Today, she’d expected to be bored. She’d figured she’d get caught up on her email and look up periodically to check Gray’s progress.
Ha. Her gaze was glued to the number fifty-three the entire time. The race was intense. By the hundredth lap there had been four wrecks, and each time Gray had come through unscathed, though he’d dropped back in position to eighteenth due to what Ian had called pit road miscues. Ian wasn’t happy with his crew at all, though he remained calm when he talked to Gray and said they’d make up the positions, that there was still a lot of time left.
She listened to Ian giving Gray feedback through his headset, wondering what Gray was telling him.
Car stuff, no doubt. She wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to do anything to direct Ian’s attention away from whatever he was doing to help Gray drive the hell out of his car. So instead, she leaned over and watched the screens.
“Fuel mileage. Lap speed. Tire wear,” Ian said without looking at her. “Some of that gets communicated to Gray, most of it’s just for me and the crew so we’re aware of how his car’s performing. About the only thing he’ll need to stay aware of is fuel mileage. Can’t have him running out of gas on the last lap. Plus, he needs to know when to pit.”
“Because there’s no gas gauge in the cars.”
“No. And even if there was, it wouldn’t help. A lap’s worth of gas can make all the difference, and there’s no way a gauge could tell you how much that is.”
“So you go by mileage.”
“Exactly.”
“Thank you. It’s helpful to have that education. So he tells you stuff, and you tell him stuff.”
“Yeah. Sometimes he’ll bitch a blue streak about the car being loose, or tight, some vibration or the car just not running right. That’s when I know we need to make adjustments during the next pit stop. Other times he’ll be quiet for a lot of laps and just drive. That’s when I know the car’s running good.”
“And has he been quiet so far today?”
Ian laughed. “No. He’s been complaining about the car. Everything about the car.
Nonstop.”
“Damn.” She laid her hands in her lap.
Ian laughed. “The good news is, sometimes a driver will think there’s something wrong with the car, when in fact it’s just the track. He’s been steadily moving up since the jackman had trouble on his last pit road stop. There’s nothing wrong with his car.”
She tore her gaze away from Gray’s car only long enough to look at Ian.
“Really?”
Ian didn’t bother to look at her, because his attention was focused like a laser on his screens. “Really. So relax. I have a good feeling about today’s race. The car is strong, and Gray’s a damn good driver.”
Evelyn tried to relax, but the race was a nail-biter. As Ian said, there was a lot of time left, and Gray had steadily made his way back to the front. Gray and Cal McClusky ended up racing off pit road nearly tied for first with thirty laps to go. Cal gained an edge by . . . she had no idea, since she couldn’t see, but from what she could see it must have been as close as the hairs on a gnat’s butt. Either way, before their next restart after a caution, Cal chose the outside lane. To her, it seemed like they’d restart tied, but Ian explained that the outside lane was faster.
Whatever. She needed an antacid, because at the restart they were neck and neck, then Gray pulled ahead and took first. She screamed and yelled for Gray to go faster, and didn’t sit down until he took the checkered flag, barely a bumper ahead of Cal.
Okay, she still didn’t sit down. Like Ian, she tore off her earplugs and raced down the ladder, as enthusiastic as Gray’s pit crew over the win. And when Gray did a spectacular burnout to the wild applause of the fans, smoke spilling over the track and into the stands, she screamed even louder and clapped along with everyone there.
When he pulled into the victory circle and climbed out of his car, God, he looked delicious. His hair was a wild mess, sweat soaked, curling against the nape of his neck. He wore a day’s growth of stubble on his jaw and he looked dangerously fierce and sexy, like he’d just conquered the tallest mountain.
She wanted to run to him, to throw her arms around him, kiss him and congratulate him, then lick that sweat beading against his neck and crawl all over his body. Lord, who knew racing could be so intense, could fire her blood in this way?
As he was surrounded by media, Evelyn stayed in the background while he poured soda over his crew, hugged Ian, did his interviews to thank his sponsors, and stayed after for what seemed like a thousand photographs and even more interviews. She waited, patience her middle name since she often had to wait for the senator while he either voted or debated or had to do a myriad of interviews himself. Sometimes she waited for hours, like she did now.
When Gray finally finished for the day, when the track had quieted down and everyone left, he met her at his trailer, obviously in a good mood since he was smiling as wide as she’d ever seen.