Smokin' & Spinnin' (12 page)

Ryan immediately stops his tirade. “Damn it, Whitney! Don’t look at me like that. God! You make me feel like such an ass.”

“You are!” I shout back, crestfallen. Tears spring to my eyes again, but I push them back before they can fall. Even though Ryan is a complete bastard, I have a hard time when people don’t like me, especially for no reason. “I really am trying. Just give me a chance.”

Ryan sighs, dejected himself. “This sport is not something to try. Yes, there are things that you can learn, but you have to feel it here”—Ryan points to his heart—“and be addicted to the adrenaline rush that pulses through your veins every week to really know this sport.”

Sadly, I finally realize what point he is trying to get across to me. I don’t know what those feelings are like because I have never experienced them.

I look up at Ryan. “You’re absolutely right. I don’t understand. But if you give me some time and guide me, help me to understand, I know I will get it. I am not going to give up, no matter how much you hate me.”

Ryan looks up at me, shocked. “I don’t hate you, Whitney.”

“Could have fooled me,” I say sadly and shrug my shoulders.

Ryan growls low in his throat, no doubt frustrated by me. It is so hot. No, it’s not. Asshole alert, Whitney! Then, suddenly I realize that I like pissing him off.

“I am not the heartless bastard that you make me out to be. And I don’t hate you.” Ryan sighs loudly as if defeated. “Come on.”

He turns to me and takes the beer from my hand that I didn’t even realize I was still holding. I think he is about to usher me out the door, but instead he intimately grabs my hand and interlocks his fingers with mine. His touch is like a lighted match that explodes from the tips of my fingers throughout my body. I almost have to gasp from the sensation.
Hmmm…I wonder if that is what an adrenaline rush feels like.
I look up at Ryan, and he has a surprised look on his face. Did he feel that too? He quickly drops my hand. Then several shades of what looks to be regret wash over his beautiful face. He appears to be conflicted somehow, but I am not sure.

Ryan walks into the great room, and I follow behind him. I can barely make out soft music that flows throughout the space, but I like what I can hear. “Who is this?” I ask as I point to the open air.

Ryan looks up like he is tuning his ears in to the soft music. “It’s…Adam, I think?”

Adam!

“Maroon 5,” he says in answer to my unspoken question.

“You say that like you know him,” I say.

Ryan shoots me a look that basically says, “No shit,” and instantly I know that they must be friends. I listen closely as Adam sings sultrily about secrets, a song that I have never heard before, but which now speaks volumes about my life. I make a mental note to download it onto my iPod.

Ryan gives me another confused look, then motions for me to sit down on the sofa as he makes his way over to the ginormous home theater
system. Immediately, his demeanor changes to excited, like he just had the most brilliant idea. I almost want to giggle at his expression.

“This will be an unusual way to get an insight into my sport, but at least it’ll be fun.” He opens a cabinet under the television and produces two game controllers. He tosses one at me. “Here, sit on the far right side of couch.”

I reach out to grab the controller from the air and slide down to the end of the couch. Ryan walks over purposefully and leans into where I am sitting. He runs his hand down inside of the couch arm. We are in extremely close proximity. I can feel the fire rekindle in my chest and ignite throughout my body. What the hell is he doing? I can feel his hot breath on my neck, and I can smell his scent. It’s an invigorating mix. He presses a small lever, and the couch transforms suddenly into a recliner. A footrest pops out from below and immediately reclines my body backward.

“Sweet!” I tease.
Stop it, Whitney
!

The beer must have worn off because my nerves are back with a vengeance thanks to this nerve-racking close encounter. He turns on the television with a series of remotes, and the screen comes to life. Then he switches on the game console, and
NASCAR Unleashed
brightens the screen.

“A video game? Ryan, you’re not serious,” I say in horror.

Ryan laughs and takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch. “Yep! This is as real as it gets besides being in the car. It is amazing the technology of these things nowadays. I can log in and race people all over the world. And what’s funny is that they don’t even know that it’s me. It is almost as good as the real thing.” He laughs to himself.

Ryan purposefully chooses the track that he will be racing at on Sunday. Then he gives me a series of instructions on how to operate my car by using the controller. We are all set to battle on the Xbox. I am horrible at it, of course, but he is a champion in virtual reality too. Ryan was right! It does give me a good insight into what it’s like in the car and on the track.

Ryan coaches me through the track specifics of the Sonoma speedway. He talks incessantly about the road course track, qualifying times, and pit regulations. My brain is piled high with information that I can’t even begin to process. I need my iPad to take notes.

Ryan is in his element, although I have crashed my car for the third time and given up. I set my controller down and continue to watch what he is doing. I lay my head back and curl up on the comfortable brown leather sofa. I can barely keep my eyes open as he continues to pump me with information about the track, pit stops, and other drivers.

“Whitney? Are you getting all this?” he questions me quickly, but returns his attention back to the virtual track.

I nod quietly as I struggle in vain to take in all of the specifics, but my mind begins to drift. My efforts to stay awake give way to the overwhelming exhaustion that has engulfed my body.

Chapter 13

I
am warm and strangely comfortable. My eyes slowly open, and I am slightly disoriented, but only for a moment. It takes me only a second to reconcile that I have fallen asleep on Ryan’s sofa. I sit up and look around the great room. The television is still on, but muted and tuned to ESPN’s
SportsCenter.
And asleep on the opposite end of the couch is the one and only Ryan Carter.

I shift from my contented position on the couch and realize that I have been covered up with a blanket.
Wow! That was thoughtful
. I am shocked! I stand up to gather my faculties. I walk over to the kitchen to find my iPhone and my bag.
What time is it?
A steady rain is falling, and the cloud cover makes it impossible for me to even estimate what time it may be.

I find my belongings and glance at my phone. Then, all hell breaks loose!

“Ryan!”
I scream.

He awakes, jumps up and off the couch like he has been attacked. “What the fuck, Whitney?” he yells back, out of breath.
“It’s almost nine a.m.!” My whole body shakes. “I am so freaking late for work!” I pace the kitchen floor in a full-blown anxiety attack. “What am I going to do?” I wail with my head in my hands.

Ryan is watching my meltdown with wry, sleepy amusement as he stumbles back to the couch. “What time is it?” he says as he yawns sleepily.

I completely ignore him as I pick up my phone and stare at it, hoping that it has some unforeseen powers to turn back the clock. I notice two missed calls. Oh shit! Both of the missed calls are from the office, and I start to hyperventilate. Fanning my face, I can’t breathe. I check my voice mail icon, one new voice mail.

I continue to pace the floor as I press the play button to listen to the voice mail. “Hi, Whitney! It’s Jerri. I noticed your car in the parking lot but can’t seem to find you in the building. I know you were here late last night, so I was worried. Call me, please.”

“No, no, no!” I cry out. “This is not happening!” I sit down on the couch beside Ryan, who still looks half asleep, but amused from my morning meltdown.

This is so unprofessional and possibly career ending. I put my head in my hands and run down my laundry list of problems in my head. Let’s see…my car is still in the parking lot at the office.
How the hell will I explain that?
How am I going to get back to the building? I can’t walk from Ryan’s house. And he damn sure isn’t going to drop me off. There is no time for me to go back into Charlotte to my apartment. I haven’t had a shower. My hair looks like hell. And Oh! My! God! I have no clothes. I’m going to have to take the walk of shame into my office wearing the same clothes I had on yesterday.
Please God. This is not happening.

Ryan calmly says, “Just call Jerri and tell her you overslept. She knows you have been working late hours.”

I snap my head back in his direction.
Wait! How does he know that?

“We will figure out the rest,” he says as if he already knows my list of crises.

We!
Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. Everyone at the office is going to think I slept with Ryan!
Oh dear God!

I try my hardest to get control before I call Jerri. I count to ten slowly in my head and take a deep breath. “Jerri, hi, I’m soo very sorry, but I overslept! No, ma’am! I…” I steal a look at Ryan, who bids me to continue. “I stayed with a friend last night. She picked me up from the office. Yes, ma’am! She is going to drop me back off in a few minutes. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am, I am fine. Again, I am sorry, but I am on my way. Yes, ma’am, thank you.” I hang up, mortified. I am a terrible liar. “Ryan! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

He shrugs at me with a yawn. “You looked…I don’t know…I could tell you were exhausted, and you seemed peaceful. So, I didn’t want to disturb you,” he fumbles.
What?

I begin to pace the floor again. “Yeah, well, I don’t look peaceful now, do I?” I snap.

“Whitney, you have got to calm down!” Ryan pleads with me, stressing his point. “Do you need coffee or something?”

Yes! It appears that I need a new brain. Thank you very much!

Ryan is right, though. I do need to calm down. I don’t want him to see me like this. Southern girls are famous for their hissy fits, but most of us throw them internally to maintain our strong, solid façade.

I let out a huge breath. Coffee would be a start. “Yes, thank you!” I gladly accept his offer.

“I’ll go fix a pot, a strong one!” He smirks as he strides his sexy smart-ass into the kitchen.

“This is not funny, Ryan
fucking
Carter!” I shout, following him into the kitchen in exasperation.

Ryan laughs and sets out my plan of action. “Go take a shower in my bathroom. It’s down the hall, to the right. Take a shirt from my closet. There should be several in there that you could wear with those slacks. Then you should be good to go.” He commands with full authority.

Then another load of bricks hits me from behind. He is so calm because he has done this before. I am so freaking stupid. How did I let this happen?

Begrudgingly, I head down the hall to Ryan’s room. I open the door to find another atypical room that is immaculately decorated. The bed is even made.

“What the what?” I murmur to myself as I pass through to his bathroom. It is fabulous, with wall-to-wall limestone and granite countertops. It looks like it has never been used. Mr. Arrogance must be OCD as well.

I emerge from Ryan’s oasis in record time. It’s a shame that I didn’t have more time in there. His shower with those double spray heads was magnificent. It did wonders to calm my nerves. I take a towel from the rack outside of the shower. As I wrap myself in it, I can smell
Ryan. His smell completely paralyzes my body causing my muscles to clench down deep.
What is that about?

I walk to the bathroom counter to find a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me.
When did he come in here? Did he see me naked in the shower?
I shake my head.
Bad thoughts, Whitney!
The coffee is scorching hot. The first sip burns my tongue, but it is made just the way I take it.
Good guess?

I open the door to Ryan’s bedroom and stick my head out to make sure that he is nowhere in sight. Confident that I am alone, I pad across the bedroom, still naked except for the towel that I am wrapped up in, to find Ryan’s closet. The first door I try opens up a labyrinth that should not belong to any man. It is another phenomenon. His closet is huge. The man has more clothes than I do. They are all arranged by type, style, and color. I run my hands over his neatly pressed clothes that look like they came straight from the dry cleaner. Ryan’s wonderful smell rises from the material. It is now forever burned on my brain.
Sweet Jesus!

I find a plain white button-down shirt, which I secretly love, from what looks like the casual section.
It is a shame for a man to have that many clothes
, I think as I shrug it on his shirt and head back into the bathroom. I manage to brush my hair into compliance. I am tempted to search the cabinets for a straightening iron. I know there is one here. But then again, I don’t want to know whatever else I might find in those cabinets either.

Thankfully, I find some makeup in my bag. I look myself over in the large mirror of Ryan’s bathroom. This isn’t my best, but it is far better than I had expected. I take a deep breath to calm myself before I have to face Ryan again.