Full Throttle (The Revved Series) (14 page)

“I’m hell to get along with sometimes,” he says quietly,
“I’ll tell you that right now. I drink like a fish, I lose my temper, and I’m
nothing if not wildly impulsive. But I can promise you one thing, Siena. I’ll
do everything in my power to keep from hurting you.”

“I know Harrison,” I tell him, resting my palm against his
cheek, “I’ll do my best, too. Whatever it takes.”

“That’s all I ask,” he says, “Now come on. Let’s make good
on that drink we were gonna have, yeah?”

Chapter Eleven

So Good

It’s amazing what a good screw in the backseat of a car and
a bottle of wine will do for your spirits. Over the next couple of days,
through the preliminary runs and qualifying race, I feel like I’m walking on a
freaking cloud. Enzo’s posturing, Dad’s snapping, Charlie’s
brooding...everything just rolls right off my back. All I can think about is
Harrison—
all
of Harrison. Bex nearly faints when I tell her about our little road trip.
She’s the only person I’ll ever tell, of course. As happy as I am, I know that
whatever’s going on between Harrison and I has to be kept a secret.

The day of the second Grand Prix rolls around, but the chaos
of the event can’t touch me. I smile through press conferences, cool and
collected no matter what the reporters throw my way. I do my best to diffuse
the questions about a rivalry between Enzo and Harrison. That’s the perk of
being in PR, I guess. The narrative here is mine to shape. As long as they
don’t start throwing punches out on the track, maybe I can patch things up
between them from afar.

I spend most of the Monte Carlo Grand Prix clutching Bex’s
hand and doing my best to ignore Charlie’s muttering. I’m still not allowed to
be down in the pit with Dad and Gus—something about distracting the pit crew.
But I’m more than happy to watch from afar. That way, no one will be able to
see that I’m watching Harrison’s car with just as much enthusiasm as I’m
watching my brother's. Split allegiance would be cardinal sin for someone as
close to the sport as me, but I know how to be discreet...I’d damn well better.

Enzo pulls out ahead of the pack again in no time, but the
herd doesn’t thin out quite so easily as they did in Barcelona. Most every
driver is feeling the pressure to prove something after letting Enzo sail away
with first place during the last Grand Prix. Almost all the drivers seem more
desperate this run around...That is, except for Harrison. If anything, it seems
like he’s gained more control, more precision, in the week that’s past. All that
training is paying off in a big way. He’s not in first, but his driving is
markedly better than most every other driver’s. Not quite better than my
brother’s, but then whose is?

Bex, Charlie and I rush forward as the final lap begins,
pressing up against the course barrier with bated breath. Enzo lays on the
speed and zooms out ahead of the rest of the first ten cars. A few others
charge off after him: Landers and Rostov are neck and neck for second, and
Harrison surges ahead to fourth. He’s just about to overtake Rostov when
Landers closes rank, sending them off toward the edge of the track. Enzo roars
across the finish line with Landers on this tail. Rostov takes third, just a
hair ahead of Harrison. A twinge of outrage ripples up in me, twining with glee
for Enzo’s second win. It’s strange, having two favorites in the same pack.
Strange and a little reckless. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Charlie shouts, pulling Bex
and me into a bear hug, “Our boy is killing it! I swear, I really think this is
his year. I think Enzo’s gonna win this whole thing.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I say, watching as the lead cars
glide to stopping on the track. Dad and Gus help Enzo out of his car, and even
from here his grin in unmistakable. By when my eyes alight on Harrison, I don’t
see annoyance or frustration. He looks calm, like he expected this outcome. Is
McClain trying to lure the rest of the drivers into a false sense of security
where Harrison is concerned?

“I’m calling it right now,” Charlie insists, “Enzo’s going to
sweep this thing. The only guy we had to worry about was Davies, and look. He
can’t even break into the top three.”

“He hasn’t yet,” I point out, “We’ve still got fourteen—”

“Could you cool it with the devil’s advocate thing?” Charlie
snaps, “I swear, every time I mention Davies, you rush to his defense. People
are going to start getting the wrong idea about you two if you’re not careful.”

“People won’t get any sort of ideas unless someone plants
them,” I say pointedly, “And I’m sure that no one would go spreading rumors
about me out of spite, right?”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Charlie asks coldly.

“Not at all,” I tell him, “Just making sure we’re on the
same page.”

“That’s enough, cryptic twins,” Bex says, stepping between
me and Charlie, “If I’m not mistaken, we just won our second Grand Prix. I’m
pretty sure that calls for a round of drinks, am I right?”

She tugs on Charlie’s arm, dragging him away into the crowd.
I lean on the railing, waving to Enzo as he heads into the pit. He flashes me a
thumbs up and disappears, but Harrison stands beside his car, waiting for me to
look his way. Without thinking, I blow him a kiss, straight across the track.
Harrison lifts his hand and catches it with a wink. It’s daring, and probably
stupid, to be so brazen, especially with so many people around, but I just
can’t bring myself to care. No one’s going to catch onto us. No one’s going to
find out until we absolutely want them to. If that day ever comes.

I watch as Harrison is subsumed by team McClain. Andy leads
him away into the pit while the ladies head back into the crowd. As I look on,
Shelby’s icy eyes swing my way. I’m rooted to my spot beside the railing, my
blood running cold. Was she watching me this whole time? She disappears before
I can say for sure, but I can’t shake the feeling of dread her eyes instilled
in me. So much for no one being onto us. Hopefully, we’ll get better at this
secret lover thing as time goes on. Or maybe someday, we won’t have to be
secret at all...as soon as I discover some alternate universe where our
relationship wouldn’t be a complete disaster for everyone involved, that is.

Chapter Twelve

Toronto Grand Prix

The grand caravan of F1 teams continues its trek around the
world from Monaco. It's incredible, the distances we travel for the sake of our
sport. Hauling a race car around the globe, not to mention a full roster of
team members, is not exactly a breeze. But despite the logistical madness, we
ship off for Toronto before the steam and exhaust left over from the Monte
Carlo Grand Prix have even cleared.

Enzo is riding high from his second victory in Monaco.
During his last tournament, he didn’t win a Grand Prix until the fourth race.
This time, he’s taking home the prize from the very start. Still, coming in
first doesn’t mean that his training and research schedule is any less
rigorous. Dad knows enough to be certain that one doesn’t keep the lead unless
it’s continually worked for.

The moment we touch down in Toronto, Enzo and his keepers
lock themselves away to go over statistics and strategies for the next Grand
Prix. Usually, I’d be annoyed with their unwillingness to let go and have a
little fun during the weeks between races...but these days, I’m more than happy
for their time to be occupied. With Enzo, Dad, Gus, and even Charlie squirreled
away, it’s that much easier for me to sneak off and rendezvous with Harrison
whenever I please. The only person who has any inkling of my extracurricular
activities is Bex, and she’s the last person who would ever rat me out.

Almost every night that we spend in Toronto, I slip away
from dinner or drinks with my own team to set off in pursuit of Harrison.
There’s nothing quite like the illicit thrill of meeting up away from the
watchful eyes of our friends and family. I live for those moments where we come
together again, after spending an excruciating day apart. We find each other in
dimly lit bars, secluded corners, and hotel rooms rented just for the
night...wherever we can snag a few hours of privacy.

My need for Harrison, I soon find, is inexhaustible. Every
time I get a fix of him, I only want him more the second we’re away from each
other. Now that we’ve finally crossed that line, fallen into bed (or the back
seat, depending on the night) together, I have trouble thinking of anything
else. I’ve never known this feeling before, of feeling so whole with someone
that a part of me seems to be missing while he’s away. This whole compatibility
thing is totally new—and I have to say, the whole thing’s been rather
eye-opening. Who knew that I could get off without the help of something
battery-operated?

And who knew that I could actually go after someone I really
wanted, someone I really desired on every level? That’s certainly a first. All
my life, I’ve been one to settle for whatever guy fell into my lap. I’ve never
taken risks, romantically. Not until Harrison, that is. I’ve gone from zero to
two hundred in the course of a couple weeks. It’s exhilarating, and
incredible...and a little bit terrifying, to be sure. But what worth having
isn’t a little bit scary to chase?

My week leading up to the Toronto Grand Prix flies by in a
flurry of hot sex and media events. Every reporter out there wants to quiz me
about Enzo’s meteoric rise, his fiery temper, his every mood and thought. Oddly
enough, I find that I’m ever better at my job now that Harrison’s come crashing
into my life. My focus is sharper, my wit quicker. This whole satisfying sex
thing is doing wonders for my professional life. I can’t believe I’ve been
missing out on it for all these years! I only wish I’d met Harrison before we’d
fallen into our lines of work...but then, who would we be without F1?

The day of the race rolls around after a stretch of
preliminaries and qualifiers. Enzo sweeps almost every run, losing out a couple
of times to guys like Rostov and Landers. I halfway suspect that my brother’s
throwing them bones for the sake of their own tender egos. He’s a strategic
racer, Enzo. And he knows full well that this sport is just as much about
emotions and mental states as it is about speed and skill. A driver with a bone
to pick can be a dangerous thing, indeed.

The Toronto Grand Prix begins smoothly enough. The day is
bright and crisp, not a drop of rain on the horizon. The specter of Naughton’s
crash still hangs heavy over us all, so ideal conditions are no small blessing.
Enzo, having secured pole position once again, sails easily into the lead and
keeps it for the first half of the race. But this time, his position doesn’t go
uncontested. The usual suspects of Landers and Rostov keep on him relentlessly,
and the Spanish driver, Marques, is trying to establish himself as a competitor
as well.

But the real challenger for my brother’s lead is no other
than Harrison.

While Enzo jets out in front from the start, Harrison creeps
up little by little. He takes the other top five drivers by surprise when he
pulls into second in the final laps. Enzo speeds up to keep his distance, but
Harrison stays on his tail. The two of them get way out in front of the others,
and finish in the top two spots. When I cheer this time around at the race’s
conclusion, I know full well that my excitement is for both of them at once.

I watch as Enzo glides to a halt and hoists himself up out
of his shining green car. He smiles out into the crowd and raises his fist in
triumph, having secured his third win of the tournament. But even from where I
sit in the crowd, I can see that his grin is tinged with anxiety and anger.
Harrison gave him a run for his money this time around, and I can tell that my
brother is none too pleased about it. He’s kept Harrison at bay so far, but
there are plenty of races left in which the rookie can outstrip him.

Harrison leaps out of his ruby red racer and lifts the
helmet from his head. He shakes out his sandy blonde hair, laughing and
cheering along with the rest of the McClain team. A robust rush of pride surges
through me as I watch him wave to the crowd. But that gust of warmhearted joy
is soon replaced by concern and guilt. I’m happy that Harrison is gaining on my
brother, happy that he has a chance to come back and win this thing. I should
be furious that Enzo has a real competitor, but instead I’m elated.

I suppose love—or whatever the hell is going on between
Harrison and me—can do screwy things to your head, sometimes.