think you’re amazing,” she murmured.
Her eyes were covered by her sunglasses but he recognized that tone of voice. It was the one she used when she wanted to hide genuine emotion behind lust. “Well, you’re pretty amazing yourself.” Diesel wanted to kiss her again and was about to when his uncle cleared his throat.
“Are you both trying to make me sick to my stomach? Good Lord, write the woman a poem and read it to her in private. Don’t subject the rest of us to your mutual adoration.”
Tuesday laughed. Diesel rolled his eyes at her and admonished his uncle. “Mind your own damn business.”
But he knew his uncle wasn’t really criticizing him any more than he was his uncle. His family was pleased for him. Johnny was giving him lots of knowing grins and Beth was already dropping hints that she was available for ring shopping.
It made him feel even better to know that his aunt and uncle liked Tuesday. He wouldn’t be able to deal with it if they disliked the woman he loved.
“So are you just here to check on the car? Or you missed my pretty face?” he asked her.
“Neither.”
He appreciated that Tuesday never bothered to stroke his ego.
“I’m here to show you the mockup of the magazine article. They’re running it with the new issue next week.”
Diesel tried not to groan. She had told him that the racing magazine she freelanced for wanted to go ahead and run the interview he had done with Bob Jones six months earlier. Doing the interview in the first place had been an impulse, a moment of weakness where he hadn’t been able to say no to the man who everyone knew most likely had terminal cancer.
But then he had thought it would never see the light of day, and he wasn’t entirely unhappy with that prospect. He didn’t like to talk about his previous career or his accident, and that was what everyone wanted to know about. It was the only thing interesting about a retired driver who had never won a championship.
Tuesday had tried on at least three occasions to discuss the article with him, ask him more questions, picking at him for more details but he had put her off. He didn’t want to talk about it.
“Oh, yeah?” He took the envelope she was thrusting at him. “Thanks.”
“It’s great timing. It hits the shelves just a few days before the auction, which is fantastic exposure for the car. I had a picture included.”
Diesel stared at her, suddenly feeling really uncomfortable. Why did he have a feeling he was about to be thrust into the spotlight in a way he wasn’t going to like? “When did you get a picture of the car?”
“I went out in the garage and took it. You were sleeping and I was bored.”
That seemed reasonable. Yet somehow he felt like she should have asked permission. “You could have told me. I would have pulled it out of the garage.”
“I like it with all the clunky garage junk around it. It looks real.”
Johnny had moved away to say something to the hauler and Diesel was grateful because for some reason he had a feeling like they were skidding down the track about to crash into an argument. “It might have been nice if we had discussed it.”
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