One Sweet Ride by Jaci Burton
Dear Reader
Special Excerpt from HOPE FLAMES
To Charlie, for one sweet ride all these years.
I love you.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To the Berkley Art Department, for continually giving me, and my readers, covers to drool over. Thank you!
To my readers: I’ve always loved stock car racing. There’s nothing like hot men and fast cars to get one’s motor running, is there? That being said, any changes to the stock car racing schedule or the way stock car racing is run is by my design and for purposes of story line.
I hope you enjoy!
Jaci
ONE
THERE WAS NOTHING THAT GOT GRAY PRESTON’S MOTOR revving more than a well-running engine, a fast car crossing the finish line in first place, and a hot, willing woman waiting for him at the end of a great day.
Too bad a blown engine had sent his car into the wall three laps shy of the finish line in Michigan. He’d been in second place and coming up alongside his competitor in a hurry, certain he’d be able to wrestle first place from Cal McClusky before the checkered flag.
That dream had gone up in smoke. So had the hot woman, one Sheila Tinsdale, a frequent visitor to his trailer and his bed over the past month. Smoking hot, platinum blonde, and stacked, Sheila put no strings on him and liked sex as much as he did.
She was damn near the perfect woman.
Unfortunately, Sheila also had her eye on McClusky, and she bedded winners. So when McClusky crossed the finish line and Gray hit the wall, Sheila hit McClusky’s trailer faster than Gray’s Chevy had spun out on turn three.
Not that he was surprised, and it hadn’t hurt his feelings. Much. He wasn’t emotionally invested in Sheila, and there were plenty more like her on the racing circuit.
So he had a big fat zero for today’s events. No win, a smashed-up car, and no consolation sex. Plus, he’d dropped two spots in the points race and had a disappointed crew to deal with. As the owner of two cars for Preston Racing, and the driver of car number fifty-three, responsibility weighed heavily on him.
It was his goal to make something of himself, especially since he’d broken away from his former owner and gone out on his own two years ago. He had a lot to prove —to himself, to his team, to his fans, and . . .
It probably didn’t do him any good to think about just how much he had to prove.
And how much it would cost him, financially and otherwise, if he failed.
At least it was still early in the season. There was time to make up the ground he’d lost in today’s race.
He made his way to the team garage where his crew was busy, their heads under the hood of his car.
His crew chief lifted his head. “That sucked today.”
Gray nodded at Ian Smart. He and Ian had been together since Gray had first climbed into a race car, before he’d ever gone pro. “Understatement. Oil temp was screaming high toward the end. I pushed it too hard. But damn—I was so close.”
As Gray leaned over and inspected the engine, Ian nudged him with his shoulder.
“That’s what you gotta do to win the race, buddy. Nothing you can do about it. We’ll get ’em next time.”
Yeah. Next time. He knew all about loss. His father was a senator, so he’d grown up around campaigns, around strategies for winning, and what you did to regroup when you didn’t win.
Though his father rarely lost a race. He’d be disappointed in Gray’s performance today. That was if he ever bothered to watch him race, which Gray knew damn well he didn’t. Mitchell Preston wouldn’t be caught dead lowering himself to watch auto racing. He considered it a redneck sport and beneath him. His father was involved in a big election this year and was more interested in his own race—which Gray had no doubt his father would win.
Gray lost a hell of a lot more races than his father ever had. Something his dad absolutely hated. Then again, his father disliked everything Gray did, as he had ever since Gray had turned down the Harvard scholarship and chosen the sports scholarship to Oklahoma. That had royally pissed off his dad, too.
At least that memory put Gray in a decidedly better frame of mind.
“Donny did pretty good, though. He rolled in twelfth.”
Gray dragged his attention back to Ian. “Not bad, but I know he can do better. He needs to work on his focus more. I’ll talk to him and his crew chief.”
At least he could salvage something out of this shit day. Donny Duncan drove the new car Gray had brought into Preston Racing this season. At twenty-four, Donny was still a little green, having just made the switch to this level two years ago. But the kid had raw talent and great instincts. Gray was confident that if he continued to push Donny he’d see winning results.